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hopelesslygaysstuff · 1 year ago

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𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑈𝑠

pairing: past wanda maximoff x fem!reader / present natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: When you see Wanda again after the secret relationship you shared during your college years, you realize the lasting impact she had on you. Haunted by flashbacks of your time together, you struggle to reconcile the memory of the Wanda you once knew with the woman she has become a decade later.

content warnings: angst, homophobia, a few homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia, heartbreak and grief, some smut, tragedy

word count: 7.1k+

Masterlist

A/N: This is heavily inspired by the song Us. By Gracie Abrams ft. Taylor Swift. I would recommend listening to it simply because it is a masterpiece and the foundation of this fic.

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

“Babe, are you ready?”

Green eyes peek around the doorframe, delicate fingers working a dangling diamond studded earring through a slightly reddened ear. There’s a gentle smile on Natasha’s face, a strand escaping her perfectly curled hair and falling somewhat in front of her face. It brushes softly against her cheek, a sharp exhale moving it as a wince appears on her face.

“Here, let me,” you say, curling a single finger in her direction. You place your makeup brushes onto the vanity in front of you, your fingers gentle as you pluck the earring from Natasha’s hand.

It’s a beautiful piece. The golden metal is dainty, yet solid, woven into complex swirls that catch the dying rays of sunshine streaming in from your window. Your hands are careful, threading the earring through her skin like a seamstress, with confidence that comes from years of practice and love woven into each measured touch.

“Perfect,” you mutter. You both know you’re not just talking about the earring.

Natasha smirks at you, full of confidence that is only slightly contrasted by the pink flush rising to her cheeks. You laugh slightly, the sound low and full of warmth as you turn back towards the mirror.

Strong hands rest lightly on your shoulders as Natasha’s fingers firmly rub circles into your skin. You can feel the tight knots give away beneath her ministrations and sigh in relief as you brush highlighter onto the highest point of your cheekbones. Green eyes track your movements lazily, taking you in like it's the first time she’s seeing you. You find it quite romantic and tell her just as much.

“Well,” the bright smile on Natasha’s face shines through the word, “That was my goal, detka.”

A soft shove from you has Natasha’s hands wrapping around your own as she pulls you to your feet. You sway slightly, blinking against the headrush that comes from changing positions too quickly. Arms wrap around your waist as strong as the pull of gravity, unwavering and inevitable.

“You look beautiful,” Natasha murmurs, her lips brushing yours.

“Compared to you, I am nothing.” The words flow from your lips easily, the truth of them lying comfortably under your skin, feeling like the steady weight of a cat curled up on your chest. You kiss away any protests, your tongue swiping against hers when she tries to speak.

“We should go,” Natasha manages to say, the words separated with the firm kisses she places against your lips. “We’re about to run late, and I know you hate it when people are inconsiderate with their timing.”

You nod against her, your hands squeezing her waist gently as you breathe deeply through your nose, unwilling to part your lips from hers.

“Sweetheart.”

Natasha’s tone is firm, her hand pressed against your sternum as she pushes you away. It's gentle, almost hesitant. You know that if you pressed back against it, she would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide. It's for that very reason that you don’t, not wanting to disrupt her carefully planned evening.

“Lead the way, my love.”

—

You find yourself hanging from Natasha’s arm, feeling every bit like a trophy. Shining, and put on the highest shelf, gazes sliding appreciatively over you before moving on to the next impressive thing. You wonder how long it will be before the dust begins to collect.

A man, standing close to your wife. His fingers twitch, his eyes glancing dismissively at you. He’s talking just a bit too loud for the short distance between him and Natasha, and you feel a white-hot rage rising before you take in the fake smile plastered across her face.

It's too wide, showing too many teeth and yet not enough at the same time. Her eyes are sharp, the soft crow’s feet that normally appear at the edges nowhere to be found. The pressure of her fingers against your waist grounds you, leaving you feeling every bit like a rock standing solidly against the crashing waves.

The man moves on, loses interest. You don’t mind. The memory of him is already floating away, being replaced by the soft look Natasha is sending your way. You feel shiny again, not a speck of dust in sight.

Dragging your eyes around the room, you let yourself get lost in the sea of bodies.

Natasha had brought you to some important work event. It was essentially a party, disguised under layers of professionalism in celebration of a multi-million dollar partnership with their rival company.

There was an undercurrent of tension, being slowly filtered into a sort of understanding and grudging respect. The alcohol probably helped.

A woman’s laughter rang around the room. The tension in the air shuddered and released its hold slightly.

You amend your statement. The alcohol definitely helped.

Lazily, you return your gaze to the room. Natasha is slowly walking you towards the center of the room, leading you with gentle touches at your waist. You feel every bit like a lamb, awkward with growing limbs as it is shepherded into a crowd.

Bouncing around the room, your eyes take in the multitude of people. Features start to blur together. A pointed nose, blue eyes almost hidden under thick eyeliner, shimmering dresses that catch the light and make your head spin.

Your eyes catch on brunette hair. Soft, flowing like a calm river on a warm summer's day.

Startling slightly, you blink, a memory dredging its way to the front of your brain like molten lava, slow and inevitable.

Brunette hair, falling effortlessly over strong shoulders. The scent of vanilla washing over you and enveloping you like a well-known embrace. Green eyes sparkling down at you as soft lips move. You focus, dragging your eyes away from the perfectly manicured nails softly brushing against your desk.

“Mind if I sit here?”

A feeble shake of your head, and rapid blinking as you attempt to return the moisture lost to wide-eyed staring back into your eyes.

She’s beautiful.

Her words are kind, a small smile seemingly locked into place on her lips as she regards you. Green eyes roam your face, lingering around your lips for just a second too long.

“I’m Wanda.”

The memory slams into your skull, reverberating painfully around as you feel an age-old, nearly forgotten crack in your heart reopen. It takes your breath away, the weight in your chest feeling like a paperweight, settling down on the last few pages of a story full of loss and anguish.

Natasha’s speaking to someone, her raspy voice filtering through your ears. It’s nothing like the cadence of melted butter you still sometimes hear in your dreams. It's different, better. You wonder when the lies will morph into a semblance of truth.

You take a deep breath, letting those thoughts slide back to where they belong. In the back of your mind, locked away and left to be forgotten. It wouldn’t do you any good to dwell on the past, with its looming, crumbling chess pieces that dance around you in a game that you don’t quite understand the rules of.

“Ah, fuck.” Comes Natasha’s voice, the words mumbled directly in your ear.

You twist your head, shaking it free of cobwebs sticky with memory as you take in your wife. Her eyes are locked on something across the room, the faint furrow of her brows the only sign of displeasure etched on her face. Her lips are moving, mumbling something about an important blah blah man blah blah, rich and influential at her rival company blah blah…

Smiling slightly, you hide your amusement with practiced ease as you turn your gaze towards the man, no, a couple heading your way. Your eyes barely register the neatly parted blonde hair of a tall man, his eyes locked on Natasha with a calculating sort of look in them before your eyes slide over to the woman on his arm.

Fuck, indeed.

Your heartbeat rushes through your ears, a dull ringing cascading through them as you feel your breath catch. Everything has gone numb, or cold, or tingly. You’re not really sure. Everything is too much and the room is too hot even as goosebumps rise on the surface of your exposed flesh. You suddenly see yourself in a third-person view, your mind projecting outside your body as you go rigid at the sight of her.

Wanda Maximoff.

Green eyes, brighter and lighter than the ones you stared lovingly into at the altar. Her gaze flickers over to you, not fully meeting your eyes, a forced sort of dissonance playing out briefly on those perfect features before she focuses on Natasha.

Another memory slams into you, rising unbidden from the depths of your mind before you can stop it.

Soft laughter, echoing around the room before it's absorbed by the four walls surrounding you. Green eyes, smiling at you before returning their focus to the pen and paper in front of her.

Wanda writes something down, your eyes tracing the elegant script that flowed easily from her fingertips. Something scratches at the back of your mind, a tendril of something fond, warm. It feels like coming home, future impressions of familiarity beginning to take root.

“Let me see,” you’re saying, moving closer. Your hands reach for the book. No, it's a leather-bound journal. You’d picked them out earlier, after walking to the store with Wanda from your English literature class.

“No, oh my god,” Wanda was saying, giggles erupting from her as she half-heartedly wrestled the journal away from you. Her hand lands on your knee, her cheeks a little too flushed. It reminds you of the cherry she’d eaten earlier, licking the whipped cream from her milkshake off before smiling and sucking the fruit into her mouth.

Her hand stills, awkward and stiff for a moment. You don’t comment on it, shifting your body weight to be slightly closer to her. The warmth from her palm spreads through your body like a slow creek, new and small and promising bigger currents down the road.

“Let me read yours out loud and I’ll let you read mine,” you offer, taking her journal gently and placing yours in her lap.

“It’s just poetry,” the words flow from your lips, but you know it’s more than that. It’s the very contents of your soul, laid bare for her to see, wrapped under layers of grammar and careful wording. It’s a confession, it’s a sin, it’s something twisting and beautiful and as graceless as a newborn foal. Her eyes meet yours, your thoughts reflected back at you as her fingers twitch slightly on your knee.

Wanda’s hand takes your journal, those green eyes skimming the words as her lips move silently.

You don’t look away, you can’t look away. Her hair is falling over her shoulder, as delicate and soft as the words written before you. There’s a palpable tension in the air, low and thumping like a familiar heartbeat.

Green eyes, flickering back to you. Something behind them that you can’t interpret. You feel like she can see your every thought, the very contents of your being laid out before her as she analyzes each individual piece. It’s frightening and it’s intoxicating, and you look away.

You’re reading her words now, the sentences flowing and mashing together in your mind as you pluck the strings of her mind with your careful hands. It’s beautiful and well-written, layered with so many truths and lies that you can’t begin to interpret the true meaning of her sentences.

Something tingles at the base of your skull, warm and light as it blossoms through your head. Understanding. Or, the semblance of it.

You look up. Light green eyes stare back into yours. They’re captivating, and you wonder if they ever left. If she watched you the same way you did her, attempting to unravel her very being through carefully constructed lines and flowing script and words layered with meaning.

Those green eyes have the power to shatter you. You pick up your pen.

“So what is it that you do?” The man is speaking.

Your mind crashes back into the present, another hairline fracture appearing on the surface of your heart. You can practically feel it, the torment running deeper than the illusion the thin crack offers. It’s bone-aching, and you suddenly feel exhausted.

“I’m a copywriter,” Natasha answers, sounding casual. You can sense the clipped tone and undercurrent of frustration, and your hand gently traces circles against her wrist. “I graduated with a degree in English Literature.”

“Ah,” the man says, sounding every bit as pretentious as he looks. “My wife got a degree in that as well.”

Another crack, splintering into you. Your eyes flick down, catching the ring on Wanda’s finger. It’s shining and big, the diamonds glittering back at you, the mockery of it seeping into your soul. The meaning of it is every bit as surface level as what you assume Wanda’s feelings for this man are. You know better, she had told you just as much.

“I don’t think I’ll ever love a man in the way I’m meant to.”

You don’t have to ask what she means. You don’t respond, a gentle sigh escaping you as the weight of her head rests solidly on your shoulder. The clock on your nightstand blinks back at you, the numbers twinkling in the early morning. Pens and paper and journals are strewn around you, a poetry book facedown in your lap. Your voice had grown too tired from reading, but neither of you seemed to mind the comfortable silence stretching around the room.

Until now.

“I know,” you say. There are not many words you can speak.

It's simple. That’s a lie. It’s not, it’s complicated and it's painful and there’s nothing you can do to take that away from her. You wish you could. You would do anything to let Wanda’s soul have respite in your presence, to be unburdened from thoughts of sin and duty, to be able to finally breathe properly.

Soft fingers find your hand, tangling with your fingers almost hesitantly. Your palm slides easily against hers, and you swallow the lump in your throat. Your hands fit like a jigsaw puzzle, feeling like the final piece as it clicks into place. Confusion and frustration sliding away as the picture finally makes sense.

“Poetry feels like prayer.” Wanda’s voice is quiet, and you know what she means. It feels holy, even with the words only spoken in the sublunary space of your dorm room. Her head twists on your shoulder, and you feel your gaze drawn to her like the inevitable magnetic pull of the earth. Her green eyes peer up at you. “Will you pray with me?”

Picking up the poetry book in your lap, you begin reading. Your thumb runs over the pages. Staring at the words in front of you, you wonder why they’re blurry. You realize later, after Wanda had fallen asleep from being lulled into comfort by your voice, that it had been unshed tears.

You let them fall.

“Yes,” Wanda is saying, and her voice is exactly the same as you’d remembered. She’s speaking, saying something about the university she’d attended and how she got her degree. The only thing you can focus on is the familiar lilt of her words, the smooth cadence you’ve memorized and seared into your brain.

It’s painful, but you can’t take your eyes off of her. Natasha’s hand moves slightly against your waist, and you blink. The man next to Wanda has his arms almost possessively around her shoulders, his hawkish eyes watching you.

You look away.

“Oh, you and my wife went to the same University,” Natasha says, trying to be helpful. You don’t appreciate it. Her words are genuine, but the statement falls short, a beat of awkward silence stretching into an eternity as you try to respond. What could you even say?

Yes. We did. I fell in love with the confident, full-of-life brunette who looked at me like I hung the moon, and I looked at her like she painted the stars just to give the moon some company. I loved her as easy as breathing, and now my lungs never feel full enough, my breaths labored and weighted with the words of love I breathed into her ear that I can’t take back, won’t take back.

Refuse to take back.

“We must have missed each other,” Wanda says, her eyes flashing in your direction, but not fully meeting yours. “It’s a big school.”

A polite smile plasters itself onto your face, too small and stiff to be sincere. Your heart clenches painfully, a small part of your mind begging Wanda to meet your eyes. God, it feels just like when you were at University.

Her husband’s fingers tighten slightly around her shoulder, pulling her further into his side. You wonder if Wanda feels like she’s suffocating yet. You hope not, you want her to breathe. To fill her lungs with light and hope and passion and… not whatever this is.

Another memory, sludging through your mind like a heavy foot through quicksand.

You don’t talk to Wanda much outside of class and the late-night poetry readings in your dorm. She blames it on her busy social life, being in a sorority is apparently no joke. You’ve learned to keep your head down when you see her in public, her eyes always lingering near you, but never fully meeting yours, too focused on the sorority sisters that always seem to surround her. Appearances are everything to her, you know that.

But god, it hurts.

It still doesn’t cut quite as deep as the weekend her parents came to visit.

Wanda had grown up the daughter of a pastor, a well-spoken man with a quiet, hidden-in-the-shadows wife. You’d watched from afar, noticing the small glances her mother would send her way, and the nervous twitching of her fingers as she adjusted Wanda's collar, or brushed a piece of invisible lint from her daughter's skirt.

Per usual, Wanda was nothing short of perfect. Her hair was perfectly curled, laying gently over her shoulders as the brunette strands glowed in the sunlight. She’d done her makeup just subtle enough to perfect her already dainty features, but not enough to rouse suspicion that she was promiscuous.

You’d watched her do her makeup many times, her hands perfecting the art. You wondered how much of her father’s influence and mother’s worry controlled the easy flick of her brush as it spread a light blush across her cheeks.

Tracing your gaze down her form, you glance back to the book in front of you. A poem glared up at you, the words swimming off the page as you remember the subtle curve of Wanda’s spine, her head bowed slightly as her father spoke into her ear.

Wanda was full of life, shining brightly and standing out amongst the rest of the population at this university. Or perhaps that was simply your own observation, after all, your entire waking moments were consumed by thoughts of her.

The point is, she wasn’t… docile. Or submissive, or meek like her posture suggests when her father lays a hand on her shoulder. You can’t tell if he’s gripping his fingers tightly or gently around her, but either way, Wanda doesn’t make a move to remove his hand.

She’s nodding, her head turning towards him. You can see her smiling easily at him, saying something back.

His hand returns to his side, and you hope that you imagine the slope of her mother’s shoulders relaxing. The way her fingers twitch towards her daughter, wanting to replace the feeling of his hand against her skin, but choosing to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear instead. Always deflecting her true intentions.

Wanda’s face turns towards her mother. You see the momentary look that passes between them, but you’re unable to interpret it from across the quad. The moment passes, and her mother returns her attention back to her husband. Always a faithful, obedient wife.

When Wanda and her parents pass by the table you’re seated at, she doesn’t spare you a second glance. Her green eyes are focused on some unimportant thing in the distance, her father’s lips moving near her ear again. You silently plead with her to look your way, to take solace in the silent comfort you can provide.

Her green eyes don’t meet yours. You feel a crack appear on your heart, and you swallow harshly as you stare blankly at the poetry in front of you. Shoving the crack down where you’ve displaced all the other ones, you begin to read.

The poem is a romantic one. Full of yearning and hope and unbridled passion. The only thing you can think about is how incredibly tragic it seems.

Natasha’s thumb is slowly moving, caressing your hip as she holds you loosely by her side. Not possessive, but not without care either. You’re grateful for the touch, and focus on it as Wanda’s husband continues to talk about… what is he talking about?

You don’t really care.

The version of Wanda that you knew and the woman you see in front of you clash in your mind, splintering your thoughts. You’re also aware of your wife beside you, and guilt creeps into your heart.

You chose Natasha. You’re happy with her, you stood across from her and declared your love and promised her that you would love her until the end of time. You intend to stand by that, to uphold your promise. Imagining a future without her seems impossible.

But you’d also imagined a future with Wanda once. It didn’t seem right to just ignore that. And it was impossible to keep the memories at bay. Not when she was standing before you for the first time in ten fucking years, with her perfect hair and her natural looking makeup and her light green eyes and the scent of vanilla washing over you and and and-

Breathing in, feeling the comforting scent of vanilla enveloping you in the strong embrace of a familiar lover. Wanda’s hair just beneath your nose, the silky strands brushing against your cheek and chin as you place a gentle kiss on her head.

Her arms are wrapped around you, her breaths even. You aren’t asleep, but you let her think that you are. It's easier for her to be herself when she thinks nobody is watching. Her fingers slowly dance along the exposed skin of your stomach, softly tracing nonsensical patterns against you as you feel your heart pound steadily.

A poetry book rests at your side, forgotten in the favor of holding her in your arms. You understand what all the poets mean, with their suffering and their longing written painstakingly on pages of crinkled paper beneath their ink-stained hands, as you hold Wanda gently against you. This moment feels too precious, too raw to ever be put into words, to write down for the world to see.

No, you’d much rather keep this moment pure and untouched, resting in your heart alongside the inevitability of Wanda Maximoff.

You can feel her in your soul. Or rather, maybe it’s your soul that’s bleeding and filling the space between you two. You hope that it is mixing with Wanda’s, filling the painful parts of her that she pushes down and cushioning them with warmth. Is it too much to hope that she’ll carry a part of you with her forever? Is it selfish to take the willing parts of her soul that bleed into yours and keep them there until they’re so ingrained in the fiber of your being that you would lose yourself if she took it back?

Maybe that's the true definition of love.

Natasha's hand grips you tightly, her fingers tense around your hip. Her eyes are locked on Wanda’s husband, his drawling voice grating your nerves. You risk a glance at Wanda, recognizing her blank look at the ground for what it is. Escape.

She used to tell you about the places she’d go inside her mind when life got to be too much for her. It sounded peaceful. She could be whoever she wanted inside her own head, without the pressure of her father or the quiet concern of her mother and the encompassing guilt that she was never making the right choices. You hope she's there right now, and return your gaze towards her husband.

“I mean,” Her husband's eyes are sharp, glinting dangerously at your wife. “It’s so nice that they allow so many… diverse individuals to work with your company.”

His eyes travel down her body before flicking over to you briefly.

“Is it hard to keep your lifestyle and work life separate?” he asks, and your blood boils. You see Wanda’s head lower further. “I imagine it's quite difficult to relate to your peers, with a secret like that.”

Natasha is seconds away from exploding, tearing him down with sharp words and securing her own termination in the same breath.

You find your voice, the quiet strength of your words surprising you. “I’ve been out and proud since I was in high school. I’ve never been ashamed of who I am. And neither is my wife.”

Wanda’s eyes cut sharply over to you, that specific shade of light green filling your vision.

“Why the fuck would you give this to me if you didn’t want me to interpret it that way?” You’re not yelling, you never would. Not at her. Never at Wanda. But you can feel the frustration leaking into each syllable, and you hate the way that Wanda’s shoulders seem to hunch in on themselves.

“I never meant for you to…” Wanda can’t continue, her eyes locked on the poetry book you’re clutching between your fingers.

“You never meant for me to fall in love with you?”

A flinch, green eyes staring at the carpet and gentle fingers clenched uselessly over the back of a chair. The words bounce around your dorm room, settling in with a tentative weariness.

“Why would you give me this poetry book about romance and passion and fighting for love if that’s not what you wanted me to think about you?” you set the book down on your desk, the pages flipping open. You can see the smudged ink of your annotations. That was a flaw of yours, always writing too fast as you try to keep up with the thoughts in your head.

“That’s not what I mean I-” Wanda’s eyes are locked on the book and you watch her swallow harshly. Her voice is shaky, her head bowed. You hate it, and there’s nothing you can do to make it better. “I can’t love you.”

“You don’t love me?”

“That’s not what I said.” Wanda’s voice is quiet.

Oh.

“You don’t understand,” Wanda has unshed tears in her eyes. You want to wipe them away, your fingers twitching, unsure if you’re allowed to anymore. “My family means everything to me.”

Oh.

The weight of tragedy settles in, burying itself deep within your bones and wrapping around your heart and squeezing. All of the cracks you’d smothered appear at once, splintering and creating new fractures with each labored pump of poisonous blood coursing through your body.

You finally understand what the poets mean. The metaphors and desperation, the weight of grief and longing and the way it sticks to your very soul like a parasite that you keep feeding and nurturing because the pain of forgetting is worse than the crushing travesty of remembering.

Wanda is talking, and for the first time, you’re not paying attention to her words. She’s saying something about her parents and financial dependence and them cutting her off and all you can hear is that she’s stuck and scared and trying to protect herself and you can’t choose her path for her.

It’s agony, it’s grief and it’s nothing like what you imagined as you innocently read the words scattered across the pages of your poetry book. It’s so much fucking worse. Wanda’s hand is on the doorknob of your dorm, her vanilla scent already fading from your walls as she looks at you with longing and grief and something devastating hidden and suppressed deep within her soul. You wonder if this will be the last time her green eyes ever look at you with genuine emotion shining through them.

You wonder if you’ll ever escape the numbing chill of loneliness that settles beneath your skin like an old friend.

Vision, you’d learned his name at some point during the conversation, seems at a loss for words for the first time since you’ve met him. His face is steadily reddening, the tips of his ears practically scarlet as you watch the hand on Wanda’s shoulder tighten.

“I’ve seen your name credited a lot, you must be very good at what you do.” Wanda’s voice is melodic, her words placating yet genuine. She’s mending the rift, her words an unspoken apology for her husband’s behavior as he stands sullen beside her.

Natasha smiles and begins speaking.

It’s strange, to see the woman you’re in love with talking with Wanda. There was a time when you thought you’d never find someone who made you feel the way Wanda did. You were convinced that your love would live and die with her.

Then, you met your wife.

Natasha was everything you could have ever hoped for. She loved you openly and proudly from the moment she met you. Her commitment to you had never waned, her gestures true and meanings genuine. You’d never trusted somebody more, never felt as comfortable with another person.

She stood by your side when others did not. She held you when you were sick, and stayed by your side when you were at your lowest. The day that you had married her was the best day of your life, and your vows were nothing short of pure truth. The green eyes that had looked at you from across the altar were vibrant and dark, your love for that shade of green far surpassing the one you’d loved all those years ago.

So why did it still hurt to think about Wanda?

If you had to choose. Right now, Natasha or Wanda, you knew you’d choose your wife in every lifetime. But that didn’t explain the splintering cracks reappearing on your heart the longer you stayed in Wanda’s presence.

Music rattles the floor, a plethora of swirling hues surrounding you. Your senses are dulled by the fiery liquor burning within your veins, your brain finally relaxing.

“Dude, come on don’t just stand there like a weirdo,” Kate pulls you away from the wall, spilling your cup in the process.

You both look down at it for a moment, before bursting into peals of laughter that leave you clutching her shoulder for support as she bends at the waist. Her dark hair falls neatly over her shoulders, her backward cap holding it in place.

The music drowns out most of your laughter, but you’re aware of the eyes on both you and Kate as you wipe tears from your eyes. She’s pulling you closer to the DJ, dancing sloppily with you. You can’t bring yourself to care about the people around you. There was one goal tonight, get absolutely sloshed at the local college bars and then pass out on Kate’s couch to forget about the whole thing.

“Who the fuck let the sloppy, drunk dykes in?”

Kate doesn’t hear the words, but you do. You turn to face the group near you, the liquor making you bold. It’s a bunch of sorority girls, with their skin-tight dresses and judging eyes watching you with caked-on mascara. Your heart drops when you see Wanda standing in the middle of them.

Your blood runs cold, a surge of sadness and fury sweeping through you. It’s confusing, but most of all, it’s fucking infuriating.

Behind you, Kate stumbles, her elbow knocking into your side. Your arms wrap around her, keeping her upright as she mumbles an apology in your ear. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Wanda whisper something to one of the girls, their eyes on you and filled with mirthful laughter.

“You’re right, Wanda,” the girl says, loud enough for the whole group to hear. “These dyke sluts would probably jump on the nearest dick they could find, since nobody else wants to fuck them.”

The blood rushes to your ears, and Kate’s gasp reverberates around your skull. The bar seems quieter than before, and a multitude of eyes are on you and the blonde bitch in front of you is smirking like she just stole your favorite candy and Wanda is laughing and pointedly avoiding eye contact with you but her smile wavers slightly as her eyes grow sad for a split second before she remembers where she is and you’re so fucking mad and it all just seems so goddamn tragic and-

Your fist connects solidly with that stupid, smug smirk that the blonde girl proudly plasters on her face. There are gasps and Kate whooping loudly in your ear and arms wrapped around you and pulling you towards the door and alcohol making your head spin and fuck you’ve never felt more alive.

Wanda’s eyes finally meet yours. They’re filled with shock, but just before she turns away, you see a sliver of gratitude and the hint of an apology glimmering in their depths.

Needless to say, both you and Kate are banned from that bar.

Your wife is laughing. The echoes of mean laughter from Wanda and her sorority sisters fade into the background noise of your brain as you refocus on the conversation. Natasha’s soft chuckles bring a smile to your face before you can stop it, your lips turning up as you look at her.

She’s effortlessly pretty, her eyes crinkled slightly at the edges even as her gaze flickers warily over to Vision. Her arm is wrapped around your waist, solid yet unrestrictive.

Wanda’s eyes linger around the fingers that lightly draw circles against your hip. She seems to shake herself, eyes quickly moving back towards safer territory as she focuses on Natasha’s face. You don’t miss the fleeting expression of longing that flits across her face, her appearance seeming soul-crushingly tired for a mere moment before it smooths over in a way that speaks to years of practice.

You wonder if she’s remembering the same night that rises to the front of your mind. You try to combat it, to stay in the moment. Natasha's fingers squeeze your hips lovingly, and you descend into the memory with bone-deep guilt.

The concrete is cold beneath you, the wind picking up slightly and threading its way through your hair. You shiver, feeling Wanda adjust her body closer to yours. You’re aware of her heat spreading through you. Her hand fits seamlessly in yours, and you wonder when loving Wanda became as easy and inevitable as breathing.

“Do you think the poets compared their words to the stars?” Wanda asks.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, breathing in her vanilla scent. It’s hard to focus on her words when her body is pressed fully against yours, your left side burning with warmth and something else that you’re almost scared to identify.

Wanda chuckles, the sound heating your cheeks further.

“Well,” she pauses. That’s one of the things you love about her, how careful she is with her words. “Do you think they viewed their words, their poems, as unattainable yet beautiful and pure?”

You’re quiet. You can think of something that is also unattainable, pure and completely inevitable. It’s not poetry, and it’s not the glittering stars that take up your vision. She’s lying right beside you, her nose bright red from the wind and a future stretching out ahead of her that she is able to mold into something beautiful and something that is completely her own. If only she had the courage to do so. You hope she does.

“Of course they did. They’re poets,” you respond, and Wanda hums. “Do you feel that way?”

Wanda doesn’t respond, and that’s enough of an answer for you.

The silence stretches on, but it's comfortable. Wanda is shifting silently, more of her body pressing against you, the wind having died down a while ago, leaving no easy excuses for her leg pressed fully against yours.

“You wanna know what I think?” Wanda’s voice is quiet, yet firm.

Turning your head, you look at her. She looks back, her lips mere inches away from yours. You can feel the soft, warm breath escaping her lips and hitting your face as she speaks.

“I think that you’re like the stars,” Wanda begins, her green eyes sparkling at you. They glance down imperceptibly, almost too quickly for you to catch. You notice, of course you do. “You're incomparable, chemical almost.”

Wanda trails off, her eyes firmly focused on your lips. You understand, you always do.

“I can’t tell if you’re a curse or a miracle,” you whisper, feeling Wanda lean in. The tension vibrates palpably between your lips and hers. “But I don’t really care.”

Soft lips collide with yours, a seismic shift that causes your head to spin for a moment. It’s perfect and pure and something bordering on holiness and you find yourself never wanting to leave this moment. Then, Wanda’s lips are moving against yours and the heat inside you is rising and her hands are everywhere and you can’t get enough of her and-

Her moans feel almost reverent, stretching out into the minimal space between you as she arches herself closer to you. Her skin is pressed against yours, warm and alive and feeling every last bit like an all-consuming force that you gladly pull closer. Your fingers slip inside her easily, the feeling of her bringing tears to your eyes. You want to live in this moment forever, with the taste of her on your lips and her thighs impossibly soft around you, her head thrown back as she chants your name like a prayer.

You’ve never believed in God. But in this moment, you finally know what it truly means to worship.

A man’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“Well, as lovely as it’s been to meet you…” Vision trails off, and Natasha simply raises an eyebrow.

“Thank you for the wonderful conversation,” Wanda’s smooth words cut in, another unspoken apology and excuse for her husband's behavior. “We should probably be leaving, it’s getting late.”

Green eyes glance at her husband, whether for permission or in reprimand, you can’t tell. Either way, it gets Vision to move, a firm head nod directed towards your wife before he’s striding towards the door, pulling Wanda with him.

She’s leaving. Again.

A final memory claws its way to the surface. You know this one. It's a memory that you’ve kept hidden in the deepest part of your brain, in a place full of sticky cobwebs and scarce lighting, meant to be forgotten.

It’s inevitable.

Wanda is almost at the exit, her husband's hand possessive against the small of her back. It speaks of ownership, of pride. You despise it. It’s nothing like the soft, loving touch of your wife’s hand against your waist.

The turn of a head and soft brunette waves falling gently around delicate, hunched shoulders. Soft skin, glowing slightly in the dim, red lighting of an exit sign. Green eyes, piercing yours in the same manner that they had all those years ago.

Your breath catches, lodging itself painfully in your throat. Or maybe it's just your chest, and what lies beneath the surface. A heart, with cracks all along the surface, squeezing painfully, the tension, the agony almost too much to bear.

A single tear slides down your cheek. You hear Natasha murmuring something in your ear, a gentle hand wiping your face dry.

There’s a mask sliding into place over those perfect features that you’d memorized a decade ago. Green eyes, light in shade, sliding past you as if you’re an insignificant, forgotten trophy on the highest shelf. And then she’s gone, out the door with only the faint scent of vanilla and a permanent memory etched into your mind.

The cracks splinter, and without warning, shatter completely.

“Pick up, pick up… please just… fucking. Ah, just, goddamnit pick up the fucking phone Wanda.”

You’re drunk, the phone feeling awkward and heavy in your hands. The sound of a dial tone beeping ricochets through your mind, and you clumsily jerk the phone away from your ear. Blearily, you take in the four previous calls you’ve made to Wanda.

One more try can’t hurt. Right?

You firmly press your finger against her name, the sound of your phone dialing her number washing over you. The tiny numbers in the corner of your screen read somewhere between one or two in the morning, but you don’t care. All you need is for Wanda to pick up.

A sound, different from before. You hear quiet breathing on the other side of the line.

God, you’ve missed that sound. The feeling of her head resting against your shoulder or chest as slow measured breaths fill the four walls of your dorm room. The small puffs of air hitting your skin when she shifted, burying her face in your neck.

You say as much, the words spilling out of you. You’re not sure if Wanda is listening, but you hope she is.

“Fuck, I- I just miss you so much. It feels like I’m dying every time I see you, and I can’t take your eyes avoiding mine anymore. I mean,” you hiccup, the sound pathetic even to your own ears. It doesn’t matter.

“Don’t you miss us?” you say, your voice quiet. The soft breaths on the other end of the line hitch, and you grasp at it. “I miss the flame of what we were, I don’t even really know what we were, but… I miss the small reign we had. Even if it was just in the space of my dorm room. I would go through the pain of you every day if it meant I could be close to you. I-”

You lose the words, the regret pouring through you as quickly as a flooding river. The words can’t escape fast enough.

“Do you regret us? I know we were a secret, and I was okay with that. I would have done anything, kept anything private, secret even, just to keep you in my life. You know that Wanda.” You draw a shaky breath. You hope that you don’t imagine the same type of breath on the other end of the line.

“Do you miss it?” You ask, hating the way your voice cracks gently. You hear Wanda’s sharp, soft inhale. “Do you regret the secret of us?”

Click.

---

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta @captivepotato

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moonchildstyles · 7 months ago

Note

rosemary for halloween?👀

wordcount: 4k+

—————

Harry frowned at his reflection.

While he loved (Y/N) more than anything, and would do anything for her, he wondered if he finally found limitations to that philosophy.

Because dressing up like a sailor just to match with her for a Halloween party was beginning to look like the line he needed to draw in the sand. The ascot was bad enough, he doubted the hat that was looming on the bed behind him was going to make this outfit any better.

The familiar sound of perfume being sprayed from the bathroom told Harry he didn't have much time left to fiddle with his costume before (Y/N) would appear to fawn over him and make him change his mind. In an impulse move, he attempted to tug off the ascot around his neck and hide it away in a pocket she could see.

All hope was lost just as (Y/N) emerged from the bathroom in a plume of sparkles and sea salt. Her hair was styled full of pearls and glimmering sea glass clips, matching the shifting blue and purple iridescent glitter spread across her eyelids. There weren't many places on her body that weren't imbued with a sparkling sheen, giving the effect of shimmering mermaid skin. Her top was little more than a decorated bralette cinched in a thick band around her ribs, emulating a pair of scallop shells studded with pearls and shards of sea glass. Her high waisted bottoms were a tight fit around her hips and thighs before fanning out after her knees, mimicking that of a mermaid's tail. The material was a swirl of pearly threads, shifting with pinks and purples, teals and bioluminescent greens. Her bag for the night—the purchase that inspired the costume—was a golden seashell.

Harry, distracted by the sight of the swathes of skin she had on display—a strip of her soft stomach, the slope of her neck and sparkling décolletage, her pretty, manicured hands—didn't catch the way her entire face lit up when she saw him.

"You look so cute, honey!" she bubbled, rushing towards him with her hands reaching out towards his collar.

(Y/N) preened over him, a bright smile on her glossy lips. The ascot he attempted to rip off was smoothed down, his shirt straightened, and the epaulettes on his shoulders patted down.

He wanted so badly to keep up the attitude he gained while looking in the mirror, but not a shred of it remained when she smiled at him like that.

"Y'like it?" he murmured, his own lips creeping into a short curl.

"I love it!" She beamed up at him with her hands going stationary on the planes of his chest. "I know you weren't sure about it, but I'm so happy we match. Thank you."

Moving on instinct, he lent down and pressed his lips to hers, uncaring about the glitter that would no doubt transfer to his own skin.

"'M happy we match too," he smiled against her skin, the tip of his nose knocking against her own, "I don't think anyone's going to be looking at me, anyway. Not when 'm standing next to you."

Her grin turned giddy, only widening when Harry encouraged her to twirl before him. "Do you like it?! I think I put on too much body glitter, but I can't go back now."

He shook his head. "'S perfect. Look like a real mermaid. Y'would have lured me right to the sea, no doubt."

She keened under his attention, canting her head with a flutter of her lashes. "I couldn't do that, though—I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"I'd learn how to breathe underwater, then," he answered simply. He would find any solution if it meant he could be with her.

Her answering laugh was enough to have him eager to wear any and every silly costume she wanted. This reaction was always going to be worth wearing an ascot and sailor's cap.

"You're sweet, H," she crooned, surging to her tiptoes to share another kiss. He chased after her when she pulled away, drawing one more kiss from her before she made a step away towards her closet. "Are you ready to go?"

Harry answered with a nod, hoping she didn't notice the hat missing from the top of his head.

"Perfect!" she chirped, "I need to put my shoes on, and then we can go!"

Just short of breathing a sigh of relief, Harry figured himself to be in the clear by the time she slinked into her closet.

Until, of course, she called out to him. "Oh, and don't forget your hat!"

He wanted so badly to frown, to groan and tell her he didn't want to wear the hat. But none of that came out. Only a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

There was a time in his life that he never thought he would have anyone that would want to spend these kinds of nights with him, let alone in a planned out matching outfit. Even if it felt a bit silly, there wasn't a single bone in his body that was going to say no to something like this.

"I won't, peach."

—————

Despite the sweat beginning to slick his palm, Harry didn't pull his hand out from (Y/N)'s.

While he was growing more used to the idea of large and loud crowds of people—especially crowds that knew him and made a point to say hello when he walked by—but there was still much more progress to be made in that department. Sabrina's Halloween party was one of his bigger trials, that was for sure. (Y/N) was his only anchor, her hold on his hand being the only thing that kept him from running through an obsessive cycle of spying all exits and attempting to scan each face around him for anyone suspicious.

Though, tonight, it was a bit hard to see from scanning the room, if only to get a view of all of the costumes and decorations around them. Sabrina's annual halloween party was something Harry had only recently learned about, but (Y/N)'s excited descriptions made the space as familiar to him as his own. As she promised, faux cobwebs were stretched across walls and stuffed in corners. Streamers and metallic fringe hung from doorways, the visages of classic horror tropes were scattered on the walls, including decals of blood spatters that Harry made a point not to look at for too long. Everything was orange and purple, black all throughout. Music played throughout the space, though it was decidedly softer than most of his experiences when it came to house parties.

Harry saw many familiar faces among the party goers, though more often than not they were disguised in costumes and altering makeup. There were plenty of Barbies, and angels, a few fairies and sexy iterations of mundane professions all throughout, being broken up by even more silly costumes. Video game and movie characters stuck out in iconic silhouettes. Many couples and friends were in matching costumes like the one he was in (though there weren't any other mermaids and sailors as far as he could see). More than a few lent into the season with spooky costumes, fake blood and weapons at their sides. Those were not Harry's favorite.

Especially not when he felt a little flush when he saw the liberal use of blood on some costumes.

There was no way Harry was going to be peeling himself away from (Y/N)'s side. Even if he was beginning to feel a little like a potted plant while he listened to her converse with her friends.

"But, you don't mind, right, H?"

Blinking back to earth, Harry saw (Y/N) looking up at him with an affectionate smile and a familiar face from his days of sitting in at the bakery looking at him expectantly. His mouth fell into a gape as he attempted to find the answer to a question he wasn't listening to.

"Um," he started, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, "Sorry, what?"

(Y/N) didn't look all that surprised to realize he hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation. "You like the costumes, right?"

"Oh, yeah." He automatically nodded, looking at (Y/N)'s friend. "They were her idea."

A laugh bubbled from the woman, a joke Harry hadn't heard before now coming into play. (Y/N)'s hand pulsed around his own, her smile bright as she gazed up at him.

"Next year, I'll have to see if he'll be the mermaid," (Y/N) laughed, her nose scrunching while her friend joined in.

In the back of his mind, Harry was sure he should have tuned back in when the chattering started up once more, but he just couldn't. Was there ever going to be a time when he wasn't completely enamored, just short of being brought to his knees, when she muttered something so innocent like plans for the future? Was that ever not going to steal his breath? The idea of having a future and stability and someone for the rest of his life?

(At least, he hoped (Y/N) would be with him for the rest of his life. He'd just have to scrounge up the courage to ask her one day).

Soon enough, (Y/N)'s friend bid a short goodbye, promising to see them around the party, before they were left to meander around.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom to look at my makeup, if you want to come," she said, looking up at him with a soft smile, "Unless you want to go get a drink or something."

He didn't have to think before he was shaking his head. "I'll go with you."

(Y/N) turned with that pretty smile on her face as she led him through the partygoers, taking a seemingly familiar route towards the restroom. Sabrina and others spotted (Y/N) as they passed, saying hello with glassy eyes and praising her costume in slurred comments. Every slowed step while she engaged in the short conversation, she never left him out, immediately pointing out that they went together.

Harry was sure a flush was beginning to creep up his neck by the time the third person stopped them.

Lucky for them, by the time they successfully reached the restroom, it was empty. Slipping inside, Harry shut the door behind them. It was a small bathroom, leaving little room between them while (Y/N) turned towards the mirror.

In the quiet of the restroom, Harry felt his lungs finally expand to capacity. It wasn't hard being at (Y/N)'s side while she was a social butterfly, but it was exhausting trying to remind himself everything was okay when there were so many people around them. He'd learn one day; his body would catch up one day. That's what (Y/N) told him, anyway.

"You doing okay?" she asked, catching his eye in the mirror while she scraped a rogue glitter away from the corner of her eye.

"Yeah," he muttered, nodding his head. "Jus'... a lot still, I think."

"I know. We don't have to stay too much longer, though. I just want to hang out with Sabrina a little bit, and then we'll be free."

"'S okay," he shook his head, his fingers a knot behind his back, "We don't have to leave until y'want. I'll be fine."

Abandoning the reflection, (Y/N) turned towards Harry with a cant to her head. Her features were made of soft lines and affectionate eyes. "It's no fun if you're not having a good time, H."

"I am, I am," he insisted, even if the deep breath he took in wasn't all that convincing. "Halloween is fun."

At this, she couldn't help but to let out a bubbling laugh. "Is it?" she teased, crossing the short space between them to wrap his middle in her arms. His body moved on instinct, draping his arms around her shoulders. "If you have to say it like that, I have a feeling it's not really true."

He could feel his expression loosening as he gazed down at her. If this were another life, and he were a sailor out on the sea, it would only take a glimpse of her between the waves to have him swimming out into the unknown. Though that was what he figured his real life was like anyway; she was the lighthouse that guided him to a new shore, away from everything he knew before. Now, here he was, at someone's home on Halloween night in a sailor's costume. And he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

"I jus' like being with you, peach," he admitted, "If you're happy, so am I."

"You're gonna make me cry," she laughed, eyes shimmering like her eyeshadow, "I really do want to go home soon, though. This outfit isn't as comfortable as I want it to be."

A pinch appeared between his brows. He knew the corset-like fit of her top was what she wanted, but he'd worried about how well she was going to be able to breathe. "Are you okay?" he asked, his hands beginning to frantically trace around her form.

"I'm okay, honey," she assured, leaning up to press a soft kiss to the point of his chin, "I think I'm just ready for some pajamas."

He could work with that. He could make sure they were safe and comfortable at home soon; if he was fast enough, he might even be able to throw her pj's into the dryer while she takes off her makeup, leaving them warm for her once she was ready.

"'M ready whenever y'are, peach."

This time, when she raised to the tips of her toes, she met his lips with her own. It was a short kiss, hidden away from the rest of the world, but still more than enough to draw his heart into pounding against his ribs.

This kiss was urging him to take back his earlier words. He should have told her he wanted to head home immediately.

—————

"Oh my god, did you put these in the dryer?"

Harry couldn't contain the smile stretching across his face when he heard (Y/N)'s shout from her bedroom. He didn't respond when he heard feet padding across the floor, coming right towards where he was tucked into the cushions of her sofa.

Still with her mermaid hair and makeup on, she now had on a light purple crewneck and teal blue sweats. She wanted to stay within the spirit of her costume for when children would inevitably knock on the door for candy, but Harry could see she was much more comfortable in her new clothes.

"Harry," she crooned, looking to him with softened features. Warm, pumpkin lighting filled her home, candlelight flickering over the glitter pasted to her skin.

"(Y/N)," he said, parroting her affectionate tone.

"You're so sweet, honey. Thank you." She crawled atop his lap as she spoke, fitting her knees on either side of his hips.

He moved instinctively, his hands landing on her waist while she looped her own around his neck. Looking up at her, Harry let a smile bloom over his lips, a warmth bubbling under his skin.

"Do y'feel better?" he asked, running his hands over the curve of her waist, "More comfortable?"

"Much," she affirmed, pursing her lips to dot a kiss on the bridge of his nose. The sparkle in her eyes rivaled that of the flecks sticking to her skin when she pulled away. "Thank you for coming with me tonight. It was more hectic than I thought, but it means a lot that you came anyway."

Harry's smile turned shy at her praise. It was still a very hard thing to hear these kinds of sentiments directed to him. The honey of (Y/N)'s voice made it just a touch easier to take, at least.

"I know 'm not very fun at these things, so thank you for staying with me." Shifting to bar his arms around her middle, Harry pulled her into a hug as he perched his cheek on her shoulder, nose skimming the column of her neck.

(Y/N) slid her fingers into the curling locks on the back of his head, threading through the waves in comforting trails. "It'll get easier, H. You're already doing so much better than you think."

A flickering silence settled over the room. "Thank you," he murmured into her neck, "I want to keep getting better. With you."

In that moment, Harry was brought back to a motel room. He was sitting on a much stiffer, mustier sofa with darker thoughts clouding his brain. But he still had (Y/N) in his arms, reassuring him that he could—and would—get better. That she was right there with him, would be right there as long as he needed her.

He held her tighter at the memory.

She didn't make any move to pull away, letting Harry get his fill of her before eventually peeling away to gaze up at her.

"You're still alright with me spending the night?" Despite posing the question, he didn't think he would have an easy time getting out of this spot even if she said no.

"Of course—who else is going to protect me on Halloween night?"

She spoke with a teasing smile, canting her head with a slight pout puffing her lips. This was one of those moments he had to remind himself that he wasn't occupying his previous life—this was nothing more than a joke, something flirty that (Y/N) said to draw an affectionate reaction out of him. There was nothing real, nothing coming to get her in the middle of the night.

A short smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I think I can manage that, peach."

She must have sensed the brief hesitation, causing her to push a soft kiss to the curled corner of his mouth.

"If you start some popcorn, I’ll pick a movie for us?" she offered.

He responded with a quiet nod, pulsing his hands on her waist before she climbed off of him. He left her on the couch as he started towards her kitchen, the ghost of her warmth clinging to his front. Keeping an ear out, he rooted through her cabinets in search of a packet of popcorn—a snack she seemingly always had on hand, though he hadn't caught her indulging in the kernels more than once in the last months.

A ring of the doorbell succeeded by muffled giggles had Harry's muscles bunching for a split second. It's Halloween, he reminded himself. Of course there were going to be people at the door, and (Y/N) wasn't going to hesitate with swinging it open.

Old habits die hard, even the ones that were already in the process of being buried.

Hurriedly shoving the packet into the microwave with numbers punched into the pad, Harry moved across the kitchen. Peeking around the threshold, he had a clear view of (Y/N) with a large bowl in one hand as she answered the door.

The giggling grew louder as she pulled open the door. From the angle she was standing before the threshold, he had a view of her smiling profile as she took in the little critters at her stoop. The children, flanked by parents standing a few feet away, all smiled brightly up at the mermaid before them.

"Trick or treat!"

"Wow, look at you guys!" (Y/N) cheered, balancing the candy bowl on her hip, "You look amazing! Such cute costumes!"

"I'm not cute, I'm a zombie," one of the children contradicted, a lisp in his voice.

(Y/N)'s smile only grew wider, before she fell into a shocked character. "Woah, you are really scary. I don't have any brains, will candy do?"

Harry was vaguely aware of the way the children cheered for her, the giggles and smiles filling the doorway as she handed out bundles of candy, but he only had eyes on the mermaid.

He doubted she even knew just how fearless she was. More than once, he'd heard her describe herself as shy, boring even. Never doing anything new, sticking to her routine. She had no idea what kind of effort Harry would have had to exert to do this simple task she did so easily.

She had no idea just how special she was in the most mundane ways. He would never run out of things to admire about her. He was sure.

Waving goodbye to the children and their parents, (Y/N) shut and locked the door behind her. It was then that she caught eyes right on her.

"They were cute, don't you think?" she chattered, unwitting of the fact that he could barely recount any of the details of any of the trick-or-treaters or their costumes.

"Yeah," he agreed anyway, a dreamy haze smoked around his voice, "Really cute."

Before she could offer a response, the microwave beeped. The fragrance of buttery popcorn scented through her home, drawing him away from the entryway. He made quick work of emptying the packet into a pastel pink bowl, rushing to head back to her side out on the sofa.

Curled up, legs under her bottom with a pumpkin-printed throw blanket across her lap, (Y/N) flicked through her chosen streaming service on her television. It wasn't until he was seated at her side, his peach lifting up the edge of the blanket to allow him to slide in next to her, that he saw what she was looking for.

True to the season, he was looking through a section of Halloween movies. Though, not quite the kind he was sure was playing in many other houses in the neighborhood.

"I know it's not really scary, but I was thinking Scooby-Doo might be fun to watch tonight," she muttered, looking through the various classic movies available for streaming. One Harry remembered watching as a child caught his eye.

Definitely a better option than the home invasion or slasher films he never really found the appeal of.

He moved to overlap her legs over his thighs, spreading her warmth across the side of his body. "That sounds better than anything scary."

Moving to pick through the popcorn bowl settled on his lap, Harry saw from the corner of his eye the way (Y/N) turned her attention to him.

Her eyes were impossibly soft, tracing over the planes of his face. She canted her head as she looked at him, just enough so that the light caught the glitter on her face. He wasn't sure what she saw when she looked at him like that, but whatever it was enough to draw her closer to his side.

"H—"

Before she could finish whatever it was that she was going to share, the doorbell rang. She hesitated before removing the blanket from her lap.

"I'll be right back," she murmured, "You pick.

A soft kiss was pressed to his cheek, just where his dimple devoted his skin.

Remote in hand, Harry absently scrolled through the title cards though he was listening instead to the giggling conversation happening at the door.

The sound of her voice soundtracked the beats of his heart. He heard the way she bubbled to these children, playing along to whatever tricks they pulled for the treats in question. He could still feel the press of her lips against his cheek, the warmth a point of clarity as he sunk into the amber-tinted moment that was his own life. Never would he have thought he would ever find himself in a place like this.

"I'm already starting to run out of candy," (Y/N) exclaimed as she made her way back to the couch, "I'm probably giving out too much, but I feel bad if I don't give out, like, handfuls."

(Y/N) slid back into her spot, as natural as breathing. Entirely fearless, always.

"You're so sweet, peach," he breathed, much too heavy an answer for something so simple.

Though it was entirely worth the smile she gifted him.

Harry wasn't sure if he was ever going to be a huge fan of Halloween, but he could see why others enjoyed it. Especially if these breezy nights went on like this.

—————

happy (late) halloween everyone! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own, please send them in!!

332 notes · View notes

tinyluvs · 5 months ago

Text

⁺‧₊˚ piercings 𖤐 swiss&phantom ˚₊‧⁺

❥ summary; swiss and phantom have fun with their piercings, that’s it, that’s the fic. based off of ꒰꒰ this ꒱꒱ post i made heheh ❥ warnings; piercings, dick&tongue, a very messy blowjob xo ❥ authors note; it appears i’ve forgotten how to write, sorry lol ❥ wc; 2.5k ₊˚⊹♡⁺‧₊˚𖤐 read on ao3; ˗ˏˋ ꒰꒰ here !! ꒱꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𖤐˚₊.⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

all swiss can do is watch in anticipation. he knows what phantom is going to do, swiss probably knows the smaller ghoul and his body better than he does and yet, all he can do is watch and wait

phantom doesn’t appear to be in any great rush though, his body shifts, getting comfortable on his knees while his hand travels up and down the length of swiss’ cock. he moves slow, his fist far too loose to really do anything, a lazy drawn out handjob that swiss doesn’t really mind, he’s just waiting for what comes next. unfortunately, he’s just a little impatient.

“show them to me,” swiss asks eventually, his voice low, scratchy and rough, the result of leaving his jaw hanging while he watched everything phantom was doing to him. phantom cocks an eyebrow, a tilt pulling his head to one side, “please,” swiss finishes, rolling his eyes

“is it really that hard for you to say please?,” phantom asks with a whine. he drops his hand from swiss’ cock, ignoring the way the bigger ghoul grunts, to cross his arms over his chest and sit back on his calves

before swiss can reply, something witty and full of cheek no doubt, he hears one of his favourite sounds. in theory, it’s not a great sound, a little metallic clink, clink, clink, as phantom knocks his piercings against the back of his teeth, but, it excites swiss to no end

over exaggerated and in true swiss fashion, swiss asks, “please,” long, gravelly and drawn out, bending slightly at the waist to hover right over phantom, “lemme see them,” and in true phantom fashion, he does, the thought of saying no to swiss never even crossing his mind once

he tilts his head back, giving it a little shake to clear his hair from hanging over his eyes, stares directly up at swiss and then, like something out of an adult film, he sticks his tongue out, exposing his piercings and swiss keens

“fuck bug,” swiss groans, reaching down to slide his fist over his cock just as a thick bead of pre bubbles from his tip. phantom blinks up at him, feigning innocence as he curls the tip of his tongue upwards, showing off the little spit shiny metal balls sat on either side of his tongue

phantom doesn’t really know how he got his snake eyes piercing, it was just there when he got summoned, a bar pressed horizontally through the tip of his tongue, a little stud on either side and almost immediately, swiss had gone feral for it. so, phantom never took it out

“lemme see yours,” phantom whispers, the metal in his mouth tapping against his fangs as he talks. he straightens his back and leans forward, sticking out his tongue just underneath the head of swiss’ cock to flick upwards against swiss’ piercing

swiss shudders as the movement wiggles the piercing through his cock. he has one silver ball nestled in his slit and the other sat against the underside of his cock. swiss wasn’t summoned with his piercing, didn’t actually have any when he got topside but he’s ended up with more than he can count on his own fingers

he threads his fingers through phantom’s messy hair, gripping hard enough to keep the smaller quint still as he presses his cock down over phantom’s mouth. slowly, swiss traces phantom’s lips with his cock, running the bottom ball from side to side over soft, wet skin

“fuck,” swiss breathes, dragging the word out while he watches pre dripping from his cock and over phantom’s mouth, mixing with the spit bubbling between his lips until it’s dripping slowly down his chin, “messy,”

phantom hums in agreement, the vibration rumbles down, and through, swiss’s cock violently, the action earns him a loud gasped moan from swiss. phantom flicks his tongue out quickly, licking up the mess he made, that’s dripping down swiss’ length to his heavy balls, until there’s no mess left

swiss pants unevenly, once again stuck watching as phantom teases him, his tongue swirling around and around the head of his cock and on every pass against the underneath, phantom wiggles his tongue over the metal

there’s not really any way for swiss to describe what it feels like, a metal bar through his tip being forcefully nudged from side to side should feel weird, painful even, but to swiss, it just feels good, too good. phantom could, and has, managed to make swiss squirt just from doing this but swiss isn’t going to allow him to do it this time, he has other plans

“stick your fuckin’ tongue out,” he grunts, pulling his hips back to move his cock away from phantom’s mouth. a movement that’s supposed to urge phantom to do as he’s told quicker, definitely not solely because swiss will spill embarrassingly fast if phantom continues his teasing

“say please,” phantom lilts playfully, licking slowly over his bottom lip so swiss can still see his piercing but doesn’t yet have any chance of touching it, so close, yet so far away

he’s not really sure what he was expecting to happen but swiss pulling his hair hard, yanking his head all the way back maybe wasn’t it, “please,” swiss growls, chest rumbling with the noise and just to drive his point home, he smacks the head of his cock against phantom’s parted lips

in any other circumstance phantom would tease him further, tell him to say the whole sentence again, to ask him properly but swiss doesn’t appear to be in the mood for his teasing right now, so, phantom just lets his tongue loll out of his mouth

“good boy,” swiss hisses, partly sarcastically, his head twitching to the side just barely as he says it. phantom nods though, no doubt in his pretty little head that he is in fact, a good boy. swiss won’t argue with him either, not yet anyway

phantom’s eyes flicker from swiss’ face, downwards. the multi ghouls hips stutter forwards, his cock rubbing just right over phantom’s tongue. a gentle stream of moans spills from swiss, his head tipping back slightly as he finds a rhythm

except, he doesn’t fall into one. phantom goes a little cross eyed, trying to focus on swiss’ cock sliding over his tongue. uneven little humps of swiss’ hips barely create any movement, swiss’ tip staying right over the end of phantom’s tongue, right over his piercing

“y-you know i ca-, fuh-fuck, feel it, right?” swiss stutters through a moan. he presses his cock down further onto phantom’s tongue and then, it clicks in phantom’s mind. swiss is rubbing right over the bar that runs horizontally through his tongue and oh, oh, no he didn’t know that

it’s never even occurred to phantom that swiss can feel it, he can feel it when he accidentally bites his tongue but knowing others can feel it, that, opens up a whole new load of ways for phantom to tease

“you can?” phantom asks, slurred and garbled by swiss’ cock still laying heavy on his tongue, but he’s not really looking for a reply. as swiss opens his mouth to answer, moan out that he can feel it, phantom moves quickly.

phantom dips down and forwards slightly, pressing the tip of his tongue, where the bar is, right into the base of swiss’ cock before quickly dragging it upwards until the bar is catching underneath swiss’ fat head

swiss howls, nothing intelligible, and the sound makes phantoms own hips jerk forwards, chasing any sort of stimulation he can get to his own stiff cock. his hand ghosts over the front of his pants, not enough to really give him any pleasure but enough to calm the ache

“t-there, right fuckin’ there,” swiss grunts, gripping a handful of phantom’s hair, the burn against the smaller ghouls scalp should hurt, instead, it makes his cock leak profusely, soaking a large wet spot into the front of his pants

as swiss rocks his hips, keeping the bar pushed right up under the head of his cock, phantom does his best to press his tongue up, pushing hard until the bar is biting against swiss’ sensitive skin

for a little while phantom just becomes a toy, simply there for swiss to use to get himself off while the multi ghoul pours copious amounts of pre and slick down his throat, coating the inside and making it feel thick and heavy

spit and drool drip from phantom’s outstretched tongue, long strings of it snapping and splashing onto his thighs and the floor underneath him, a messy state of affairs all around it seems but phantom sits sweet through it all, just letting swiss take and take and take, until it’s suddenly not enough

“suck,” he orders, pressing his hips forward until his cock is sliding past phantom’s lips and into his mouth, not giving the smaller ghoul a chance to ask him to say please but, phantom frowns and refuses to close his lips around his length until he does, “please,”

the second swiss hisses the word, phantom closes in around him, the warmth and wetness of his mouth enveloping around swiss so nicely, all he can do is groan, the sound vibrating off of the walls around them with how loud he does it

phantom pulls back until just swiss’ tip is sat between his lips and as he looks up at swiss, all wide eyed and cute, he slowly traces his tongue over swiss’ slit and furthermore, the piercing ball sat against it

the metal waggles from side to side as he does it, tasting entirely of swiss’ thick pre and phantom groans as it slips down his already coated throat. swiss groans in unison, the feeling of it all making his cock throb until his hips are shoving forwards accidentally

as swiss’ cock pushes all the way into phantom’s mouth, phantom gags a little, the sudden bump to the back of his throat surprising him. his hands shoot to swiss’ thick thighs, blunt nails digging into solid muscles too hard, he’ll look for bruises later

“sorry, f-fuck, sorry bug,” swiss pants but makes no attempt to withdraw his cock, the feeling of phantom’s throat tightening around the head of his cock, in a gag, makes his balls draw up

tears collect along phantom’s lash line, threatening to spill down his cheeks at any moment but he also doesn’t make any move to retreat. instead, he takes a second to breathe through his nose, nestled right against the soft thatch of hair at the base of swiss’ cock, and then starts to bob gently

swiss’ piercing rubs against the back of his throat, the metal slightly colder than his cock, a stark contrast to everything phantom is feeling and somehow, someway, it feels right

“lucifer, ‘m so close,” swiss grits out between clenched fangs, willing himself to look down at phantom and oh, he’s a sight to behold. fat tears slip down his face, his loose curls fall in front of his eyes and his cheeks are dusted red, he looks gorgeous, and completely ruined, in swiss’ opinion

a soft whimper bubbles out of phantom’s throat, being stuck under swiss’ gaze forces that reaction out of him often and swiss loves it, loves knowing the effects he has on the smaller ghoul, “pretty little bug,” swiss purrs, warm and smooth like honey, phantom nearly chokes

so, he decides to get his own back. he pulls air into his lungs until they expand and burn and then pushes his tongue out between his bottom lip and the base of swiss’ cock

he laves at the soft skin at the top of swiss’ sack and over the pulsing vein at the bottom of his cock all at once. swiss hisses as the metal through phantom’s tongue drags over his skin, also slightly too cold, chilled from the cool air surrounding them

there’s a wet, slick, garbled sound as phantom works his tongue, and piercing, against swiss, pushing the bar as far into swiss’ skin as he possibly can, all while trying his hardest not to choke from the intrusion in his throat

“oh, oh, shi-fuck,” swiss rambles as his fingers twist further into phantom’s hair, holding him still and close, needing the smaller ghoul to make him spill, just like this, “s-so close,”

swiss’ entire cock twitches in phantom’s mouth, almost bouncing off of the inside of his hollowed cheeks. phantom hums, whimpers, swiss doesn’t really know but he knows phantom is urging him on, sending him hurtling towards his orgasm at a speed that feels very unnatural

the breath in phantom’s lungs starts to run out all too fast. his eyes pinch shut, forcing fresh tears down his cheeks. his fingers dig deep into swiss’ thighs, though the multi ghoul barely feels the slight amount of pain, the euphoria coursing through his body outweighs all of it

phantom slips his tongue, a little too fast, from side to side, nestled right between swiss’ drawn up balls, bumping them from side to side and it should hurt, or ache at least, with how sensitive they are. but, it forces swiss over the edge before he even knew he was falling

“oh, f-f-fuck,” swiss shouts, his thighs quivering underneath phantom’s hands. he tugs hard on phantom’s hair, dragging him all the way off of his length

as it turns out, phantom is a good boy. before he even tries to suck in a breath, fill his lungs with what they need, he sits back and sticks his tongue straight out. his eyes still stream with tears as swiss jerks himself off, once, twice and three times before his cock kicks and he spills

thick beads of cum erupt from swiss’ tip, bubbling out around the metal ball in his slit. hot strings drip from his cock onto phantom’s tongue, pooling in the centre of it and while phantom does his best to keep all of it, wave after wave of cum splashes from swiss’ cock and some of it gets lost, slipping off of his tongue and down his bare chest

“oh my-” swiss trails off into a deep growl when his cock stops spitting and phantom finally pulls his tongue into his mouth to swallow, swiss barely getting a glimpse of the piercings covered in his cum before he’s dragging phantom upwards, “s’fucking good,”

phantom whines as swiss backs him up against the wall behind him and no sooner has he gasped at his body hitting the solid foundation, swiss is kissing him. there’s nothing gentle or smooth about it though, just a harsh collision of fangs as swiss devours him

desperately, phantom presses his tongue through his lips to swipe quickly against swiss’, still coated with a thin, filthy, layer of swiss’ cum, making the multi ghoul groan into the kiss

swiss shoves his hips forwards against phantom’s, pressing the quint’s painfully hard cock against his hip. phantom gasps and his head rolls back, bumping against the wall, “i’m hard, swiss, m’so hard,” he rambles, sniffling through his tears, “help,”

and well, swiss is about to shove his hand into phantom’s pants anyway, stroke his cock until he spills over his fist but before he does, “say please, bug,”

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! & comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah! send prompts to my ask box!

𖤐 ghouls masterlist

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xx-dinah-writing-xx · 3 months ago

Note

And if it wasn’t mentioned because I might have forgotten but Matt Smith with his Mohawk.

Thanks! ☺️

Bruv

Matt Smith x reader Fluff

A/N: I have no idea what the whole accent thing was supposed to be, but it kinda happened and I just went with it.

————

You were not prepared for this.

Matt had already shocked you with the red Mohawk, but seeing him in full glam was a whole new level of absurdity.

He strutted into the room like he owned the place—combat boots thudding against the floor, ripped plaid pants hanging low on his hips, a distressed band tee barely visible beneath a leather jacket covered in studs and chains. His fingers were adorned with thick silver rings, and the worst part? Smudged black eyeliner lined his eyes, making his already sharp features look even more intense.

He looked ridiculous.

And annoyingly hot.

Matt struck a dramatic pose, throwing his hands out to the side. “Well? What d’you think, darling?” His voice dropped into a rough, exaggerated accent. “It’s for the role.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh. “Oh my God. You look like you just crawled out of a dingy underground club where they only serve beer in dirty glasses.”

Matt gasped, clutching his chest. “Oi, rude. I’ll have you know, I’m the face of the movement. A proper rock ‘n’ roll legend in the makin’.”

You snorted. “Matty, you look like you’re about to yell at someone for listening to pop music.”

He grinned. “Exactly the vibe.”

You eyed his outfit, then his ridiculously spiked Mohawk. “I need to try this on.”

He smirked. “Oh, absolutely.”

—

A few minutes later, you stood in front of the mirror, drowning in his oversized leather jacket. The sleeves were way too long, and the studs dug uncomfortably into your shoulders. The ripped band tee hung loosely over your frame, and Matt had even handed you one of his silver rings to wear.

You turned to him, adjusting the jacket. “Alright, how do I look?”

Matt tilted his head, rubbing his chin in mock thought. “Like a groupie who snuck backstage and stole my clothes.”

You laughed, then tried to copy his accent. “It’s for the role, innit?”

Matt’s head threw back in laughter. “That was atrocious.”

You straightened your shoulders, crossing your arms. “Oi, don’t mess wif me, bruv.”

He wheezed. “Bruv?!”

You pointed at him. “Don’t start no trouble, yeah? I ain’t got time for posh little lads like you.”

Matt was practically crying. “You sound like someone who got kicked out of a pub for fightin’ over a chip.”

You dramatically flipped the collar of the jacket. “That’s punk, Matty.”

He grinned, stepping closer. “Y’know, I am missin’ one thing in this look.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

His hands settled on your waist. “A proper punk girlfriend.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t think I’d survive in your world. Too many questionable substances.”

Matt laughed. “Fair point.”

Then, your gaze landed on his ridiculous Mohawk. A wicked idea formed.

“…Can I braid it?”

His eyes widened. “What?”

You grinned, already reaching up. “Come on. Let me style it.”

He groaned, but let you push him onto the couch. “This is against the rules of punk.”

“Shut up, rockstar,” you muttered, carefully threading his spiked hair into small, intricate braids. It was tricky—half the strands were too stiff from whatever product they had used—but you made it work.

Matt sighed dramatically. “This is humiliating.”

You kissed the top of his head. “It’s for the role, love.”

#fem reader #reader #yn #fluff #matt smith #matt smith x reader #matt smith x yn #matt smith imagine #matt smith x female reader #matt smith one shot #daemon targeryen x reader

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fox-guardian · 1 year ago

Text

[ID: A digital sketchpage of Colin Becher from The Magnus Protocol on a gray background. He is a thin white man with a receding hairline and a blonde mullet that is very long in the back, tied into a low ponytail. He also has a mustache, patchy facial hair, body hair, and blue eyes. In four out of five sketches, Colin is wearing silver stud earrings, rectangular glasses with yellow lenses, a yellow t-shirt under a light blue button down, a light brown zip-up hoodie, blue jeans with brown knee patches, blue and white striped socks, brown sneakers, and bracelets including a braided one with pink and burgundy threads. On the right, there's a shoulder-up sketch of Colin with his body facing to the side while he turns his head to the viewer, looking angry. Below that is a far less detailed doodle of him on all fours like some kind of creature. On the far left is a shoulders-up sketch of him leaning against his hand looking tired with one eyebrow raised. Below that is a drawing of him facing away from the viewer on all fours looking under something with a little dark smudge above him denoting annoyance. In the middle is a full-body drawing of him posed as though sitting with one leg bent as he holds a game controller. He is wearing his glasses and earrings, as well as a white crop top that says "slut.exe" in blue text, yellow underwear, and blue and white thigh-high socks. He looks focused but also relatively relaxed. end ID]

~~~~

normal about that IT manager

and yes whenever i draw him with striped socks i need you all to know that they're the programmer socks. alice gave them to him mostly as a joke but he actually loves them and that's one reason they're buds in my mind

#fg's art #the magnus protocol #tmagp #colin becher #cursing #i need to make like. a reference page for him #for all of them honestly #mostly because i just wanna draw them all more in more detail. figure out their shapes and angles and little details #less for actual reference and more like the visual equivalent of those posts talking about little things to develop an oc #but its all stuff that most likely would never come up in a piece of writing about the character #like do i really need a detailed reference of all of colin's hand callouses? probably not but it's fun to do anyway

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hannie-dul-set · 1 year ago

Text

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE [3].

SYNOPSIS. the saying “never meet your idols” exists for a reason. you just didn’t expect the reason to be because said idols would end up declaring that you’re their alleged lover from a past life (past lives, rather). now you have three big celebrities vying for your attention, and it’s not as dreamlike as you imagined it to be.

PAIRINGS. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRES. reincarnation! au, celebrity! au (soloist! yeonjun, actor! soobin, rock band member! beomgyu), slight college! au, slight historical! au, rom-com, angst, reverse harem woohoo. WARNINGS. swearing, talks about stalking, talks about death, data privacy violations, so much emotional whiplash yummy, a very long conversation, google dependent historical information. WORD COUNT. 6.3k.

NOTE. this chapter finally made its way out hell 😭😭😭 per usual, please let me know your thoughts on the chapter! a single comment on ao3 inspired me to finish this, so ur feedback really means a lot! enjoy<3

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 3 — can we go back to being parasocial?

IF SOMEONE HEARS YOUR SUMMARY OF THE EVENTS THAT UNFOLDED WITHIN THE PAST FEW DAYS, they may accuse you of lying. Delusional, even. You’d think the same had you not been the center of it all— yet the proof is in your pockets. Your phone. In the album Choi Yeonjun failed to sign, stuffed inside your bag at the last minute before you left your apartment earlier.

The summary. Right. Yes.

“Can they stop sharing that video of Yeonjun excessively flirting with a fan?! I’m going to kill myself if I see it one more time.”

You were lucky enough to nab a fansign slot. But instead of getting Choi Yeonjun’s signature, you ended up getting a kiss of a hand instead, along with a scrawl of numbers on your album that you’re far too terrified to try to dial.

“Hey, send me our photo with Soobin the other day,” nudges Huening from beside you. “I’m gonna print it out and put it in a locket and use it as a family heirloom.”

You bumped into one of your favorite actors, Choi Soobin, in the middle of a late night convenience store run with your friends to fuel your group all nighter, stained his shirt with your ice cream, and got a photo with him in the process.

“By the way, have you called the business card yet? What are you gonna do with your broken phone screen?”

And Choi Beomgyu may or may not have professed his undying love for you, asked for your hand in marriage, and started crying in front of you in less than ten fucking minutes.

“She’s zoned out.”

The problem is, you can’t even bask in the delightful absurdity of it all because one common thread from all those three separate instances has been keeping you up for nights. It’s clawing at your brain, lingering in the back of your mind like an incessant stalker— which, mind you, is not a pleasant feeling when the very causes of such disturbance were once the bringers of joy and all things good in your otherwise meaningless life as a cog in the capitalist machinery that is society.

“Hello? Are you awake?”

Said problem being the fact that you’re pretty sure they all called you by your name at one point.

How the fuck do they know your name?

“I deleted Twitter. I Airdropped it to you. No, I have not called it yet. Now please let me think in peace.”

Crazy. This is all too crazy. In the first place, what are the odds that you bump into three celebrities within one week’s time? Is this some sort of prank, or something? Are those three filming a hidden camera show together? No, no. That couldn’t be because there’s no fucking way a company is sane enough to stage a risky hidden camera prank during a fansign knowing full well how obsessive and insane fans can get. You’re lucky your face wasn’t caught in any of the videos circulating online— video of you and Choi Yeonjun, mostly him, acting out a fucking sageuk. You’re lucky you haven’t been doxxed yet.

“Finish your sandwich,” Taehyun clicks his tongue, nudging your food closer to you, and you sigh heavily. Maybe you’re just wrong, you think, taking a bite from the bread. Maybe this is just a misunderstanding. Maybe you’re just overthinking.

You eat your lunch and steal some wet wipes from Gaeul in between. Right. It’s not like you’re ever gonna bump into them again. You live in, as cliche as it sounds, two different worlds after all. You’re just gonna watch their dramas, listen to their music, enjoy their performances, and that’s it that’s it that’s it.

“Prof Jang sent a message. Class is canceled.”

But still—

“Woohoo! Let’s go to the new dessert shop that opened downtown.”

Choi Beomgyu’s voice saying I love you, Choi Soobin’s cologne wafting in the air you were breathing in, and Choi Yeonjun’s lips pressed against your skin.

How can a sane person just forget about all of that?!

“Why do you look like you’re fantasizing about perverted shit?” Woohyun slaps you in the face with a reality check. This is fucking stupid.

“I’m not fantasizing,” you grunt, because they were events that actually fucking happened— they weren’t birthed from your brain’s insanity. “Anyway, dessert? Where is it?” You ignore your burning face, hoping that your friends decide to ignore it too, but Gaeul has her eyes narrowed at you. Crap. She didn’t recognize that it’s you in the videos right? Holy fucking hell, you’d rather die.

“Aren’t you gonna answer that?”

Oh. Well. That’s— that’s something. A good something because she hasn’t suspected you yet, moitioning instead to your cracked phone that has been buzzing under your notice because you’ve been thinking way too fucking much.

You check the caller ID, but it’s an unknown number, and it doesn’t match the business card you got from your run in with the alleged Choi Beomgyu. “Hello?” you answer, and a voice you don’t recognize says your name and asks if it’s you. “Yes, this is her. Who’s this?”

Another item added to the weird as fuck things that happened to your this week. You excuse yourself from your friends, and with knitted brows, you listen to the stranger at the other end of the line. “You met Choi Soobin the other day at a 7-Eleven in Gangnam, right?” The fuck? Did someone see you that day? Is this a stalker? “This is his manager. Lee Byeongho. I would like to speak with you regarding a certain matter.”

Now, hold the fucking phone.

“Is everything alright?”

You respond to Huening’s concern with a stiff smile before turning away from them. “Did I do something wrong?” you fuss into the call. “I didn’t post any of the photos from that day. I never talked about it online either, and I’m pretty sure my friends haven’t either. Wait. Wait a minute. How did you get my number?”

“Yes, it was difficult to obtain knowing only your first name and university.” That doesn’t answer your question. That just gave you more questions. “But, no. You aren’t in trouble. Actually...I called because you’re the only one who can help us— help Soobin— get out of trouble.”

Your face scrunches up.

“I’m at your campus right now. Parking lot. Do you mind meeting me for a moment?”

Just what did you get yourself into?

“You haven’t finished your food. Where are you going?”

“Somewhere,” you reply, quickly snatching your half-eaten sandwich from the table as your friends follow your swift movements with matching looks of confusion. “I’ll be right back. It’s nothing, don’t worry.” However, you are quite worried. You’re pretty sure Lee Manager, or whatever, is committing some data privacy crimes against you, but the one thing you want at the moment is answers. Your brain is about to explode from all the fucking questions and confusion. There’s a sliver of hope that meeting up with this sketchy guy can answer a few of them. You’d take that chance to air out your head.

There’s a black van in the parking lot. It’s the first thing you noticed because one of its doors are open, and there’s a familiar looking guy waiting just in front of the exposed seats.

He notices you approaching. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says. What’s with men you’re meeting for the first time treating you with familiarity? You’re going to rip your hair out and throw yourself into moving traffic.

“Sure, but can you get to the point?” you stiffly say. “I’m a little busy. I still have classes in a bit.”

“Of course, I’m sorry. This whole situation must’ve come off as a shock to you.” Great, now you’re feeling bad. Soobin’s manager (allegedly) looks like he’s been through a whole lot as well. “Anyway. You are a fan of Choi Soobin, correct?”

“Well,” you blink. “Yes.”

“How about the dramas Kang Jaehee has written and directed?” he follows up. “Are you a fan of those as well?”

Your brows furrow. “I guess?” Peach Tree. That Summer. Mogi. Those are the titles that come right at the top of your head. “What does that have to do anything with me?” Manager Lee spares you a look of pity. You feel like this meet-up is just set out to making you even more fucking confused.

“I sincerely apologize. I didn’t want to drag you into this either, but I’m afraid you’re the only option I have,” says Manager Lee despondently. “Since...since you are a fan of Soobin, and I assume that means you also care about his career, so—”

He pauses. Like he’s practicing the next set of words he’s about to say inside his head.

“—do you mind meeting up with him to convince him to take the lead role for Kang Jaehee’s upcoming drama?”

But nothing could’ve prepared you for that.

What.

What the fuck?

“Mr Manager. Sir,” you start, appalled beyond comprehension. “I’d appreciate it if you start making a bit more sense.”

“Trust me, I can’t believe I’m doing this either.”

You’re speechless. Your mouth is hanging open with no words coming out because, again, what the fuck? Manager Lee looks just as defeated as you, as if he weren’t the one who had just presented that ridiculous proposal. You are, quite frankly, at a discernible loss.

Manager Lee lets out a sigh and digs a hand into his pocket. “I’m afraid this is all the time I have today. But please contact me once you’ve made a decision.” Another business card acquired. This is just dandy. “I am really hoping for your cooperation, miss. I’m sure you’re aware of Soobin’s inactivity lately, and my intention of approaching you today is simply in order to help my star’s career. Please consider the favor positively, and we will compensate you as much as my authority can allow.”

With that, you’re left with another laminated piece of paper in your hands. Gosh. This is a headache. When you get back to your friends, they notice the distress you’re in, further justifying a visit to the new dessert store, and seeing how your soul has completely left your body, you’re dragged along with them with ease.

“Hey, pick one. My treat,” says Woohyun. You let out a grunt and point at a random pastry on display. Next thing you know, you’re seated in between Huening and Gaeul at the store you don’t even know the name of.

Huening is force feeding you an eclair. “Eat.” Your scowl disappears when you allow the eclair entry into your mouth. “Seriously, what’s going on with you? Who did you meet earlier?”

Seeing as you show absolutely no intentions of telling them, they refuse to question you about it further. Good on them, because there’s no way in hell you’re spilling your predicament. Not until you find out exactly what kind of situation you’re in, at the very least. The two business cards feel like they’re weighing your pockets down, a constant reminder of their existence along with the scrawl Yeonjun left behind.

“I know exactly how to make you feel better.”

The declaration comes from Gaeul, who slides her phone over to you, and when you look down to see what exactly her miracle medicine is to make you feel less manic, you hack out a cough upon seeing Choi Yeonjun’s face on her phone screen. “The hell is wrong with you?” asks Taehyun from across, giving you some water to push down the eclair lodged in your throat. “I know you like him, but even that is an overreaction.”

Jesus, you’re close to losing it. When you’ve avoided choking to death, Gaeul puts an airpod into your ear, and you hear Yeonjun reading out some comments. “Choi Yeonjun, you look really happy lately, did something good happen? someone asked,” he says while having snacks of his own. “First of all, why are you calling me Choi Yeonjun? It’s like you’re putting a wall between us. I don’t like it.”

Gaeul makes a noise of some sort and had you not been subjected to this week’s insanities, you might have reacted the same way too. Instead, you simply listen to his live in caution, feigning disinterest as you watch him nibble on some pretzels and churros through the screen, continuing to answer the slew of questions in the comments.

“Anyway, you’re right! Something good did happen.” Yeonjun hums while picking out a pretzel from the paper bag, rustling noise and a lively tune filling the audio for a moment— a short moment, right before he continues speaking. “That’s because I finally met the love of my life.”

Taehyun has to give you his water again.

“Oh? Oho, what’s with the exclamation points?” he laughs. “Did I meet them the other day? Hmm...that’s a secret. You’re curious? You think it might be you? Well, let’s see. Should I describe her?”

“God, he’s so fucking messy,” says Gaeul from beside you. “This is why I like him. How many calls is he getting for his manager and company this time?”

“What’s going on? Why is she so startled?”

“Yeonjun’s talking about his apparent soulmate, I don’t know. Wanna listen?”

“Didn’t he get in trouble for doing the same thing last time too?”

Now, you’re not one to give a shit about his love life, and you like to stay out of that side of celebrity gossip as much as you can, but Choi Yeonjun himself is droning on about the love of his life right now. You can’t not hear about it even if you want to. However, as much as you want to let things come into one ear and out through the other, you can’t. Because— wait. Wait. His description is eerily familiar. His description is making you double take and second guess what you’re fucking hearing.

“Sounds a lot like you,” Taehyun remarks without much thought, right after Choi Yeonjun says that the girl he likes has a bit of an attitude, but he likes that about her.

Huening lets out a snort. “Yeah, that’s definitely you. Why don’t you go in a wedding dress the next time you attend a fansign? Who knows, you might have a shot.”

You snap them a dirty look. Fuck. This is making your head spin. For the second time, Choi Yeonjun’s tendency of putting himself into headlines and the trending searches for doing something insane is giving you nothing but stress.

“I did give her my number, but she hasn’t messaged me yet, so I’m quite hurt.”

Number. Hold on a fucking second.

“The comments are going crazy.”

You grab your bag from underneath you, dropping it down to your lap.

“Hey, if you’re watching this, pl—eeeeease contact me. Kim Noona thinks I have a phone addiction now because I’ve been dying waiting for your call.”

You quickly get up from your seat.

“Yo, where are you going this time?”

“I need a minute,” you announce, eyes scanning the store for a quiet place alone while hugging your bag to your chest. There’s nowhere. Looks like you have to get out.

“Damn, we were just joking. As if you have a chance with a celebrity like him.”

Huening’s joke is ignored and you quickly leave outside the doors, making a sharp turn around the corner, slipping through the passersby downtown until you find an empty alley. Your heart is racing. Your heart is racing like crazy and you may be reaching right now. You may be acting crazy, but what Choi Beomgyu said during the interview with Yeong-Il the other day is echoing in your mind, and— in conjunction with everything else that had happened— you’re starting to think that maybe he wasn’t joking.

Your cracked phone screen greets you when you take it out of your pocket. On your other hand is the first business card you got this week.

“Who’s this?”

“Hello. Good day.” You tell them your name, the events that led up to you receiving this number, with the hope that maybe you’re finally on to something. “I’d like to talk about the compensation for my broken phone.”

Whatever that something is, you’re gonna get to the bottom of it.

It’s already beyond closing time at Kwiyeomdongmoim Cafe (a mouthful, you know), yet your pink apron is still neatly tied around your waist as you pace back and forth, to and fro, in circles inside the breakroom. The time is half-past nine in the evening. You should’ve clocked out thirty minutes ago, but you’re still waiting.

The knock on the door signified the end of your wait. You turn to see your boss’s head popping in through the half-open crack.

“Three guys are waiting for you,” informs Seokmin. “They all seem handsome. Are they your suitors?”

When you ditched your friends at the still unnamed dessert store the other day, you did it to make a few calls. Three, to be exact. Today is the culmination of those calls, which is why you’ve been erratically nervous the entire freaking day. Choi Soobin, Choi Beomyu, and Choi Yeonjun’s managers all answered respectively when you called all the sketchy numbers you got and made some negotiations (apparently, the mess on your album is Yeonjun’s number, but he got his phone confiscated after that livestream).

“As if,” you say, walking up to the door leading back into the cafe. Suitors, more like stalkers. Fans stalking their idols is common, but the other way around is a pretty fresh idea. “Anyway, thanks, Kyeom. Thank you for letting me use the store for a while.” Because this is the only private place you can think of outside of your own home— and there’s no way in hell you’re letting them in there when you don’t even know how they managed to get hold of your personal information.

“We’re closed anyway.” Seokmin smiles and makes way for you to pass by. “Go ahead and do your thing. Do you want me to stay inside or keep watch?”

“You can stay inside, it’s alright.”

He nods. “Call me when you’re done. Scream if you need backup. I can handle all of them.”

You laugh and thank him once more, a pat on his arm before you decide to peek out the door first as a precautionary measure. From your spot, you can see three thoroughly covered men in windbreakers, caps, and masks sitting on three separate tables in the store. The blinds have already been rolled down, so you can’t see anything outside, but there doesn’t appear to be any cameras around, so you take it as a safe sign to finally leave your hiding spot.

The moment you do, the break room door creaks, and all three pairs of eyes immediately fall on you.

They stand up. They call out your name in unison.

Holy shit.

And when they do, they all look at each other with a sudden flash of hostility in the air.

Um. Well. How are you supposed to do this? “H—hello,” you manage to squeak out, prompting their attention once more. Soobin takes off his cap and removes his mask, the other two following suit, and oh my god. Oh my god. You suck in a deep breath. Today, you are not a fan. You are an interrogator. This is not a fansign. This is an interrogation.

“I— uh, I asked your managers if I can meet you all to—today for a specific reason.” Wow. Good job. Your hands are shaking and you can’t look up from the floor or else you’d start losing your mind. “But—but, before that— would...would you like some drinks…?”

Interrogation paused. You need to get your shit together first.

“Please enjoy.”

With the help of your boss (because your hands wouldn’t stop shaking and you dropped the first one you made), you managed to whip up four iced teas and settle all three of them into one table at the very back of the store. You send a stiff smile at Seokmin after he placed all the drinks on the table.

God, you owe him so much— especially when he’s being unreasonably glared at by the three men sitting with you right now. Choi Beomgyu to your left, Choi Soobin to your right, Choi Yeonjun directly across from you and holy fuck, you have yet to look at them properly yet for your own safety. They haven’t been talking to each other either, simply sitting and waiting for you to speak. You’re pretty sure they know each other though, at least by name, being in the same industry and all.

To say that the tension in the air is suffocation would be an understatement. How...how do you start this? The fuck should you say first?

“You know, I was really happy when Kim Noona told me you called.”

Apparently you don’t have to start it. Choi Yeonjun does it for you.

“But why are these two crashing our date?”

And that’s when things also start to get messy.

“Date?” Choi Soobin interjects. He sounds offended. Why does he sound offended. “What are you talking about?”

Choi Yeonjun doesn’t get a chance to make his case. Because Choi Beomgyu from your left suddenly snatches one of your hands from the table, prompting you to look at one of them for the first time tonight, and your eyes fly wide open. “I’d...like to apologize for the other day. I was just overtaken by my emotions. I hope you weren’t too freaked out.”

You are quite freaked out because holy shit, this is too much maybe. Not maybe. Yes. This is too much. Too. Much.“Hey, why are you holding her hand?!” you hear Choi Soobin exclaim from your other side. Choi Beomgyu’s soft expression suddenly disappears into a glare and a sneer the moment he shifts his gaze.

“You’re holding her hand too!”

“Why can’t I?!”

“Hey, this isn’t fair! One of you switch with me—”

Dizzy. You’re feeling dizzy. Your head is spinning and you’re suffocating from the heat emanating from your very face. Whatever they’re arguing about isn’t even reaching your ears anymore. You’re getting lightheaded and your sweaty hands start slipping out from the two’s weirdly tender hold on your hands because your body is physically breaking down.

“Shut up! Oh my god, my head—”

Your vision actually starts spinning for a second so you quickly bring the bottom of your palms to your temples, elbows on the table to balance yourself, only to be wobbled and shaken because the three suddenly jolted off their seats in panic.

“Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, just please—for the love of god— sit down and shut up.”

They sit down and shut up. You massage your temples in silence. You remove your hands from your face and, after sucking in a deep breath and releasing it thereafter, feel your heartbeat settling into a normal rate. As normal as it can get in this situation.

“Whew. Okay. I think I’m ready. Let’s get down to business.” Finally, you’re the one steering the conversation. You give each of them a once over as quickly as possible because now you know that prolonged eye contact will only hurt you. You settle with looking at the gaps between each of them. That’s fine. You’re fine. “Choi Soobin, Choi Yeonjun, Choi Beomgyu.”

It’s like three bulbs just lit up in succession. Your brain is starting to hurt.

“A—as I was saying, you three are some of South Korea’s biggest celebrities and although I am, in fact, a big fan of all three of you—” Why is Choi Soobin growing pink. Why the fuck is he blushing. “—that— that does not make me fail to recognize the amount of weird shit that’s been happening lately, and I think I need answers.”

They are still sitting down and shutting up. They listen to instructions well, at the very least.

“First, how the fuck did all three of you know my name without any prior introduction. Second—”

The words get clamped in your throat. It’s lodged in there very tightly because you make the mistake of looking one of them in the eye, only to notice that all three of them are looking at you with the same expression. An expression you can only describe as longing.

And your face starts burning.

“Se— second, why…why do you all keep looking at me like I’m an ex you want to get back together with…?”

Maybe you asked the wrong question.

Because for some reason they all look sad now. Really sad. Really fucking sad and it’s making your stomach clench and nerves all numb and funky because making three big celebrities all sad simultaneously is a bragging right at one end of the spectrum, and a national crime at the other.

It’s Choi Soobin who cracks the silence. “I…I had a feeling when I saw you again for the first time at the store.” Again? “Do you not remember me?”

Your face furrows. “No…? Did we ever meet before you became an actor?”

Hurt. The look of sadness has now spiraled into hurt and one might think you just stabbed and twisted a knife into his fucking gut. “How—how about me?” Your attention turns to Choi Yeonjun who isn’t looking any better. It’s like his entire world view was just proven to be wrong and why does it feel like you’re the one to blame.

What else can you do but shake your head in denial? Now he looks like he’d just been told he’s adopted!

“You’re…you’re joking,” he tries to laugh it off, but it only comes off as strained and shaky, then, in one fell swoop— desperate. “R—right…?”

“Great!”

Before you start feeling even shittier, Choi Beomgyu finally decides to join in.

“And here I thought her forgetting about me was the worst case scenario.” His tone is bitter. There’s a snap in his words. “I didn’t think there’d be other bastards in the same situation as me. God fucking damn it.”

There’s a moment of silence. You watch as realization hits the other while you’re still left in the dark. Choi Yeonjun juts his seat closer. Choi Soobin tries to reach a hesitant arm to your direction, but you’re tugged to the other side by Choi Beomgyu, who’s suddenly a little too, too close.

“Hey.”

Your hands are clamped together.

“I meant it when I said I love you. I do. I have loved you four hundred years ago and I still love you now, and if whatever god or deity decides to make you meet you for the third time, I’ll still love you then.”

Beomgyu’s holding both of them in between his in a firm grip.

“Second life is about you. Blue Spring is about you. You’re the person I’ve been waiting for from the beginning of this life until the last.”

Now, if this situation wasn’t crazy, your heart would be skipping a beat right now.

But it is crazy. This is fucking insane. And you look around to see that there’s a weird look of sympathy and understanding in the other Choi’s eyes, clearly not recognizing the visceral insanity of this situation, which fills you with a swallowing lump of existential dread. You pry your hands out of Beomgyu’s grasp (you swear you can hear glass breaking), and slowly turn to Choi Yeonjun and say, with a very hesitant, very cautious, “Y...you too…?”

The look on his face says it all. And then you swivel over to Choi Soobin.

“And you?”

“I’ve lo—”

“No!” you snap. “Don’t finish that sentence. Please. Oh my god.”

You see Seokmin popping his head out from the corner, mouthing an are you okay? and you shakily bring up a weak thumbs up. “Well, isn’t this interesting,” you hear Choi Yeonjun say, which feels like a slap in the face because what exactly is interesting about this. “Here I thought I was special.”

“Get off your high horse,” retorts Choi Soobin, a sneer in his voice. You double take. Choi Soobin is supposed to be sweet and gentle and kind. Who is this man? “Whatever kind of past you had with her doesn’t mean anything. I met her first. I met her at the end of King Danjong’s rule.”

“Ha!” Choi Yeonjun starts. “We got married under King Taejong. I’ve loved her before any of you did.”

Now, what the fuck?

Choi Soobin’s face pales and he chokes over his words. “M—married?”

There’s a smug grin on Choi Yeonjun’s face. He leans back against the chair with his arms crossed in victory. “You heard that correctly. Married. Pack up your bags. Unless you want me to tell you everything we did on our we—”

“Shut up, shut up, I don’t want to hear it!”

Marriage. King Danjong. King Taejong. Second life. The gears are churning inside your head. You don’t like the direction where the gears are pointing.

“What about you?”

Choi Yeonjun raises the question and the attention is now on Choi Beomgyu. He’s been quiet. The other two wait for him to say his piece— a feigned air of disdain and arrogance but there’s an unconcealable undertone of nervousness underneath it all. Your iced teas have been left untouched. Choi Beomgyu simply scoffs and presses his crossed arms against his chest.

“I have no reason to tell you any of that. This is between me and her.”

And at your mention, you receive the undivided attention of three pairs of eyes once more. Your heart rattles. God fucking damn it. Listen, you’re an avid consumer of the entertainment industry. You’ve watched a good amount of dramas and have read a good amount of manhwas to surmise a conclusion with the bits and pieces of stray information being tossed back and forth between the three. And it’s all ridiculous. But you have nothing else to work with unless they come spilling their guts themselves.

“So,” you clear your throat. “Are you three, like…a couple…hundred years old…?”

They all look offended.

“No!”

Well, maybe you’re wrong about that part. But after a very long, convoluted discussion, the “facts” (if you can even call it that), are finally laid down on your feet.

They say you’ve all met before. Separately, in three separate lifetimes, with this one allegedly being your fourth unless there were lives in between that they can’t remember. One thing for certain is that the three of them remember the life they had while loving you— and they loved you very much apparently because those feelings and memories got carried over even after they got reborn into the present day.

The problem is, you don’t have the same symptoms. You don’t remember anything about your past lives. Hell, you can’t even remember anything in this life before you hit two years old.

You slump in your seat. The table rattles. They get up from their chairs and come circling around you in concern.

“Are— are you okay, do you need to lie down? You could rest in my van for a while and—”

You swat Choi Yeonjun’s hand away before it could land on your shoulder. You’ve now got your hands on your face in stress, and peeking through you see Choi Soobin on your right, crouching down and looking up at you with furrowed brows and big, sad eyes. On your left is Choi Beomgyu, half-seated on the chair. You let out a very long, very anguished and muffled groan. This is too much. “If— if what you guys are saying is true,” you say. “What does it matter?”

There’s a tense pause in the air.

“What do you mean…?”

You spring up from your seat and turn around, Choi Yeonjun in front of you.

“I mean what does it all matter? King Sejeong, Joseon era, or whatever— I don’t care about all of that. We’re in the twenty-first century right now. I’m neither your lover nor your wife. I’m just a fan of your dramas and music and performances and that's it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t really want to see their faces right now. You let a huff of air slip past your lips, turning back around to collect the untouched glasses of drinks on the table.

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet me and explain. I hope it’s all settled. Thanks for clearing everything up today. You can now all leave.”

It’s Choi Yeonjun who races after you when you make your firm and quick strides to the counter. He cuts off your path. “I—I don’t understand,” he chokes out. You make the mistake of meeting his gaze and see the threat of tears glazing his eyes. “What—what do you mean?”

Admittedly, that hurled a giant pang against your ribcage, knocking the air out of your chest, but you move forward. You brush past him, setting the glasses back on the counter, and— after a moment’s pause— you turn around, a heavy weight on your shoulders. It’s like gravity is trying to suck you deep into the mantle. “What I’m trying to say is we should all just get over what happened all those hundreds of years ago and live our lives in the present. I mean, I don’t know any of you. Don’t you think it’s unhealthy to keep clinging onto the past, especially when you guys are nothing but strangers to me in this life?”

Dead silence. You don’t dare look at any of them in the face. You try and retreat to the break room as quickly as you can, hands fumbling to untie your apron along the way, but you stumble over your steps, screeching to a halt the moment you hear someone say—

“Do you think it’s that easy?”

You could hear your heart in your eardrums.

It takes all the strength in your body for you to look back, to see the pained expression on Choi Beomgyu’s face standing the farthest away from you out of the three. “Do you think I put my name out there so that it’d be easier for you to find me, wrote all those songs about you in the hopes that I could see you again if you’re someone I can just easily forget?”

Your throat tightens. It’s like you’re swallowing a boulder.

“If you wanted me to forget about you, you shouldn’t have died right in front of me then. You shouldn’t have told me you loved me right before you went cold in my arms if you wanted me to fucking forget.”

Oh.

Oh, god.

Choi Yeonjun and Choi Soobin don’t look any better. It hits you that you might have been more than a little bit unfair.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know your history. You don’t know what the fuck happened between you and them throughout those years that made them feel so strongly about you. But it must be harder for those who remember than for those who forgot.

It’s not like they chose to live in the present with half of their souls stuck in the past, either. You’ve been acting awfully unfair.

“I was being insensitive. I’m so sorry,” you exhale. Your knees feel like they’re about to buckle. Your head is spinning in circles. “But to be honest, this is all still very overwhelming, and I’m having a hard time comprehending and making sense of everything. It doesn’t feel real.” You try to take a step closer, but your legs give in. Choi Yeonjun quickly rushes to balance you back on your feet.

“Don’t push yourself,” he says, softly. You can’t look at him. God, these guys really know how to bring your guilt all the way home.

“Thanks, um, anyway—” You breathe in. Shit, you can’t believe you’re considering this. “Again, I really can’t and won’t be able to understand the magnitude of your— well, uh— feelings, since I really don’t remember anything. But how about…I spend some time with each of you individually, and maybe…maybe it can help in jogging back my memories?”

The atmosphere shifts. Ah. This feels like a fucking trap.

“You— you mean it?”

To be honest, you’d much rather just not deal with any of this, just stay at home and continue living your life with these three men as persons you only know behind the screen. But those looks in their eyes— hopeful and melancholic— make you feel your organs are being rearranged every five seconds, and you’d feel bad leaving them with the pain of this conversation especially after they poured out their hearts to you.

You can’t deny the joy and escape they’ve given you for the past couple of years you’ve spent as their fan. Maybe entertaining this unreality is the least you can do.

“I mean, well,” you start, clearing your throat. “Choi Beomgyu, you still need to pay for my phone. Choi Soobin, your manager wanted me to talk to you about something, and Choi Yeonjun—”

You look at the guy who still has one arm pressed against your back, two hands in a firm grip on your shoulders. He’s looking at you and batting his eyes expectantly. You let out a sigh and set yourself loose.

“I need to discuss something with you soon, too.” As in, please stop vaguely mentioning me in your live streams because I fear I might find an angry mob in front of my house. “I think I have all your contact information anyway.”

There aren’t any more reactions coming from them. This seems like the best possible solution for all of you. You sigh again. This has been an emotionally draining evening. You can’t wait to get some fucking rest.

“I’ll be in touch with you or your managers soon. For now, let’s call it a day.”

#tomorrow x together x reader #txt x reader #choi yeonjun x reader #choi soobin x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #txt scenarios #tomorrow x together scenarios #txt x you #tomorror x together x you #soobin x reader #yeonjun x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt fanfic #choi soobin x you #choi beomgyu x you #choi yeonjun x you

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nikkigameslore · 4 months ago

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Nikki Games - Star Sea and Star Dream

youtube

originally I was going to do both Love Nikki and Shining Nikki in one post but it got so long and I have some other things to attend to so I thought I would at least post what i have for Shining Nikki. I highly recommend watching the trailer.

Love Nikki here Infinity Nikki here

note: I saw some new players a bit confused on why older players love Star Sea so much despite its design being plainer than a lot of the designs we see for high ranking outfits. Star Sea was the first lifetime crafting suit in Love Nikki and holds a special place for many players, so I thought I would try typing the lore out in the hopes of maybe shedding a bit of understanding on it.

Shining Nikki - Designer: Nikki The story tells of a girl who has hair as dark as night dancing underneath the starry sky. As she dances the night and stars dance with her creating a dress sewn from the thread of fate, with starlight for jewels. The bright stars guide sailors out of the endless sea of stars as stars fall and continents sink, the stars are her only audience.

Star Dream variant: a princess grew up under parents protection, sheltered from common hardships. When darkness descended upon the land she surprised the people by standing to fight against a cruel fate. Her spirit became a star that lit the sky, giving courage to those who feared the dark. The people believed they saw the Goddess of the Starry Night who was a princess from an ancient kingdom and danced like no other. However the war is from over, and the princess awaits a partner to stand by her side and change the kingdoms fate.

In the game Nikki was watching a play and wakes up in a theatre that is not Lodden theatre where she was previously. The host announces the play "Candy Witch and the Star Sea" and says that the audience will get to the Star Sea, a dress gifted from the Goddess of the Starry Night. Nikki realizes she has become the protagonist of the play. (each time someone mentions Nikki's clothing needs to change it enters a styling battle)

Act I: Cinderella and Romeo - boys and girls in tuxedos and dresses dance in pairs underneath a chandelier accompanied by a violin, Nikki feels overwhelmed. A beautiful actress dressed as a noblewoman walks by, Nikki guesses she is Cinderella but the woman corrects her and says she is Cinderella's older sister. She asks why Nikki hasn't changed her clothes yet since Romeo will be coming to the ball.

Act II: A Midsummer Night's Dream - The lights dim and the stage changes to a lush forest. The violinist leaves the stage a harpist takes their place, bringing the audience into a summer night. A group of children dressed as elves with shimmering wings walk by Nikki in a line. Nikki asks what they are supposed to be and the children answer curiously that they are the Elves are Light whose wings can shine. They tell her if she is going into the forest with them she will have to change.

Act III: The Adventures of the Thief Queen - the stage turns to an art gallery at night with an oil painting on display and a girl dancing. A piano plays a fast paced tune as the Thief Queen dances, avoiding police. The audience and Nikki are captivated by her and hold their breath. In a second she appears next to Nikki and tells her their goal is the oil painting, the Star Sea. She tells Nikki she will leave the painting to her and that she should dress better to play the heir of the Thief Family.

Act IV: War of the Seven Nations - The orchestra begins playing magnificent music and smoke appears on stage. The audience looks around in terror as actors appear on stage. Elves flap their wings, demons summon curses, and humans hold weapons. Nikki knows it is only a play but she seems to truly see the cannon fire and hear the screams. During the fierce confrontation a young actor playing the general full of fighting spirit hands Nikki a sword studded with gems. He tells her to get onstage as victory belongs to them.

Final Act: The Birth of the Goddess of the Starry Night - The orchestra gradually stops playing and the choir begins to grow louder. Onstage there is only ethereal singing. The restless audience is soothed and the actors onstage stop to listen to the angel's song together. The divine envoy in white robes stands in the crowd and looks in Nikki's direction. A platform rises in front of her. The actors look in the same direction and slowly kneel, starting to pray. The envoy says to "find peace after war and awaken miracles after destruction. Let us witness the birth of the Goddess of the Starry Night." Nikki stares at the platform which shines with a unique light, as if a god will be born. An actor pulls on Nikki's clothes and tells her that its her cue to put on the clothes of the Goddess of the Starry Night. A force guides Nikki to the high platform as the actors and audience look at her with expectation and hope in their eyes. They're looking forward to the Goddess of the Starry Night ending the war and pain with a sacred dance, bringing joy and hope. In front of everyone Nikki slowly raises her arms. At that moment the spotlight on the stage comes down and everything in front of Nikki turns white. She wakes to Momo calling her name and is back in Lodden theatre in the audience. Momo tells her the play is almost finished and onstage the lunar eclipse performance is continuing. She comes to the conclusion it was all only a dream.

#nikki games #shining nikki #star sea #nikki lore #shining nikki lore

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knightfighttourney · 3 months ago

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Propaganda beneath the cut! If you have more, including images, please submit them to me via the Tumblr submissions/ask function!

Kay-

1- No propaganda submitted, but I will point out his wide array of superpowers and that time he threw a jester into a fire, which is cunty in your humble tournament announcer's opinion

Lantern Lad-

In The Story of the Crop-Eared Dog, he's described as follows: "And when they were in a pleasant state, drinking and pleasuring, the king arose standing, and he looks to the four broad-bordered quarters on each side of him all around ; and he saw one young champion, armed, accoutred, and equipped, approaching him ; and a tunic of fine silk around his white skin ; a wonderful gold-threaded mantle above his fair tunic ; and a firm, close, well-woven breastplate about his slender, brightly beautiful, well-curved body ; a handsome gold-hemmed scapular above that breastplate ; and a goldenhilted, ingenious, broad-grooved sword on his left thigh. A beautiful, very firm, jewelled diadem of manifold art about his head ; a shapely, studded, flesh-coloured shield on the ridge of his back, and lines of golden letters in the edges of that royal shield, to announce and proclaim that there was not at the back of shield or sword in the world a warrior or champion better than that mighty soldier. Two angled spears in his white right hand ; he had a long, narrow, radiant face, and a grey, clear-glorious, fresh, brilliant, joyous eye in his head ; and he had a slender, shapely, handsome mouth, a smoothslow, quiet, kingly raising in his eyelids, springs of love in each of his royal cheeks; and the people of the world were inferior to him. And in this wise was he; a glistening, full-lighted lantern was in his left hand, and the king was watching him till he came to his presence; and King Arthur asks news of him." He then proceeds to defeat and tie up all of the over seven thousand knights there except for Bhalbhuaidh (either Galahad or Gawain), who doesn't seem like enough of a threat for him to bother fighting. He was trained in magic by the naked monks on the Island of Naked Monks, "no one of the men of the world can fight with him for the quantity of his druidry, and the excellence of his intellect, and the greatness of his strength, and the nobleness of his heart and of his blood," (apparently--considering that he decided to try to kill all of Arthur's knights for fun, the last point is iffy), and his best friend is Abhlach the Druidess, who would probably get along really well with Morgan.

#arthuriana #arthuriana poll #knight fight #knight fight tourney #knight fight tournament #kay #sir kay #knight of the lantern

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blu3-ja3 · 7 months ago

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Chapter 3: Sunset High & Our Bodies Low

Chapter 1

Chapter 4

Simon is sitting on the couch waiting for Johnny, O'Connor had given John a list last night asking the man to run a few small errands for her. And when Johnny bounced up to him, with that blinding smile, to ask if Simon would join him the next day how could he say no? So here he is in an old pair of jeans and a plain black tee waiting for Johnny to appear.

The first time Simon saw Johnny dressed to go out it was a bit of a surprise to see the physical embodiment of sunshine dressed in street punk attire. Fully customized leather jacket, tight patterned pants, custom cropped shirt and accessories out the ass. Belts, chains, bracelets, necklaces, rings all decorated his body. The black combat boots customized with embroidery that matched the designs in the staircase leading to the club.

Simon learned rather quickly that MacTavish was an artist, the man was constantly creating, small sketches on a napkin while working or full on painting with an easel on the rooftop. Simon recognized the style of Johnny's work on his jacket and on his boots.

Today was no different, Johnny stepped out of his room wearing a black shirt with a custom bleached skull design, it had the sleeves cut off and most of the sides were missing so Simon could see the man's ribs and chest. His pants had two different patterns one half solid black and the other half red and black checkered. He's got a black studded belt and chains hanging from the belt, his wrist covered in multiple bracelets varying from a thick leather bracelets with studs to a thin braided bracelet with three colored threads with a bug charm and the alchemical sign for air.

Johnny is wearing a few rings nothing fancy just a few silver bands of varying thicknesses, his nails are still painted black but they're chipping a little. He's wearing little ghost studs in his ears and his usual silver ring around the shell and the black stud in the flat of his ear. He's still wearing a silver septum ring instead of the C shaped one he usually wears.

The thing that's keeping Simon's attention is the black studded chocker with a large ring on the front. Simon can see the way it moves as Johnny swallows and it's now the new bain of Simon's existence.

"Make me feel underdressed Johnny..." Simon loved the smile he received from the man, all teeth and gums.

"Sorry Si, but I like your look too. You wear it well it suits you... Mind if I do my makeup? Won't take me long I know what I want to do this time." Johnny sat in front of the mirror in the living room, it sits next to the large window that gets tons of light.

Simon watches as Johnny does his eyes, it's slowly becoming a guilty pleasure for Simon to watch him work. Taking various pigments of the same color smearing and smudging them around his eyes, taking the time to create intricate designs with his liner. Today is a special occasion it seems as Johnny pulls out his black lipstick and paints his lips with the dark pigment.

Simon meets Johnny's eyes in the mirror, they seem so impossibly blue thanks to the shades of red around his eyes. Then there's the smile and Simon is so certain his heart stopped.

"I could do your eyes real quick if you'd like?" Simon pauses at that thinking, Simon has worn eye black before. He wore it often when he was in the military, it helped hide more of his features. So Simon shrugs and shifts to look at Johnny as the man sits next to him.

It scares Simon a little with how quickly he's come to trust the man before him. In a matter of a few months Simon has allowed Johnny to see him without a hood or beanie, he allows Johnny to call him Si, he's letting him touch his face and to be near him with his eyes closed. Small things to anyone else but to Simon Riley these are steps and bounds beyond what's normal for Simon.

Simon is pulled from his thoughts as he feels a calloused hand gently cup his face, a finger running over his eyes, his brows and the tops of his cheeks where his mask doesn't cover. He can feel Johnny's breath as it fans over his face. Simon is a little confused with the gentle touches he's receiving, a part of him tells him it's because Johnny is messing with his eyes. But still it boggles his mind the tenderness that's there.

"Done..." Johnny whispers so softly, and when Simon opens his eyes he's immediately consumed by blue, piercing and sharp. He hears a hitching of Johnny's breath as Simon watches his eyes dart around his face. Simon's brain catches up and he remembers they have things to do

"Thank you Johnny... We should get going." Johnny nods, eyes still lingering and darting around.

They don't have much they need to pick up for O'Connor and the building. They share a communal washing machine and dryer, so once a month O'Connor gives one flat the task of restocking the supplies there. Detergent, softener, and bleach, nothing too complicated or expensive.

But the two men also took this as an opportunity to restock their own supplies and to do a little shopping of their own. Simon is gifted with a continuous view of Johnny bending over looking for items, truly a wonderful day. And if their banter is a little more flirty than normal well neither of them bat an eye.

Once home they're greeted by O'Connor telling them to meet everyone upstairs on the roof. Simon takes what isn't theirs to the laundry room and Johnny takes what they bought to their flat. They meet up on the landing outside of their door before going up to the roof together. Simon hasn't been up there too many times, only going up there on the rare occasion Johnny invites him.

Johnny opens the door to the little rooftop gazebo and greenhouse, the area is decorated with a little banner and balloons. There's a small table with a cake and a few wrapped boxes. The building residents are all there; O'Connor, Kyle, Gary, and Sam along with some of the regulars; Alejandro, Rudy, and Price. They all simultaneously yell happy birthday and Simon watches as Johnny lights up.

"It's your birthday?" Simon's a little upset he wasn't told but he's not sure why.

"No! My birthday is in two days what is all of this?" Simon felt a little relief but not much.

"We can't surprise you if you're expecting a celebration!" O'Connor is smiling so brightly as she grabs the two men by the arm and guides them over to cake with lit candles.

"Thank you for distracting him Simon!" O'Connor whispers in his ear before they all begin to sing to Johnny.

The celebrations continue as Farah and Alex join a bit late. They are all drinking and Gary has set up a karaoke machine, Simon is sitting a little ways away from the event in the green house. He's got a good buzz going and is just enjoying watching everyone. Simon has never really been one for parties but he enjoys the people here so he decided not to disappear.

"There you are! Been looking for your big brooding arse!" Simon looks up to see a slightly swaying Johnny.

"Sorry, not big on crowds..." Simon watches as Johnny stumbles over to him, he smells heavily of booze.

"Figured as much... So what did you get me for my birthday?" Johnny sits very close to Simon, their thighs are touching as Johnny smiles up to him.

"Nothing, didn't know it was your birthday... Sorry." Simon felt his throat dry up and his hands start to sweat as Johnny looked up at him through his lashes. His cheeks are dusted with a pink flush from the alcohol that spreads around his ears and down his throat, disappearing behind the choker the man is wearing.

"I can think of one thing you could give me..." Simon watched as Johnny's tongue darted across his lips as he leaned up towards him. A hand resting gently on his thigh causing Simon's heart to jump into his throat. Simon inhales deeply which was a bad idea as his senses are invaded by the smell of Johnny, spiced cologne, slightly floral from the makeup on his skin, acrid alcohol, and the musk that just is Johnny.

"You're drunk Johnny..." Simon leans away a bit, not a lot but enough to make his heart ache.

"Not enough to be confused about what I want Simon" Johnny's eyes are hooded as he stares at Simon almost pinning him in place as he moves closer.

Simon swallows the lump in his throat before, holding Johnny's shoulders and standing up. Johnny smiles that wolfish smile again before pawing at Simon's pants trying to take them off. Simon's heart stops and it takes everything in him not to just give in, but he doesn't want Johnny to regret this in the morning so he grabs the man's hand.

"You're drunk Johnny and you'll regret this in the morning... Come on, let's get you to bed." Simon has to take another deep breath as Johnny groans sad and defeated.

Simon gets the man to his feet before guiding him to the door leading down. He waves everyone goodnight before leading Johnny down to their flat. Once inside Johnny again begins to paw at Simon, moaning and begging the man for more. Simon struggles to maintain his stance but knowing Johnny is drunk is what drives him to not cave. This isn't what he really wants, it's what Simon tells himself over and over again.

He gets Johnny to his room, helping him remove all his jewelry and accessories, leaving to grab a damp cloth to remove the man's makeup. Softly wiping away the colors, gently rubbing his thumb over his lips. Johnny keeps them parted, going completely pliant in Simon's hands. Simon helps Johnny remove his, boots, belts, and his pants after Johnny begged for help.

As soon as Johnny's head hit his pillow he was out, snoring softly in his sleep. Simon placed a small glass of water next to Johnny's on his bedside table before tucking the man under his covers and leaving the room.

Once Simon was in the privacy of his room he let his hands roam down to his crotch. Ripping off his shirt, wiping the makeup from his eyes, pulling off his mask and jeans, Simon fell into his bed, palming the very prominent bulge in his briefs. A groan falling from his lips as he rubs himself through the fabric.

Usually Simon takes his time, teasing him until he's delirious with want and desperation but not today. Instead Simon quickly removed his briefs, spitting into his hand and taking his hard cock into his hand. He hisses at how hard he is, he's never been so turned on but that was before Simon started rooming with a hot Scottish punk. Johnny does things to Simon that no one has ever done to him before.

Simon's hand moves easily over his shaft, the mix of spit and precum assisting greatly. He's moving fast, fueled by the images his mind is conjuring, images of Johnny. Him staring up at Simon through his lashes while he's on his knees in front of him, his hands replacing Simon's own. Pulling and twisting just so the calluses on his hands add just the right amount of roughness to everything.

As Simon gets closer to the edge he gets more vocal gasp turning to groans, swears falling from his lips as he continues his menstruation on himself. A warm knott pulling tighter and tighter in his lower abdomen. The final image Simon's mind conjures is the wolfish grin Johnny gives him as a memory rings out in Simon's mind.

"Like a good ol' boy"

Simon's body goes taunt as his hands continue to move, touching himself through the waves of pleasure that crash over him. White hot pleasure snaps behind Simon's eyes as warm pleasure seeps from the snapped knot. Johnny's name falls from his lips as he feels the warmth of his own cum splatter across his chest. He lets himself go, trying desperately to catch his breath before moving to find something to clean himself with.

Once cleaned Simon lays in his bed, rubbing his eyes and forehead as the fog of pleasure begins to clear. His brain begins to flick through all the times Johnny may have flirted with him and the times he's reciprocated. Simon begins to grapple with the fact that he's crushing hard on his roommate...

"Fuck"

Simon Riley is crushing on John MacTavish...

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