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tiyoin · 5 months

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pt. 4 |📍pt. 5

the fact that i have 6 parts of this ‘series’ astounds me. i thought it’d only be 1 or 2 ‘chapters’ long but here we are!! this is also a bit venty, and talks of topics like weight if anyone is sensitive to that kind of stuff.

also i decided reader needs some build up better they handle the first year group

alzo this chapter is focused more on reader - i’m having a pacing problem please be kind 🙇🏻

none proofread or edited, we die like men 🏇🏇

numb.

you felt numb.

doing everything in your power to look ahead, stand tall, and put one foot in front of the other with all the faux confidence you've got.

don't breathe too loud they'll hear you.

don't step too loud they'll think about your weight.

don't blink too much they'll think you're fluttering your lashes at them.

don't tuck your chin in they'll think you're gross.

gross for what exactly? everything.

don't mess up the stepping pattern or else you'll look like a bumbling idiot as you try to get back on the rhythm.

don't clench your fists they'll think you're mad and unapproachable.

don't smile because you're not in front of a mirror where you can control how much you want to give away.

don't think too hard or else you'll become enraptured with you daydreams and you won't be able to take part in reality.

don't do anything with your lips or else some air will come in and create a sound that sounds similar to a fart. then they'll think you're extra gross.

all these rules you had to follow to 'be normal,' weren't really a set of rules, but a lifestyle. you wouldn't get collared if you didn't do one of the rules, you wouldn't get yelled at or reprimanded.

you were okay. to your knowledge that is.

on the outside you probably looked like you had a stick up your ass, in a rush to get to where you were going. like one of those rolling backpack kids back in your own world. whenever they would pass they'd take casualties with them. rolling over toes, pencils, teachers- there was nothing in their way they couldn't bulldoze through.

you were just missing the wheels and will of iron it took to be seen with such a… what’s the right word- atrocity, in public, let alone an all boys school.

underneath the habits, and self induced numbness, past all the anxiety and fear there was a tickle. not an actual tickle, but a sudden feeling you couldn't identify. it wasn't rage, nor frustration. you weren't sad or envious... you think- it was something gentler than that.

something softer yet just as negative was infesting your heart and mind like a slow acting poison. poisoning you thought process, your habits, your attitude and your lively hood.

though the breeze and sunshine walking to class supplied you with- there was a chill over your heart. the beams of warmth too short to reach into the many cracks and holes that got created. sometimes you though there was a bug. a parasitic bug that would eat and nibble on your hopes, your memories- your happiness.

but there was nothing you could do about the buzzing bug. it wouldn't go away with Kalim's warmth and silver's calm. two sides of the same coin.

but no matter how many times you flipped: heads or tails, heads or tails, heads or tails would never work.

yes you would smile, you would laugh- trying to hang onto that laughter in fear that you will never encounter it again. but the more you laugh the ore you regret. the more you worry.

"why am I scared to laugh" you remembered asking yourself one night.

looking in the mirror there was a brewing red horn ready to grow on the side of your forehead.

you knew it was a normal ting teenagers of all ages experienced. but you felt especially helpless now, with the lack of beauty supplies and make up. but with a quick brush of your hair the brewing red horn disappeared behind the thick dap strings of hair.

"I look like a oni"

...

"though if it was on my nose I'd look like Rudolph"

even though it wasn't funny, even though it was unoriginal, even though you felt the walls give you a strange look you laughed yourself horse.

gripping onto the vanity and you watched yourself laugh. tripping and stumbling over scattered objects in your room you were still clenching your stomach nonetheless.

you felt like a tumbling tornado. clumsily tripping over everything with no set destination or concern for the things in your path. a shoe got kicked up. a pen you remembered liking got stepped and rolled on. a book you read a few nights ago kicked to the door as you set your eyes on your bed. with a few more violent acts towards inanimate objects, you carried your shaking body to bed.

flopping down unceremoniously you let it linger for a second. sighing in content as you stared up at the ceiling.

you loved laughing, it was fun! but you were afraid to laugh, to live. remembering Kalim's quote of 'everything is fun when you make it fun,' you wanted to scoff at his naivety. but Kalim was right.

if you made things miserable for yourself that's how they'll be.

directing your mind back to your head, you blinked owlishly.

oh. you were so caught up in the daydream you forgot you were in the hallways.

peeking through shoulders, you tried looking towards the wall to check the room number.

"shit"

making a giant u-turn with as many 'excuse me's' and 'pardon me's,' you rerouted yourself back to you class. never having walked this way to class you were a bit hesitant. what if you walked by it again? what if someone is watching you and making fun of you for being a daft idiot?

breathe.

but what if you're late to class? crewel will have your hide- skin? doesn't matter what it is cause it'll be his. what if they all laugh when we're late-

we're not late yet it's only-

but when we get to class we'll be late!

perking up when you noticed the assigned numbers to your class, you weaved through the chattering sardines and beelined it to class.

no bell. no expectant crewel. no eyes besides from the easy to ignore front row. perfect.

the sigh you were holding in finally set itself free as you adjusted the grip of your books, and you strolled down the isles.

don't walk to fast they'll think you're strange.

but also don't walk to slow so they don't think you're lazy.

head down absent mindedly adjusting your books, you followed your hand's cue and put your attention on a fixed thing. aka: your books.

but to you relief you soon found you seat. with a huff you unloaded the cargo and pulled out some loose leaf paper and started writing.

writing what? not even you knew. but it made you look busy and that was important.

you didn't lay around in bed all day. you didn't continuously scroll though your phone to distract yourself. you didn't cry at night looking at everyone's socials, wishing it was you having fun. envy bubbling like a nasty tar in your blood stream as you scorned everyone for having fun when you're miserbale-

"y/n!'

"oow"

sliding in next to you was silver. hair disheveled and tie ever so crooked, though he still looked really good-

pervert a voice whispered. tensing, you looked around and saw no one paying attention to your little corner.

"I tried calling you in the hallway." his boyish smile eased a beat in your rhythmic heart, only for it to take 2 more beats.

"y-you did?" you gulped.

silver nodded as he organized his books. "Yeah, but it's so so chaotic and loud I'm guessing you didn't hear me" you nodded in agreement, tongue slipping over itself as you tried conjuring up an excuse.

"I- uh I'm really sorry I didn't hear you. I didn't even know I you were there! I was kinda worried about not being elbowed to death" you didn't know why you were chuckling at the end. and you weren't sure if you believed yourself despite it being the truth. but silver only nodded in understanding.

"I'm real"

"There's no"

you both started at the same time, creating a pause as you both waited for the other to speak.

"you can go ahead" he nodded. Waving your hands you disagreed. "you were talking first, I'm sorry, go ahead"

even though you gave the green light, silver heisted to go. giving the air another few seconds before he started talking.

"there is no need to ask for forgiveness. I understand if you couldn't hear me, I'm not the most vocal after all. if only seek were here" he mulled the last part. chuckling, you nodded, brain trying to process the information slapped at you so you can create the best response.

like a computer! did they even ave computers in twisted wonderland? duh of course they do, they have phones after all.

the thought of twisted wonderland's technology started to swarm and hijack your train of thought. effectively taking out the conductor and changing its course.

did they also have an Industrial Revolution like the united states had? what was the start of it? which kingdom had it first? was there something to set off the alleged revolution? How is it the same and how is it different from your world's?

did magic have allay in it? of course it did. but how did magic make it different than-

"y/n"

snapping your head at the familiar voice. you looked to silver. only able to take in physical information as the new conductor saw a hole in the tracks, pulling the breaks almost immediately.

"you okay there?"

slowly you nodded, as a few members of the hijacking team jumped out of train- some ideas and questions with it.

"yeah.. sorry about that, kinda got lost in my train of thought there"

nodding with understanding, silver started talking about he would smites start nodding off when he was talking to someone. half paying attention, half trying to save the train- your brain was split in half as you took in all internal and extrernal information.

until you heard the magic words that'll stitch the cleave through your brain.

"what were you thinking ab-"

"the Industrial Revolution"

"... pardon?"

anddd you failed, the train fell in the deep deep gorge the tracks would normally be.. where they would continue to act like a bridge and carry you over tot he other side, more stable of the two track locations.

"dont worry about it" you brushed him off. saved by the bell as Crewel stood up, riding crop in hand yelling out orders like a drill sergeant.

silver scooted closer. you scooted back, the original distance between you two doubling. you were focused on writing your name, date etc etc on another loose leaf paper.

the dreamy-eyed second year made some noises before he knew what he was going to say. he started softly "are you okay" but then grew slightly louder as unease set in "from... last class? I mean I know yuu told me it was a touchy subject but..."

your pencil stop moving as you disregarded everything he said after that, what does he mean 'yuu said-'? "what did yuu say." you spoke, voice stable for the first time that morning.

silver's tongue tied itself as he fixed his hair a bit. "well..." he straightened up slightly, "after you stormed out yuu followed. but before that I went up to them to ask them if something was wrong... but they told me you get nervous around new people soo"

dread set over you like a fast approaching shadow.

oh no. he thinks you're a weird socially inept person doesn't he? he thinks you're some kind of loser that doesn't go out weekends, weekdays, any day for that matter. he probably makes fun of you with sebek. right?

"Ah well" you cleared you throat. a lie already on the tip of your tongue "I mean its like, yes and no kinda thing. I didn't really have a lot of guy friends when I was younger. so"

there was a small house in the meadow. a nice house. your house. the only problem with the house is the you blew it up. with nuclear missiles. the intensity from the blast was so strong that it created a small crater in the earth. in the future it'll act as a tomb for you.

"here lies Y/n: a frequent word vomiter who died alone from over sharing"

the urge to bash your head into the nearest wall was huge. there goes your social life right?? what soil life? you killed it before you could even nurture it!

your mouth and mind were doing two different things as they were both running on autopilot.

you were like a fountain, spewing dirty water everywhere. trying to get yourself out of the hole you dug yourself- crater, actually.

"but uhhh yeah, no you're good! I'm glad I got partnered with you since you're not..."

"boisterous?" silver quipped.

you nodded. silver chuckled, leaning further away from you. "yeah me too. if I got paired with one of your friends only the sevens know how much damage that'll do to my physical being and to my psyche"

you both slyly looked over tot the rest of the class. all pairs seemed to be in some kind of chaos. whether it's floyd being impulsive, grin trying to add a wrong chemical (you didn't even need to know what they were making to know that whatever he's trying to sneak in- doesn't belong there.)

least of all, at least you weren't paired with one of the deuce combo. ace would try to take control and ruin it. wile Duce and you would be two peas in a pod: not knowing what you're doing but winging it.

"I wonder what group will create the biggest explosion" you impulsively said. quick to shut your lips and wishing for a sewing kit to keep your overthrown passengers to yourself.

silver looked out at the crowd for a moment, turning to you he started slowly, "while the yuu grim and ace duo seem to be the obvious choice...." he thought carefully, "epel and deuce seem to be at a loss of what to do. but he is in Pomefiore"

"he's actually sh- really-" you started again "I heard that he's actually not that great at potions. "and that even though he's under vil's carful watch...." silver's eyes widened, saying a soft 'really?' as he looked back to the groups.

you nodded despite knowing he couldn't see it. "never judge a book by it's cover" you shrugged, immediately turning to your work. anxiously, you waited for a response. was the joke good? did it land? does he have that kind of humor? or was he regretting his choice for a part-

your thoughts shattered as you silver chuckled, enviably agreeing with you statement. you could almost sweat with relief as an invisible weight got lifted from your shoulders.

where you should've celebrated, there was a slight distaste in your mouth. you should've been able to do this naturally. there's something wrong with you, isn't there?

pain pain pain shot through your thigh as you tried to distract yourself from whatever war was going on inside.

Deciding to enjoy the moment and to continue riding the wave of adrenaline you had- adrenaline? was it that?

or did you finally have someone to talk to? regardless of how short the relationship will enviably be.

you smile at realization.

it was despair

—

taglist : @abell2029cluster @a1-ic3 @ars-tral @xingyunny @creamsweets @skei2p @dn4su @jjsmeowthie @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @nefe-kav @d3sperate-enuf @y2unagiz @im-here-for-the-fun-of-it @mel-star636 @7yu

#i HATE wheely backpacks #twisted anxiety 🌀#tiyoin 🔎#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #silver x reaeder

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR THIRTEEN

in which eddie wants to distract you from the one thing you ask for: honesty. it's a shame he never realized just how dirty you can play when you want something bad enough.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, smut, female masturbation/male masturbation, exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), minors dni

→ wc: 3.2k+

→ a/n: probably the shortest chapter of the entire series. if i added anything else from what will be in hour 14, it would simply get too long. and this length felt good for what i was trying to accomplish! as always with my smut, my apologies if it ain't up to standard. i don't really edit my smut chapters haha. thank you all for being so kind and for all messages, reblogs, etc! <3

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

13:00 ────────ㅇ───────── 24:00

HOUR THIRTEEN - 4:00 AM

“Would you like me to be honest now, doll? Or would you rather me eat that poor pussy right here, right now, on this counter?”

Against your better judgment, your knees spread for him.

Honesty can wait, you realize, as his palms are warm against your skin. He’s slow in his descent, dropping to his knees on his kitchen floor at an antagonizing pace.

“Is that what you want? I was interrupted earlier, after all,” he murmurs, eyes locked with yours as he finally settles on the floor, hands cupping the back of your knees before tugging your hips to settle at the edge of the counter, “Use your words for me, sweetheart.”

No, we can’t settle a fight with sex. That is not becoming our new normal.

“Yes,” you breathe out, your mind in shambles as you look down at him on his knees for you. As if he’s prepared to worship. As if the two of you weren’t just arguing.

“Yes, what?”

He’s weaponizing himself against you now. Fingertips tickling down your calves, smiles lilting in a knowing grin. He knows that he has you right where he wants you right now. He knows just how desperate he can turn you.

“Yes, please,” you beg, giving into the desperation far too soon. But he only tsks in response, not fully accepting the plea despite the rashness that drips from your tone. And so you try again as his fingers return to your waist and plays with the band of the sweatpants you had just put back on, “I want you to eat my poor pussy right here, right now. On this counter. Please.”

He doesn’t expect the straight-forwardness, the crude words – you shock even yourself. You can see his upper-hand immediately falter as his breath catches in his chest and his hands curl unexpectedly into the bare skin beneath the clothing he was fiddling with.

He thinks he has you right where he wants you, but you know better. You’ve caught on quickly; he isn’t just doing this to distract you, but because he needs it just as much as you. This is not a weapon against just you in this argument, but himself as well. The distraction is a double-edged sword, and just as he was pressing it against your own skin in the form of a devilish grin and wandering hands, you decide to press it right back.

You go for the sternum as you whisper, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? It’s a win-win for you, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he keeps his face stoney, but you can catch his blush rising underneath the fluorescent lighting.

In another daring move, you swat away his hands, and you remove the sweatpants.

Fuck Eddie. Fuck all the fights. Fuck letting him have all the control, all the fun.

“No? Allow me to explain,” your voice grows in volume and confidence simultaneously, and you relish the way his eyes have widened when met with your clothed core once more. He’s looking at it like it’s the first time, as if he hadn’t just had his way with you on his couch, you at his mercy fully. “I think you want to get your mouth on me even more than I want it. And if you get your way, you also get to avoid honesty. Again.”

Your mind somehow becomes sharper in the haze he’d originally caused. The look in his eyes only fuels you as you bring your hands to the edge of his sweater, toying with the hem and smirking at him.

“I see,” he hums, reaching out for you, eyes still glassy and distracted. You swat his hand away before it even gets the chance to reach your knee. In an instant, his gaze adverts from your pussy to look up to you, stunned with a dumb-struck expression, puffy lips parted as his mouth hangs open ever-so-slightly, “That sounds like a win for me and for you. I’m not seeing the issue here, doll.”

“The issue is you avoiding honesty, Munson,” you scoff. You finally lean forward, pulling his sweatshirt off of you. You toss it to the ground beside where he kneels, now wearing nothing but your panties and the shit-eating grin that would usually belong to him, “I’d like to propose a deal.”

He’s easy to turn dumb. Too easy. The moment your breasts are exposed, the man before you is nearly drooling, eyes darting from them to your core, rinse and repeat, as if he can’t decide what to focus on. Anywhere but your eyes. Anywhere but your smug expression.

You have the upperhand.

“Look at me,” you demand. Your voice doesn’t hold the same strength as his would – that’s not your forte. Your forte is in the softness you continue to carry, the delicacy you now weaponize with shy fingers that trail down over your own stomach, inching closer to your underwear.

“What’s the deal?” he asks without complying to your request.

Immediately, you pause your wandering hands to lean forward, balancing your elbows on your knees as a hand grabs at his chin. It’s daring, even for you, but oh so rewarding. Blown out pupils swallow up the shades of gold that thread his irises as you give him no other choice to focus on your face again.

“What do you want?” he’s the one now desperate, still on his knees, urgency drowning out any cockiness that had been in his tone to begin with. He’s at your mercy, “Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”

“Honesty.”

He’s turned into something impenetrable. You can practically feel the waves of his ocean still. Neither of you breathe for one second, two seconds, three seconds. Only three seconds, but it could have been an eternity there in his kitchen.

Your grip on his chin never falls.

“Honesty?” he questions, brows furrowing, eyes narrowing, “I already told you, princess, you either get one or the other. You can’t have both. Not happening.”

“No?” you coo, finally removing your fingers from his skin. There’s not a single sign of the hold you had on him, your touch having been as soft as a butterfly’s wings. He’s unmarked, and he’ll remain that way, unless he agrees to your terms. You’re determined now. The upper hand won’t be sliding from your grasp as easily as it had fallen from his, “That’s a shame.”

You lean back and his eyes follow your every movement, “And why’s that?”

“Because if you’re not honest, you’re not laying a hand on me.”

“That’s still my deal, baby,” he’s trying to be condescending again, to get you back under his thumb and constrained by his idea of a distraction.

It won’t work. Not this time.

He leans forward, and just as his breath hits the wet spot that had begun to form over your clothed cunt, you bring a hand to his forehead and push him away. Your knees snap shut immediately as he tries to keep his balance, leaning back on his haunches.

He’s glaring up at you now. But he’s still not desperate enough.

“Not your deal at all,” you continue on. You’re enjoying yourself far too much, and he can tell. His breathing is picking up, his jaw has locked as he gazes up at you, “See, pretty boy, with my deal, we could have our cake and eat it too,” He swallows hard as you bring a hand up to one of your breasts, “You’re honest with me, and I let you get your mouth on my pussy. A win for everyone.”

“And if I’m not honest?”

“Then I’ll take care of myself. I’m a big girl, simple as that.”

You’ve had to spell it out for him, but it finally clicks in his mind. You can watch the mechanics of him processing your words in real time, and that desperation you’ve been seeking out this entire time has arrived. Pathetic, big eyes. Lips twitching to avoid falling victim to a pout. If you could see his knuckles, you’d find them turning a bright shade of white as he grips his knees painfully.

Just as he opens his mouth to argue again, your finger flicks at your nipple. All words on his tongue die, shrivel, dissipate at the sound of your soft moan.

“Such a shame,” you sigh out, heading lulling backwards. The back of your skull hits his cabinet with a soft thump and you hope that it won’t ache once the adrenaline and euphoria has passed, “I was kind of excited to see what that mouth could do besides piss me off.”

“You’re bluffing,” he deadpans, zeroing in on your fingers as they let go of one nipple and move onto the next, “You’ll cave before I do, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think I will,” your voice is breathless as you twist your nipple, arching your back into the touch for emphasis. It’s not as good as his hands would be, you know that, but you’re not backing down now. You have your eyes on the prize, staring down honesty with the same intensity that he stares between your legs.

“No? Are you sure you aren’t imagining how much better my fingers could be? My hands?” he eggs on. Almost as if subconsciously, he’s leaning forward into your gravitation again. When his nose brushes your knee, your thighs clench harder.

It’s not to keep him out. His words travel down your spine, wrapping and shocking all the way down until they’ve reached your core.

His hands would feel better, but his honesty will feel the best.

“You forget that before tonight, I went about life just fine without your hands,” you reply as you finally let your hand begin down a path over your torso again, starting at your sternum and traveling at an agonizing pace. You’re teasing yourself just as he would, as you know he wants to.

As you know he craves to.

“Yeah?” he chuckles lowly. Your eyes flutter close as your fingers reach the band of your panties, and you try to imagine the look on his face as you prepare yourself for his taunting, “I’ve seen the way you stare at my hands, baby. I’ve caught you staring when I’m playing with my rings. That dumb expression on your face as you watch me tap on tables. Just how many times have you imagined them wrapped around your throat, or knuckles deep in that pussy, before tonight?”

Your eyes snap open. His chest is puffed up both in self-satisfaction and heaving breaths, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. And he knows you’re watching intently, making a show of it as he slows the drag of it. A small teasing of this tongue could be on you right now.

“See, now you’re asking a bit much of me, don’t you think?” you try to keep your tone even as your hand stays poised at the edge of your underwear, making eye contact once more, “Sounds a lot like you’re asking for honesty from me. You shouldn’t ask for things you can’t give in return.”

With those words, your hand plunges into your underwear, fingers sliding between your folds, teasing your hole as you gather wetness to trail back up to your clit.

It breaks Eddie. Seeing your fingers hidden by your panties, pleasuring yourself, making whines begin to spill out between gasps, pulled from the back of your throat as your knees separate enough to accommodate your hand.

“What do you want me to be honest about?” he nearly barks out. You see his shoulder moving, arm crossing closer to his lap, and know his palming himself through his sweats.

You take the time to insert a finger into your clenching hole, Eddie’s eyes finding yours at the intrusion, biting down your moan into a mere hum before saying, “Why do you hate me?”

“Right now?” he gasps out, confirming he is touching himself to the show you’re putting on, “I hate you for being such a fucking brat. I hate you for thinking you’re in control right now.”

“I am in control.”

You slip in a second finger, curling them in sync as you press them in knuckle-deep. It’s not enough – it’s not as good as his fingers. You whine out at the thought, bucking your hips against your hand, palm applying pressure on your clit.

“Baby, you wish you were-” he goes to bring a hand to your knee again, and you’re already ready with a hand, grabbing his wrist sharply this time.

“How hard are you right now?” you ask, having to slow your movements to get out any coherent words. You can feel his heartbeat racing below his skin, feel the taunt muscles of his arm as he tries to exercise self-constraint. He’s losing – he’s failing, miserably.

Just having his skin against yours as you continue to pump your own fingers into yourself has more intense waves of pleasure tearing through you.

“How- I-” he stutters. He’s licking his lips again, but this time, it’s not to tease you.

He craves it as much as you need it. You need his honesty, and you need his goddamn mouth on you.

“I asked you a question,” you pant, grip tightening on him. You can see his shoulder shifting more fervently now, see the flush of his cheeks. He’s touching himself, and he’s close.

If he finishes first, he wins. You can’t have that.

“Tell me how hard you are right now, honestly, and I’ll let you touch me.”

A snap in his composure. You feel it in the twitch of his wrist in your grasp. “Hard. So fucking hard, I can’t fucking think right now,” you begin to get starry vision, pumping your fingers faster, curling harder to reach for a spot you can’t seem to find when his eyes are on you and his hands are right there, “If I don’t get my mouth on you within the next five seconds, sweetheart, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

You’re right on the edge, teetering over a cliffside. At the bottom are all the repercussions of what is to come. The breeze of your defeat, the call of his honesty. You don’t have to think twice; you remove your hand from yourself despite the disappointment that ruffles your entire body, and your knees fall open to him.

He hardly gives you the time to release your grip on his wrist before his fingers are tearing into the waistband of your panties and tearing them down your thighs, letting them fall to the floor limply once they brush your ankles. His palms dig into the meat of your thighs, spreading you impossibly apart and tugging you to nearly hang off the edge of the counter before he’s bringing his face to your hot core.

And then he pauses. You’re waiting for the feeling of his tongue in you, his nose to bump your clit, and he pauses.

“For the record,” he breathes out, and it has your core clenching against nothing as you feel it against you. His fingers dig into your thighs harsher, “I never hated you.”

You look down at him, pretty between your thighs, brown eyes sparkling, “Are you being honest right now?”

“I am,” he doesn’t hesitate, leaning forward and kissing your mound, “I could never hate you.”

You’ve won. Your victory settles in the air around the two of you, your victory whispers between each kitten lick he makes at your clit, to each thrust of his fingers when he presses two into you without warning. Your victory tangles in his hair just as your hands do as your hips buck up against his mouth, desperate and uncaring in lack of control. Your victory splotches your vision, blacking it out when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. Your victory dances with the stars behind your eyelids as he curls his finger into the spot you’d been searching for, as he traces an unspoken language over your clit, as you repeatedly call out his name and he murmurs “good girl” in vibrations that reverberate through your core, your spine, your vines, your flames.

You’ve won. But it doesn’t feel like winning when you’re coming down from your high, Eddie pressing kisses to your inner thigh and lips shining from your slick, and his words come back to haunt you.

“I could never hate you.”

The victory has come at a cost. One that neither of you address as you catch your breaths. As you slump to the side, resting your temple against the side of his cool refrigerator, you look down to see a wet spot spread across the crotch of Eddie’s sweatpants.

You knew he had been touching himself to you touching yourself, but the patch is far too large to have just been precum.

“Did you…” you murmur, fighting a grin, “Did you cum from eating me out?”

Eddie, remarkably enough, isn’t even shameless as he rakes a hand through his curls, pursing his lips in a way that only accentuates to the slow curl upwards of the corners, “You look so surprised for someone who was so insistent that I needed that more than you did.”

“I was right,” you laugh, lifting out of your lean supported by the appliance to your left, “I knew it.”

He only chuckles back in response, rising slowly from his kneeling position, “Yeah, yeah, Sherlock Holmes. You cracked the case – congratulations,” he doesn’t close the space between the two of you as he stands there, and his words pester the back of your mind again. If you could never hate me, why are you so far away right now? “Stay here, I can come back with another ra-”

“You don’t have to clean me up again,” you interrupt. His words are pushing forward now. I could never hate you. It doesn’t make sense, doesn’t fit right into everything you already know of Eddie, “I’ll be fine. Just clean yourself up, yeah?”

He looks taken back, but says nothing more as he nods before leaving the kitchen. He sends you one last glance, one last chance to say more. But you can’t say a word to him, or even meet his gaze, as you filter through endorphins and try to pull sensibility from what just happened.

He leaves, and you regret. You don’t regret doing all of this with him – you’d enjoyed it, he’d enjoyed it, it was good – but you regret how it’s happening. You regret all the emotions it’s nurturing. Feelings that turn it all complicated, that make this entire ordeal more than something casual. This night is going to haunt your mind for the rest of your days. It has carved out an emptiness inside of you that hadn’t been there before, or maybe it had been, and you had already spent a year filling it in with the dirt of sour interactions and abrasive fights.

It didn’t really matter, though, whether it had been there before tonight or not. All that matters is the space there was empty once more, hollowed out by five simple words.

“I could never hate you.”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

#twenty four hours #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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chiriwritesstuffnotifs · 7 months

Text

The New Girl in Tinseltown - Chapter 1 - Ukiyo

A Dieter Bravo x Actress! Reader PR Marriage AU

Series Masterlist │ Next Chapter

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Summary: Tired of being pigeonholed into your good girl persona, you take a chance on a night out with Dieter Bravo, America's favorite Bad Boy. A drunken night leads to the two of you in Las Vegas...

Chapter Warnings and Tags: (Not So) meet cute, PR Relationships, what happens in Vegas ends up in the headlines, Dieter just does not give a FUCK, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, a look at the inner workings of Tinseltown and the sleaziness it comes with, Somnophilia, Slightly Dub-Con (but she's into it), cunnilingus, SLOW BURN WE DONT KNOW IT, this is unhinged, no use of y/n, No beta we die like men!

Word Count: 3.1 K

A/N: After the insistence of some of my readers wanting me to write a Dieter story, I finally bit the bullet! I will be honest - it's tough for me to watch 'The Bubble' in its entirety. Hence, I heavily relied on TikTok and its fabulous edits of Dieter to develop his characterization. This was really fun for me to write, and I hope you all enjoy the ride our favorite trash panda is about to take us on! Gird your loins and your panties, babies!

Ukiyo - living in the moment, detached from the things in life that bother us.

You feel like you're trapped in a surreal, fucked-up dream.

Memories from the night before flooding your mind as you gradually pull yourself back into consciousness.

"It's nothing personal, Dollface, it's just business," the sleazy hot-shot producer whispers in your ear. His hands graze your lower back, and you force a smile amidst the swarm of paparazzi. "I'm not a miracle worker, baby. They want an Angelina, not a Jennifer. Casting America's sweetheart in an R-rated movie? It's a tough sell."

"I'm not exactly jailbait," you retort, turning toward the paparazzo bellowing your name, a practiced smile on your face. "I believe I'm ready to explore different roles-"

"Well, that 'no-nudity' clause is really messing you up, baby. Times are changing, and they want bold, daring, sexy actresses," he remarks, his tone oozing condescension.

The producer's creepy breath tickles your ear, and his hands venture lower down your back. "I can help you with that," he whispers, and the suggestion feels like a toxic cloud hanging in the air, making your skin crawl.

You toss and turn in bed, gripping the silky sheets beneath you. The memory of his touch haunts your thoughts, leaving you uncomfortable and anxious.

"Dieter Bravo," your publicist cautions with a smile, guiding you down the carpet, "is someone you want to avoid tonight, Doll. Save yourself the hassle, seriously."

You furrow your brow, glancing down the red carpet to where Dieter stands. His unruly curls frame his face as he grins widely for the photographers. It's as if he senses your gaze; suddenly, his eyes lock onto yours, eyebrows raised in surprise. A smirk plays on his lips, and he blows a kiss in your direction.

"He's nothing but trouble, I'm surprised they let him on the carpet after what happened last year," your publicist states matter-of-factly.

"Care to remind me?" you breathe, smiling at the cameras. "He seems like a riot."

Your publicist shoots you a look. "Well, I don't consider getting arrested for public intoxication, disorderly conduct, and lewd behavior as something amusing-"

"I don't know, seems like he would be a fun time," you muse, playfully pushing your breasts in Dieter's direction. "Maybe that's what my career needs – someone like Dieter Bravo corrupting America's Sweetheart." Dieter leers at the gesture, waggling his tongue and adjusting himself as he walks backward into the venue, a mischievous grin on his face. "... besides, he hasn't been shy about wanting to 'put his face in between my tits', maybe I should just let him have at it."

"Are you seriously considering tanking your career before it's even taken off?" your publicist groans, steering you into the venue and handing you a flute of champagne. "People like him are like a virus; he'll infect everything about you." He lets out a sigh. "I understand you want to break out of the girl-next-door mold, but getting involved with Dieter Bravo is not the answer."

You take a sip of your champagne as you continue to eye fuck Dieter from across the room. "I don't know, maybe it is."

You're suddenly gasping in pleasure as you're finally jolted awake, the feeling of someone's hot breath against your skin as you arch your back at the sudden intrusion. "Fuck-" you sigh, looking down at the mass of unruly curly hair in between your legs. Dieter licks and parts your folds as you lock eyes with his, a shit-eating grin on his face. You swear you hear an insistent ringing in your head.

"Dieter?" you moan, realizing that what you're hearing is your ringtone from across the hotel room that you don't remember being in. "What-"

"Shh, baby. Let your husband eat you for breakfast," he mumbles against your pussy, his teeth scraping at your clit. He grabs onto your breast, squeezing and pinching your nipple as he sticks his other finger into you, eating you out so thoroughly like a starved man. Your cellphone rings again and you're too overwhelmed to care, your head pounding from whatever you drank the night before.

"Husband?" you ask confusedly as you feel yourself about to come.

"That's right, Doll, fuck I feel you squeezing the shit out of my fingers, are you gonna come for your husband?" he pleads, and you realize that you're both stark naked and that you somehow ended up from LA to Las Vegas, getting eaten out by America's Bad Boy in a suite at the Cosmopolitan. How in the fuck did we end up here? you ask yourself in a panic. Why the fuck is Dieter Bravo calling himself my husband?!

You're on your fifth glass of whatever champagne the venue is serving when you suddenly feel someone's hot breath against your ear. "I can't help but notice that you've been eye fucking me the entire night," Dieter groans, taking a seat next to you. "I guess my little ploy of trying to get your attention with that Wired interview worked out in my favor-"

"You know, there are more normal ways to get a girl's attention-"

"Ah, but you're America's Sweetheart, and your pitbull of a publicist won't let me near you, I had to let my-" he gazes at your cleavage, "intentions very clearly known."

"Well, I don't know if it's clearly known," you whisper. "I think you're just going to have to spell it out for me."

He smiles, leaning back in the seat as he spreads his legs, caging you in. "Do you want to have sex with me, Dollface?"

Your phone ringing a third time snaps you out of your reverie as you simultaneously chase your impending orgasm that your husband? is working so damn hard trying to get you there. "Fuck Dieter, I need-"

"What do you need, baby?" he pants, the sound of your slick as he licks at your folds aggressively, the loud squelching echoing throughout the room. "My wife has such a pretty little pussy, my fucking GOD," he praises, "Fuck, if this is heaven, I'm begging to see what hell has in store for me-"

It's obscene.

"Do you need my cock? Didn't get enough of it yesterday, huh?"

"My phone-"

"Fuck your phone," he dismisses as he starts to pump another finger into you, "Do you want your hubby's cock or not, baby?"

"Ye-"

Your legs are suddenly pulled to the edge of the bed, Dieter entering you in one fluid stroke. "Good enough answer for me." He pulls himself back, grabbing one of your legs and wrapping it around his waist as he thrusts aggressively back into you, his balls slapping your asscheeks as he begins to pound into you with a brutal pace. "Fuck, only took me being inside of you the whole night for you to take me in so fucking well-"

You chuckle as he accelerates out of the venue's parking garage in his PA's Mustang convertible, cackling like a madman as he maneuvers through the dwindling streets of LA. "Are you hungry, Dollface?" he yells, almost running a red light, his eyes fixed on the glowing In and Out sign in the distance.

"I shouldn't, I have that screen test next week-"

"Fuck the screen test!" he shouts. "The night is young, and you are gorgeous. Let Dieter take care of you, baby... while I still have you in my grasp. I ain't gonna waste a moment I have you in my orbit!"

He pulls into the In and Out parking lot, cutting the engine, and pulls you into his lap, his face immediately diving into the valley between your breasts. "You can suffocate me with these tits and I would die a happy man," he mumbles against your skin, his growl reverberating throughout your entire body like wildfire. "What do you say, Doll? Would you do me the honors?"

"Fuck Dieter," you moan, tipping your head back in pleasure as his tongue teases the edge of your dress covering your breasts. "Grab my tits," you beg, grabbing his hands for good measure.

"Dieter! My Man!" someone shouts in the distance. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he yells back, "I'm about to fuck this beautiful woman in an In and Out parking lot, what are you doing here?"

"Fuck, can I take a pic, man?" the fan shouts as he approaches the convertible.

Dieter is railing you into oblivion when there's suddenly a heavy knock on the door. Your phone is ringing off the hook, and you can't help but desperately whine as Dieter wraps his arms around your neck, pulling you into a kiss. "Fuck, can't I fuck my wife in peace?!" he growls at the door, his pace quickening as he urges you to come on his cock. "I ain't answering the fucking door until you milk me dry, baby girl, you gonna come for me?"

"Fuck Dieter, don't fucking stop, please-"

The knocking on the door echoes throughout the room as Dieter suddenly arches his back, squeezing your thighs harshly as he explodes deep into your pussy, his fingers finding your clit as he desperately rubs circles, begging you to come. He slaps it for good measure, the sharp sudden pain making you arch off the bed as you grab ahold of him, screaming into his neck as you're suddenly blinded by a feeling of absolute fucking bliss that no one has ever been able to pull from your wrecked, shaking body.

"That's the fucking spirit, Doll, give me every-"

"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" you suddenly hear. "I KNOW YOU'RE FUCKING IN THERE!"

Dieter pulls himself out in a huff, not bothering to cover himself as he storms over to the hotel room door, opening it harshly for good measure. "What do you FUCKING WANT-" he growls to the intruder, only to be met with the widening eyes of your publicist, his PA, and the Hotel Manager. Your publisher harshly pushes himself through the threshold, pushing Dieter to the wall as he makes his way to the bedroom, and you hurriedly cover yourself as he bursts through the door.

A phone is thrust into your face, the image of you and Dieter in front of the Graceland Wedding Chapel in the background as you hold your hand up for the camera, Dieter kissing your cheek as the diamond ring on your finger winks back at you. You lift your hand to your face, your eyes widening at the ring on your finger as your publicist glares at you, his chest heaving.

"Do you want to tell me what the fuck happened last night?"

"So how do we fix this?" your publicist groans, the wrinkle between his brows more pronounced. "Maybe we can get this sham of a marriage annulled-"

"I have an idea," Dieter's PA chirps in, "What if we lean into this?"

"Absolutely not!" you find yourself shouting, your hands reaching for the bottle of painkillers on your coffee table. "I'm America's fucking sweetheart, the gossip rags are already having a field day about me getting my tits groped by America's bad boy at a fucking In and Out-"

"If I can recall, Dollface, you put my hands on said tits-" Dieter snarks, pushing his sunglasses down on his face, leaning into your chaise. "Must have done something right, hell, you were practically begging me to marry you, jumped on my lap the moment we got into the convertible-"

"Are you always this vulgar?" you bite back, taking a big gulp of water, some of the liquid spilling down your neck, onto the valley between your breasts. You notice Dieter gulp at the sight, his gaze resting heavily on your chest. He takes a tentative lick on his lips, a small smile forming on the corner of his mouth.

"Only for you, Mrs. Bravo." He winks, smirking.

"Stop that." You quip, crossing your arms around your chest.

"Stop what, Dollface?" he asks coyly, spreading out on the lounge.

"Looking at me like the cat that got the cream," you reply, refusing to meet what you imagine to be his smoldering gaze.

"Well," he breathes, a Cheshire grin on his face. "I most certainly got you to cream, several times-"

"I would think the feelings mutual," you seethe through your teeth. "I mean, I did get you to come in your pants just by sucking on your-"

“You want to land meatier, sexier roles, right? Break free from the rom-com stereotype,” Dieter's PA nervously interjects, “… and you certainly don’t want to face blacklisting in Hollywood due to your recent escapades,” he shoots a meaningful look at his boss. “I believe this marriage might actually be a strategic move. It could help you break out of the girl-next-door image and simultaneously soften Dieter's playboy persona.”

Dieter contemplates this, crossing his legs on the chaise lounge as he glances into the living room of the hotel suite. He smirks at the sight of you with your arms crossed around your chest, recalling the moments when you were pliant in his arms just a few hours ago, begging and whining as he licked and sucked every inch of your delectable skin. His dick twitches at the memory, hungry to be inside of you once more.

Dieter leans back, his fingers tapping on the armrest as he assesses the situation. “A calculated scandal to redefine my image and give her career a new direction? I suppose there's a certain allure to that.”

Your publicist interjects, “It's a risky move, but it could work. Public opinion is volatile. We need to control the narrative, give them a story that captivates and eventually redeems.”

Dieter smirks, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you. “So, America’s sweetheart and I play the happy couple, the media eats it up, and we both get what we want.”

You scoff, “This is insane. I’m not entering into a fake marriage for the sake of our careers.”

Dieter raises an eyebrow, "But what if it's not entirely fake?"

You glare at him, a mixture of disbelief and annoyance crossing your face. "What do you mean, not entirely fake?"

Dieter leans forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We can keep the public guessing. A little ambiguity goes a long way in the celebrity world. We'll play the part when we need to, but in private, we keep things... interesting."

Your publicist looks skeptical, "That could be a recipe for disaster. What if it backfires? What if the public starts hating both of you?"

Dieter smirks, "Let them talk. Controversy sells, my dear. As long as we control the narrative, we can turn this into a win-win situation."

You cross your arms, feeling a headache coming on. The idea of navigating a fake-real marriage with Dieter is the last thing you want. Yet, there's a strange spark of curiosity. What if this insane plan could actually work?

As you contemplate the proposal, the room is filled with tension, waiting for your response. Dieter raises a curious eyebrow at you, a small smirk playing on his lips as he places his hand on them. He sees you gulp heavily at that, your legs crossing tentatively as you try to play coy. Ah, yes, sweetheart. I see you. I caught you in my web, and I'm going to consume every fucking inch-

You take a deep breath, considering the options laid out in front of you. The publicist watches you with a mix of concern and caution, awaiting your decision.

"I don't like it," you finally say, your tone firm. "But if it helps me keep my career and get the roles I want, I'll play along. Just remember, Dieter, if this blows up in our faces, it's on you."

Dieter grins, satisfied with your response. "Trust me, darling, this is going to be a wild ride. We'll be the talk of the town."

Your publicist rubs his temples, clearly not thrilled with the plan but realizing the potential benefits. "Fine, let's go with it. But we need a strategy, a narrative that controls the story. And we must be careful not to let things spiral out of control."

Dieter nods, already plotting the next move. "Leave it to me. We'll craft a story that keeps them guessing and wanting more. Our little secret, darling."

"... and there will need to be some ground rules," you say firmly, uncrossing your legs as you adjust yourself in front of Dieter, presenting the fact that you still haven't put on underwear under your dress. You smirk as he tries to adjust himself, the sight of his spend still leaking out of your pussy leaving him groaning. "If we are going to do this, you have to be in it for real which means... no fucking little Miss Suzy and embarrassing me. You're going to worship me in public, and make an honest wife out of me."

Dieter leans forward as he locks his darkened eyes at you, licking his lips in anticipation. "Oh baby, I'll show you how I'll make an honest wife of you, several times... maybe as soon as all the suits leave-"

"You love this, don't you?" you breathe, toying with the hem of your top, exposing your lace bralette in his direction. "Thinking you have me all riled up, thinking I'll beg for you-"

"Guys-" Dieter's PA attempts to diffuse the tension in the room, looking nervously at your publicist for backup. "Just think about it, okay? I'll have your lawyers draft up a contract for the both of you to look over."

"Why don't you all just get the fuck out and let me fuck my wife in peace?" he retorts, pulling his robe off for good measure, not a care in the world as his dick stands proudly erect. "You're wasting good light, and I intend to fuck her on every surface of this goddamn suite-"

"Lovely," you sigh into the couch, groaning as you pinch the space in between your eyes. "You're a real class act, you know that?"

"Well, I'll just-" His PA stutters, grabbing his messenger bag. "Let's leave them alone, call us when you get back to LA," he murmurs, motioning for your Publicist to follow him.

"We're not done with this conversation, Dollface," he chides, slinging his bag on his shoulder. "I expect to see you on Monday for the screen test?"

"Yes, yes, I'll be there," you dismiss him with a wave. "I'm sorry, for all of this," you say softly, refusing to look him in the eyes.

"Not as sorry as you're going to feel once you see the headlines," he warns. "Brace yourself, Dollface. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Taglist: @yxtkiwiyxt @skysmiller @picketniffler @readingiskeepingmegoing @islacharlotte @drewharrisonwriter

#the new girl in tinseltown #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal imagine #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfic #the bubble

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snackugaki · 2 years

Photo

part 1

did I have to cut it there? yes. why? because I’m p-e-t-t-y, I’m petty all the time ♪ ♫

but also, the image cap boo

the tags cannot contain my full power some of my really good tags got eaten by the tag limit and they’re grudges I keep in a little pile in my heart

did this silly little fan comic get away from me? ...YES

was I gonna originally stop it there? also yes but you know... I love being snide and petty but after catching covid like a week ago I’m not gonna bring any bad juju with me into next year if I can help it

I forgot how fucking neon the coloring got for awhile in the archie comics

im cryin g this was supposed to be a short’n sentimental’n sweet comic and now look at me, i played myself

look, Venus has waited a quarter of a century, she earned this

i think... what tickles me most about Venus after coming back to TMNT fandom via Rise, is that from what I can see (on tumblr), the kids love her. they love her and make versions of her in the series that came after the 90s. i look at their bios, some weren’t even born when Next Mutation was airing. (and as far as I can tell, Next Mutation didn’t really get much syndicated airtime if any) ...and they still love her. hurt me in my old little heartguts. it’s mostly my generation of tmnt fans who express distaste for her... but the new fans, they love her, they include her in their aus, they make a place for her in their childhood series. hoo h oo giv give me a moment..

if I could pop back into 1998 and tell little 13 year old snackugaki that Venus would be back, I would. all I had were Trini Kwan and Venus de Milo (not ONLY them, just for the purpose of this post) as a fighty, angry little girl.

all my childhood idols who could fight were calm, level-headed characters who could just happen to throw a villain through a wall if they really needed to. if it wasn’t for them who knows where baby snacku fite meh! gaki would be today. going up against Rhonda Rousey for the championship belt idk, who can accurately estimate the magnitude of childhood influences, not this bitch

if you’re also in PST and wondering why I typed up this post at goddamn 3am then we’re both insomniacs, you didn’t see me, stop snitching

EDIT: I KNEW IT, SOME OF THE TAGS GOT EATEN! HATEFUL! HATEFUL TUMBLR LIMITATIONS! ahhhhh it’s whatevs

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readnburied · 10 months

Text

13 Moons Reading Challenge 2024 — Announcement

So it’s finally time for the announcement of the 13 Moons reading challenge for 2024. Another year, another list of prompts that will make your reading journey exciting. This reading challenge is created by me for the entire reading community. So if you love reading or are looking for a reading challenge to try for the upcoming year, then here is one for you.

Rules & Levels

The rules for this reading challenge are simple. First of all, this is just for fun so no need to feel pressured into doing anything or reading anything you don’t want to. You can also be flexible with the prompts if you choose to do so. The challenge will run from January 1st, 2024 and till December 31st, 2024.

There are a total of 104 reading prompts divided into 13 categories. There is a list of levels given and you can choose which level you wish to participate in based on your preference. The levels you can participate in are as follows:

Penumbral Lunar Eclipse: 13 books — fulfill one prompt from each category

Partial Lunar Eclipse: 26 books — fulfill at least one prompt from each category

Central Lunar Eclipse: 52 books — fulfill at least one prompt from each category

Total Lunar Eclipse: 104 books — fulfill all the prompts

The reading challenge is given below. I am trying to create a graphic for it, and if I succeed I’ll edit this post and attach the graphic later, but for now I will write it all down here in case you wish to participate and plan your TBR. So without further ado, here is the 13 Moons reading challenge 2024.

13 Moons Reading Challenge 2024

Wolf Moon

A Stand Alone novel

A furry creature on the cover

Hair on the cover

The words Straight, Waves or Curly in the title

Hair color in the title

A book about found family

A book about adoption

A book with a hierarchy

Snow Moon

The word White in the title

Blanket on the cover

Read a book while drinking a hot beverage

Read a book while burning a candle

Hat/Cap on the cover

A book about mountains

A book about a fresh start or a new beginning

A book with necromancy themes

Worm Moon

Read a book in a series with more than 5 books

A book about rebirth or reincarnation

A cozy book

Book about insects

Continue a series

A book that gives you the creeps

A book you’re not sure about

A book you’re thinking of unhauling

Pink Moon

A book with a princess

Book about women empowerment

A pink object on the cover

Book recommended by a celebrity

Book that tickles you pink

A coming of age book

A celebrity memoir

Start a book on a new moon

Flower Moon

Book by a BIPOC author

Book about friendship

A book club pick

Book with an animated cover

Book with a character named after a flower

A speculative fiction

A book set in spring

Read a book at any time of the day

Strawberry Moon

Read a book from your backlist

Read a book with Bubbles on the cover

A book with less than 400 pages

Book you see trending on social media

Read a book from an author which is new to you

A debut novel

Book with the word Leaf in the title

Book about swimming

Buck Moon

A book that has multiple editions

A Paperback

A book recommended by a friend

A biography

A book you’re seeing everywhere

A 2024 release

A 5 star prediction

Book with a Man on the cover

Sturgeon Moon

Book with a map

Book that people have been forcing you to read

Book with a title that starts with the first letter of your name

Book you hauled recently

Book with a Tree on the cover

Book with the word Can’t in the title

Book with a dark cover

A novella

Harvest Moon

An anthology

A book you had to read for an assignment

A book with a movie adaptation

Book you’d recommend to somebody else

A book chosen by somebody else

Book with a Fish on the cover

A fruit in the title

Book about a celebration

Hunter’s Moon

Book about food

Book set in Europe

Book with an Umbrella on the cover

Book about a topic you’re curious about

An award winning book

Read the 7th book on your shelf

Book with Buildings on the cover

book divided into parts

Beaver Moon

Book about a psychological phenomenon

Book with the word Five in the title

Book with a Street on the cover

Start a book in the evening

A book about a specific country

A book from your monthly TBR

Book with a cover you don’t like

Book about a single parent

Cold Moon

Book set in the medieval times

Book with a Spider on the cover

Read a book while wearing a pair of socks

A memoir

Book about a historical event

Book with a character’s name in the title

Book you think you will love

Book from a Goodreads shelf

Blue Moon

Book with a unique format

Read a classic

Book with 3 or more people on the cover

Book recommended by your favorite social media influencer

Book with a dramatic title

Book with a Dagger in the story

Book set in high school

Book about a spy

And there you have it. This is the 13 Moons reading challenge 2024 for you all. Let me know if you like it. If you wish to participate I’d love it if you can comment below to tell me you’re participating in the challenge. If you don’t want to comment, that’s fine as well. As long as you enjoy doing the challenge, I’m happy.

Happy Reading!!

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giggly-squiggily · 7 months

Note

ASK GAME OMG- bungou stray dogs pretty please? 👀

AHH (Happy screaming) YESH! :D

who’s the most ticklish character: Oof- it's the way it's between Atsushi and Chuuya...I'm gonna say Chuuya cause like- look at em!

who’s the character that most people would assume is ticklish, but actually isn’t: Kyouka! She's honestly kinda disappointed by her lack of ticklishness, really; but she can still participate in tickle fights though.

who’s the character that everyone gangs up on and tickles: Dazai. He deserves it most days jkaejrakjrjkaerkja

who’s the character that somehow knows everyone else’s tickle spots and reveals them to others: Kunikida! He takes extensive notes on just about everything and everyone, so naturally he's gonna know where to get you for the best reaction.

who’s the character with one specific tickle spot that only one other person knows about: Akutagawa has ticklish shoulder blades but only Atsushi knows that. And he takes advantage of it religiously.

who’s the most likely to win gang tickle wars: Ranpo! He's a devious tickler- especially when snacks are on the line. Tell him he'll win a multi-pack of Poki and he'll have the entire agency on the floor.

which character has a kink for tickling: Mori Dazai

which character didn’t even know they were ticklish until another character tickled them: Fyodor! Until he met Dazai, he hadn't realized it and is lowkey salty over it jakrjeakrkjaejrk His no weaknesses front-RUINED! *dramatic spotlight and violin*

which two characters have tickle fights all the time: Oo, really any pair you put together, they'll be tickling! Dazai is notorious for tickling whomever he's paired off with that day, but I'd say Poe and Ranpo are probably the most likely to have tickle fights on the daily.

Thanks for asking! :D

#squiggily plays #ask game #give a series tickle edition #bsd #tickle #hey it's Rey! :D #friend :3 #myreygn :3

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simp-ly-writes · 10 months

Text

A Shadow Company Visit (pt.3)

Can be read as a standalone.

Pairing: Commander Philip Graves x Reader & Shadow Soldiers

Summary: What happens when you show the Shadows the newest addition to the company? (plus task force 141).

Warnings: 1000+ words, a bit of overprotective themes, mentions of anxiety and children, light teasing.

A/N: okay... this should be the last of my kinda headcannons... for now lol. no mentions of pregnancy.

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

A Shadow Company Visit Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) you are here

↳ The entire headquarters is silent as they all stare at their commander in a mix of shock, awe and them overwhelming excitement as they all cheer for their new sibling

↳ Graves shares a video of the event with you later that night in bed while holding your frame against his chest, smiling softly while moving your hair out of your eyes as feels you giggle and kick your feet slightly in reaction

↳ The once tension throughout the base from your missing appearance was replaced with ease as Graves returned to work the next day; thankful as ever- the ER Tent had never seen so much popularity than it did then

↳ When the child arrives and all the documentation if filled. Graves takes some time away from the Shadow Company; much to the Shadows disappointment yet understanding of the situation and leaves a board of commanding officers in charge

↳ You take leave from your work as well; all hands are on deck as you watch Graves run around and turn the house baby-proof as you struggle to console the crying child, the stressed retired K9 you both rescued and build the rocking chair; Chaos to say the least...

↳ Yet as the weeks and months go on; you both find enough rhythm within this new family dynamic to somewhat return to your jobs. You decided to turn your job completely online for the rest of the year and do your work from home

↳ Some days, Philip begs for you to take a day away with him to the company since you're other 500 shadow children miss you as well... guilt starting to eat you alive; you agree to a nanny for the day as you hop into the black company truck

↳ Going through an all too familiar gate with ease, Philip glances other at your laughing- reminiscing form, his hand holding your thigh as he drives and later parks the vehicle

↳ Walking around the other side he helps you down as you make your way throughout the complex, giving your hellos and hugs back to everyone; large smiles spread across everyones faces; happy to have you back (snacks and band-aids much appreciated)

↳ While taking a break in the office, Philip makes a few too many jokes on having a 2nd child already as you glare at his head and mention back to the 500 other shadow children that need both of your attention as well

↳ You both hear footsteps run down the hallway from the doorframe as you both shake your heads at their childish antics

↳ As your baby turns into a toddler and grows throughout the years. You both decide to finally bring them on base for a small tour... all the Shadows coo lovingly at them in Philips arms; he holds them with pride against the uniform as their small hands grasp at the patches

↳ The child goes through parts of the obstacle course and everyone cheers encouragements as you hold them through it. Philip waits at the end of the course and gives them a sticker badge while setting them atop his shoulders, tickling the bottoms to their shoes as you snap a picture of the scene

↳ You feed everyone at the cafeteria and everyone rushes over with napkins as the child spills their cup and worries about you catching a cold from the cool liquid seeping into your shirt

↳ You end up switching into one of Philips deployment shirts, a blue-button-up after he complains about investors looking at you too long.

↳ Nearing the late afternoon, you place earcovernings over the child and your head as you show them all the aircraft that they look at with wonder; a little pilot we have here, you think to yourself- not noticing that you said to aloud as a hum of approval is sounded from behind you both

↳ Taking the child in arms quickly, you hide them behind your frame as Shadows rush over, noticing your distressed state from a distance. Another fumbles for a phone to contact their commander in a moments notice if needed

↳ Yet once you see that it is only Laswell and the 141 task force, you way your hand as everyone stands at ease once more and returns to their duties, taking the time to ensure your safety in the hanger before leaving fully

↳ Laswell rushes up, her baby fever hitting an all time high as she uncharacteristically giggles while holding out her finger for them to wrap their hand around and squeal in reaction

↳ Soap jokingly covers his ears and Price smacks him upwards upon the back of his head. Simon gives you a sincere yet short congratulations from behind the mask; you see his eyes crinkle at the child in your arms as Gaz rushes over and asks to hold the little one

↳ While handing them over as Gaz places them on his back, airplane style and moving thew through the hanger, giggles echoing through the lofted space as you, Laswell and the Captain catch up (Ghost and Soap look at one another and the baby multiple times; you make no comments to this small observation)

↳ You hear a Shadow call the appearance of your partner from an approaching vehicle as it stops and they all stand to attention; he moves towards you smiling and then it falling when he notices the child missing in your arms and instead within Gaz's, "Don't drop my kid Kyle, I promise you that I'll burry your ass if you do so"

↳ "I'm not as cruel as you on a good-day can be Graves" Kyle responds back with vice; further covering the child's ears over the headphones and you mouth a thank you in their direction from the small yet welcomed action

↳ You pull on Philips tactical vest to give him a kiss on the cheek as a distraction against him building a rebuttal, he places an all too familiar hand across your lower back; tension throughout the group is apparent as the child is returned into your arms, resting their head against your shoulder as they mumble tired into your skin as you rock their frame gently against your body

↳ You step out of Philips hand as you use your other once to provide hugs to the visiting members and offer smiles once again. Whispering a last apology to them all as you step out with the sleeping child; moving towards the car parked outside

↳ As you step into the vehicle you watch as Philip gives out strict commands to your driver to safely transport you both back home; the Shadow nods confidently back- they would never risk your or their siblings safety; no matter the cost and that was an answer their commander loved to hear as they patted them on their shoulder and steps back into the hanger to further address he guests on the next mission

↳ You watched as Philip confidently strut his way across the pavement while rubbing the back of your child's back; a smile finding its way across your features once more, the child sighing happily in your arms as you relaxed against the leather seats. You hoped that life would continue to go this way, together as one large (and slightly dysfunctional) shadow company family

↳ the car stops and a message echos throughout the interior of the vehicle quietly, purposefully trying not to awake the child, "we have arrived"

╰┈➤ A/N: And that is part 3 completed! (and maybe the finish to this series) what did you all think of it all? :)

A Shadow Company Visit Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) you are here

Tags: @unicorngirly1 , @rockcollector3000 , @coffeeandtealol

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ginnsbaker · 1 year

Text

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (13/22)

Chapter summary: It's your birthday, and it's also the day you're forced to confront your true feelings

Chapter word count: 11k+ | Warnings: Angst, Mild Smut (somno) | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: Since the beginning of Part II is set in autumn season, I chose October 25 as R's birthday. Which makes her a Scorpio. Things will pick up quickly after this. Enjoy :) P.S. I kept playing "Edge of Desire" by John Mayer throughout my editing

AO3 | Masterlist

Next chapter: Fourteen

Thirteen

You’re woken up by a throbbing between your legs, coupled with wet sounds coming from that very place. Glancing downward, you notice the comforter has shifted, your legs are spread as far as they could go with your underwear still caught in your ankles, Wanda’s hair tickling the insides of your thighs as she flicks her tongue up and down against your hardening nub. Her fingers buried knuckle-deep in your cunt, trying to coax an orgasm from you in a very ungodly way at such an ungodly hour.

You had not anticipated waking up like this on your birthday, given how insatiable Wanda was with you last night. Now, as your senses fully return to you, you realize just how close she has already brought you to the edge.

“I want–God, I need your… Wanda, please,” you utter breathily, words rapidly eluding you as Wanda enters you with a third finger.

“What was that baby?” she asks in the same, breathless way.

You mumble a series of incoherent sounds, a blend of low grunts and sharp sighs, which elicit a grin from Wanda as she playfully nips at your hip, leaving a purple bruise in its wake.

“Do you want more?”

You nod frantically, mouth open but no words coming out as you buck your hips, trying to pull Wanda’s fingers deeper inside of you.

“More what?” Wanda taunts, slowing her thrusts to an agonizingly slow pace.

Your only reply comes in the form of a moan.

“Use your words, baby,” she murmurs, eyes locked with yours as her free hand snakes down between her own legs to touch herself. "Come on, you can do it,” she urges, her voice low and sultry, causing a fresh wave of wetness to spill down your opening.

"I... I want your..." you struggle to say, Wanda's relentless stimulation leaving you unable to articulate your desires.

“Mouth? Another finger? My… fist?” You shudder at the last option, eyes squeezing shut at the image of Wanda’s entire hand fitting inside your pussy. There’s nothing but reverie in Wanda’s eyes–even when she has the upperhand, the look she’s giving you is almost simpering.

“Y-Your cock,” you manage to get out through your hedonistic haze, kicking off your panties to open yourself up more for her. “Please, Wands, baby… I want your cock.” A moan escapes Wanda's lips, and before you know it, all the sensations you were feeling come to a halt as she moves away from you to reach for the drawer beside your bed. You take advantage of this time to catch your breath, your fingers clutching the sheets to prevent yourself from toppling over the edge even as Wanda has stopped touching you.

A few more seconds later, Wanda is back hovering over your trembling frame with a flesh-colored strap secured around her hips. She wastes no time to line up her cock against your entrance, dipping in just the head before pulling out grazing it upwards to your aching clit, collecting and spreading your wetness.

"Please..." you sob, a tear sliding down your cheek as you beg her to stop teasing you.

Wanda smirks, clearly enjoying the power she has on you. She starts pushing her cock inside you again, her hands grabbing your ass as she tilts your pelvis upwards. And then, she spreads your thighs further apart, the sheer effort to maintain the stretch increasingly becoming difficult. But the moment Wanda pushes the entire length of her cock into you in one, swift motion, every single thought flies out the window, leaving only an animalistic instinct that has you shamelessly meeting Wanda in every push and pull.

"Fuck, Y/N," Wanda exhales, her breath mingling with yours as she gazes into your heavy-lidded eyes. She gets lost in the dark pools of your irises, the pleasure swirling in them reflecting back at her. The speed of Wanda’s thrusts rapidly increases, and you can hear the slapping of skin as she fucks into you with a vigour of a mad woman.

“I love you,” Wanda professes, the coil in her stomach tightening, the base of the strap hitting her clit in the most delicious way. “I love you so fucking much.”

“L-Love you too…” you whisper back, gasping the words desperately as you chase your own release.

“Are you close?” Wanda asks, fighting off her impending orgasm so you can come together.

You nod furiously before grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her into a sloppy kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and need and want. All it takes is a few more thrusts and you’re both coming, screams muffled by each other’s mouths. Wanda showers your face with gentle kisses as you bask in the afterglow, jogging her hips weakly until the tremors subside. Once she senses that you’ve calmed down, she lifts her hips slightly, biting her lip at the sticky mess on both of your thighs. But before she can withdraw from you, your hands immediately come up to her ass to pull her back in, both of you moaning at the contact.

"Just stay with me," you mumble, nuzzling her cheek with affection. For now, all you want is to be as close to her as possible.

"Happy 26th, my love," Wanda whispers in your ear, sucking your earlobe into her mouth and it’s enough to ignite the fire in your belly once again.

“Were you planning on killing me on my birthday, woman?” you teasingly retort. “That was a top ten… of all time.”

Her laughter fills the air, sending delightful tremors through your sweaty neck where she’s currently seeking refuge. You take this opportunity to roll her onto her back while she’s still inside of you, making Wanda gasp in surprise.

You position yourself astride her hips, beginning to bounce gently on her lap. With a mischievous grin, you ask, "Want to aim for a top five?"

***

"It's Y/N's birthday tomorrow," Wanda tells Calliope, her smile reflecting sheer happiness at her gratitude for the day that you were born. But a desperate sense of longing taints it.

Calliope looks on pensively as she rests her chin on the back of her hand, supporting herself on one side of the armchair. "That must be difficult for you," she says softly. "Birthdays can hold a lot of emotional weight, particularly when there have been significant changes in our lives."

Wanda absentmindedly nods, playing with the ears of the stuffed bear that her therapist recently introduced her to. Wanda fondly calls him Mr. Lemon, attributing the name to its vibrant yellow color.

It won’t be a morning where she’d wake up extra early to prepare you a special breakfast on your special day, which you would ignore in favor of having her first, loving on her, until Wanda would find herself squirming from your touch, too sensitive from your hungry attention–

(And of course, she remembers the one exception–your 26th birthday where she had been the one to wake you up with sex, and she still blushes to this day at the detailed memory of it.)

–then she would tease you, claiming that it feels more like her own birthday, reveling in your endless affection. And you would always respond by saying that this is exactly how you want to celebrate your birthdays–each of them, until the very last one.

As Wanda delves into these wistful recollections, her mind effortlessly paints a vivid portrait of a parallel existence, a life that is now out of reach. She didn’t realize that yearning for the unattainable could be just as painful as revisiting the past.

Calliope listens to her, empathic and attentive. Despite their previous discussion on forgiveness, it’s clear that Wanda continues to struggle with it.

She already suspects Wanda's response before she even asks, "Have you thought about wishing her a happy birthday?"

With a shake of her head and a soft, "No," Wanda confirms her suspicion.

Calliope's intuition was spot-on. "Why haven't you?" she probes.

“I basically ruined her life,” Wanda says matter-of-factly. “I don't want to upset her on her special day by reminding her of my existence and the pain I caused."

And there it is–the profound remorse and guilt that still haunted her. Calliope gently suggests another way to look at things.

"Wanda, I understand your concerns and your desire to protect Y/N’s happiness, but have you thought about the possibility that reaching out on her birthday might bring some closure or healing for both of you?" she says, watching Wanda’s reaction.

"But how can I bring healing when I'm the one who caused the pain?" she questions, letting out a hollow laugh.

“Healing isn't simple, Wanda. It's about facing our mistakes, owning up to them, and showing real regret. By sending a birthday message, you can show her how you've matured and changed. It might not lead to her forgiving you right away or a quick fix, but it can be a big step towards personal development and empathy.”

Wanda considers this for a moment. Things between you have been rather peaceful and ordinary. But the depth of your connection has never gone deeper than the superficial level. It resembles the kind of relationship she has with her doorman or her most loyal customers–polite exchanges, pleasant conversations, but lacking the depth and substance she desires. Not even the topic of Sparky could be considered personal, as she can talk about her dog with just about anyone she encounters on the street. The only relief she finds is in the fact that you no longer recoil at the sight of her or emit heavy sighs that betray your wariness of her.

Other than those things, Wanda has no clue where she stands.

"Would she even want to hear from me?" Wanda questions, her voice wavering. “I mean, we have a lot of great memories from her birthdays. I just don’t want to remind her of the things we lost and unintentionally spoil her day.”

Calliope responds with a soothing smile, but her words reveal a more complex reality. "Only Y/N knows her own feelings, but we should keep in mind that healing and forgiving are very personal journeys.”

She takes a brief pause, letting her words settle before proceeding."If you do decide to reach out, consider doing so from a place of genuine care and understanding. Let Y/N know that you acknowledge the significance of the day and the memories you once shared, without placing expectations or unintentionally burdening her. Ultimately, the choice rests with you, and whatever decision you make, trust that it comes from a place of self-awareness."

“I’ll think about it,” Wanda says quietly, lips lightly pressed together, deep in contemplation.

***

It’s your ex-wife’s dark, green eyes that you see, staring up at you as she pleasures you with her mouth before you’re abruptly sucked into the waking world. Your face burns with the guilt of having dreamed about Wanda, moreso when you find that the sensation in your core is real.

Except the mop of hair between your legs is blonde instead of brown.

Yelena’s eyes are closed tightly in concentration, her pink tongue darting out of her mouth, licking up and down your slit in a languid manner.

“Y-Yelena… what–” Your words die on your throat as her lips closes around your clit and begins sucking on it. You perform your role, moaning at the parts that warrant them.

“Tell me what you need,” Yelena says after some time, pulling back slightly to blow on your engorged nub. You have no idea how long she’s been down there, but you can tell it’s been longer than Yelena had intended when you notice how swollen her lips have gotten and how her chin is dripping with your wetness.

Despite the tell-tale signs that you’re close, you don’t feel anywhere near the precipice of an orgasm.

You can do this. You can squeeze one out just for her. God you want to come, just so no one ends up being embarrassed.

“Put your fingers in me,” you instruct quietly. Yelena follows them right away, pushing her middle and forefinger and then curling them up slightly for good measure. “Yes, just like that. Then just… maybe massage your tongue on my clit, clockwise…”

Yelena blushes at your specific directions, but she pushes down her insecurity, needing to get you off first as soon as possible.

“Faster,” you gasp. Yelena rubs you with the flat of her tongue harder while her fingers piston in and out of you at breakneck pace.

In the end, your orgasm is more like a surrender than a triumph. But in that moment, you feel a surge of gratitude, relieved that you don't have to explain to your girlfriend that you had an inappropriate dream about your ex-wife and that’s why coming was the last thing on your mind this morning.

As you catch your breath, Yelena slowly crawls up to you, resting her cheek on your clothed chest and looking at you with concern.

“Was that okay? I mean, that has always been a fantasy of mine, but it just occurred to me that we didn’t really talk about–”

You caress her lips with the pad of your thumb, interrupting her with a tender gesture.

“You were great,” you assure her, your lips twitching into a slight smile. Your words are genuine. Even if the pleasure hadn't been as intense as usual, you appreciated her early morning efforts to make you feel desired on your birthday. "But I agree. For any future similar experiences, we should definitely talk about it first.”

Yelena whispers an apology, her voice barely holding up against her worry. Her gaze is locked onto yours, seeking forgiveness, even as you reassure her.

Feeling her need for comfort, you gently coax, "Come here," your voice soft as a feather as you tenderly tilt her chin upwards. This enables your lips to find hers in a tender kiss, one that is meant to express your gratitude more than words could. Yelena responds ardently to the kiss, reciprocating the sentiment behind it.

"Happy 30th, baby," Yelena whispers, and as she pulls away, a sense of déjà vu creeps up your spine, the familiarity of her words tugging at your memory.

It’s the most silly thing, but in the rush of daily life, you had somehow forgotten that today is your birthday. You keep this realization to yourself, not wanting to dampen the moment or make Yelena feel any sense of disappointment.

“Thank you,” you say, pressing your forehead against hers. Wrapped in each other's arms, you finally allow yourself to fully relax. “For everything.” you add as an afterthought.

"Don't thank me just yet. Your day is only just beginning," she mumbles, punctuating her words with a wink.

“What do you have in mind?” You shift, wrapping an arm around her so she can nestle into you even more snugly. The room is still dark, with the blinds effectively blocking out any indication of whether the sun is up.

Grinning, Yelena says, "It's a secret," before she buries her face into your chest, seeking more rest.

***

“You can open them now.”

Upon her cue, you open your eyes. In front of you is a jigsaw puzzle neatly framed–a puzzle that sends a wave of nostalgia coursing through you. It's the first puzzle you ever completed with your late father, a cherished memory that you believed was forever lost to time. The surprise leaves you speechless; you couldn't have guessed that this would be the gift your wife had in store for your 27th birthday.

“H-How did you…?” you stammer out. To your knowledge, the puzzle had disappeared long before your high school years, mistakenly donated to a bookstore during a house move when you had to clear out your room.

Wanda’s eyes flicker in excitement as she recounts the story. “I asked your mom where she donated it, and she actually had already forgotten the name of the bookstore. Luckily, she remembers what it looks like, so I just had to look at every bookstore in your previous address on Google Maps, and voila!”

“Just like that?” you ask, your fingers tenderly tracing the puzzle's features through the glass that protects it. Your eyes moisten as you welcome a flood of good memories with your father.

"Well, not exactly," Wanda clarifies, a hint of amusement in her voice. "It made quite a journey, even ended up in another state. It's a long story, but I tracked it down. I was fortunate to not have to spend a lot to get it back from its current owner. It turns out it's a limited edition puzzle. But when I shared your story, they were moved by it and agreed to let it go."

When your father died, your mother was in so much grief that she tried to burn everything that reminded him of her. It was one of the worst fights you’ve had with her, and you managed to only save a couple of family photo albums that you now keep in a storage rental. The fact that Wanda has not only tracked down the puzzle but also painstakingly assembled the 1000 pieces herself in order to frame it leaves you utterly speechless.

You can’t begin to fathom how in love you are with this woman. You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from her, the gift momentarily forgotten.

“What?” Wanda tilts her head at you curiously after you’ve been staring at her for a long time.

“I love you, Wanda.” you say, and you feel how different this proclamation is from the thousands that came before.

A tender smile forms on Wanda’s lips as she responds, “I love you, too.”

You shake your head, feeling a bit silly as you continue, “No, like… I love you–forever.”

Wanda chuckles, and says, "I was kind of hoping you'd say that, considering we're married."

You laugh along with her before your expression turns serious once again. “No. I mean, come what may, I think I will love you always. Like, if you suddenly die tomorrow, I would grieve til the end of time and then some. But I’ll be content having known a love like ours for the rest of my life.”

"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me, even if it's a little dark," Wanda jokes softly, her heart pounding in secret. "I'll love you until my knees give out and you have to carry me, until every strand of hair on my head turns gray, and then some."

You lean in, capturing her lips in a sweet kiss, and then you brush your nose against hers repeatedly until she starts giggling. In that instant, you realize that if you could, you’d marry her over and over again.

***

Agatha is on the verge of contacting the NYPD when she discovers the stainless shutter partially lifted. She's scheduled to unlock Second Chances today, but evidently, someone else has already taken on the task.

Someone who could potentially be robbing Wanda's cafe at this very moment.

Bracing herself for any potential threats, Agatha cautiously nears the main entrance, striving to minimize any sound she makes. Abruptly, she spots a shadow darting inside, instantly triggering a surge of adrenaline in her system. Acting swiftly, Agatha smacks the shutter with her fist, aiming to startle and warn the trespasser.

To her astonishment, it's Wanda who lets out a terrified scream, brandishing a spatula as if it's a weapon.

"Jesus Christ, Wanda! You scared me!" Agatha blurts out, her hand reflexively clutching her rapidly rising and falling chest. "I thought I was the one opening up today."

Wanda grins sheepishly as she continues with her task, mixing something in the kitchen. "I woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep," she confesses with slight unease.

Something clicks in Agatha’s head. She really wouldn’t call it a special talent, but she has a knack for remembering people's birthdays once she learns them.

"Oh. I think I know what day it is," Agatha says, placing her bag on the counter.

"It's Saturday, right?" Wanda replies, trying to act casual.

"Not the day of the week. The date. I believe a certain someone is celebrating their birthday today. You're baking her a cake right now, aren't you?"

Caught in the act, Wanda confesses with a faint smile, "You got me."

"Do you plan to give that to her later?"

Wanda shakes her head, her smile dimming slightly. "I'm making this for everyone here. It's just a little something for everyone to enjoy."

Even though she can no longer celebrate your birthday with you, she's found a sense of comfort in remembering it in her own manner.

"Everyone except Y/N," Agatha mumbles under her breath.

"What did you say?" Wanda asks, catching the tail end of Agatha's whisper.

"Just thinking out loud," Agatha dismisses with a casual wave of her hand. “Need a hand with that?”

***

"Is a blindfold really necessary?" you ask, propped against the car window of Yelena’s rental. Yelena’s hand keeps reaching over to give yours a reassuring squeeze. She had been quite persistent this morning, hurrying you through breakfast and practically shoving you into the shower. Her main objective had been clear: to keep you away from any potential distractions, like getting lost in the endless abyss of social media.

“I don’t want you getting ideas for my surprise.” she says, her tone playful.

Surprises. Truthfully, you could do without any more surprises. After all, a surprising event last year had completely overturned your life.

"Would you at least tell me where we're going?" you question, hoping for a sliver of insight.

“Not a chance.”

"Please, Yelena. We're not breaking any laws, are we?” You’d say anything at this point to coax a response out of her.

The car suddenly jerks to a stop. It might be due to your statement, but having ridden with Yelena before, you know she’s never been the most delicate driver when it comes to the brakes.

Yelena decides to play along, if only to entertain you through the traffic delay. "If I said yes, would you have any ideas where it could be?" she asks, curious to see your reaction.

"Is it some clandestine fight club?"

Bursting out in laughter, Yelena replies, "Good guess, but no."

You have to admit, you feel a tad let down.

"Are we going to a covert assignment of yours? Some of those tend to be on the shady side, right?" you probe further, considering whether your daring girlfriend might have arranged something unorthodox.

"I'd never put you in harm's way," Yelena reassures you.

“You did not just confirm your work is dangerous like Nat’s.”

"No, I didn't," Yelena retorts quickly. "Any other wild guesses?" she proposes, trying to deflect the conversation.

“Come on, just tell me.” you whine.

"No can do," Yelena grins, finally navigating through the traffic bottleneck.

After a short while, the car begins to decelerate. You discern that you've turned into a narrow lane as the car's parking sensor starts to emit intermittent beeps, signifying Yelena is parking.

With a deep breath, you step out of the car, still blindfolded, and trust Yelena to guide you further. The walk isn't too far, and you can hear the sound of your surroundings changing as you move.

"You're not going to pull a horror movie plot on me, right? Kidnapping me only to reveal your sinister plan all along?"

Yelena snorts in response, and you can almost hear the roll of her eyes. “At least not this year.” she retorts, tightening her hold around your waist. Her touch conveys more comfort and reassurance than any words could.

Finally, a door opens, and you step inside. The air is dense with an indistinct ambiance, which your blindfolded eyes cannot interpret. Then, the sound of Natasha's voice reaches you; its flat, disinterested tone unmistakably belongs to her. “You didn’t have to blindfold her, Lena.” Natasha remarks with a bored drawl.

At that, the cloth falls away from your eyes to reveal the friends and family that your girlfriend has gathered for your birthday. The room doesn't erupt into the usual 'surprise!', instead, a warm, if a little disorganized, chorus of "happy birthday" greets you. As they rise from their seats to surround you, you hardly have time to identify everyone present.

Natasha is the first to approach, her arms wrapping around you in a quick hug. "Don't hog all the cake," she teases.

Laughing, you retort, "Three slices aren't too many."

A smirk tugs at her lips as she quips, "Not if you cut the cake into four pieces, you goof."

You shoot her a mock glare, which quickly melts into a smile. "Thanks for being here, Nat."

“It’s my third favorite day.” Natasha reasons fondly, having previously stated that her favorite days are Christmas, Yelena’s birthday and yours–in that particular order. As soon as she steps out of your embrace, another person takes their moment with you.

"Happy birthday, bud," Clint, the owner of this house in Staten Island, envelops you in a tight hug, his biceps squeezing your shoulders a bit too firmly. Despite him being primarily Natasha's friend, the two of you have shared enough meaningful conversations for you to regard him as a friend of your own.

"Great to see you, Clint. Thanks," you respond as you return his hug.

The real surprise, however, comes from seeing Scott as part of Yelena's plan. "Hey there, rockstar!" he greets you with a high-five instead of the usual hug, adding to the sense of novelty in the celebration.

“Scott!” You can't help but exclaim, pulling him into a spontaneous hug. He seems surprised at first, but then his arm circles around you in response, returning the unexpected show of affection.

"I heard you're doing really well at Stark Industries," he says proudly. "I always knew you had it in you."

"Wait, how did you know about that?" you question.

"They called me for a recommendation," he reveals with a smile.

The news that Scott played a role in securing your job prompts you to lunge back at him for another quick hug. “Finally, we can now start drinking!” he exclaims with a jovial pat on your back before making a beeline for the fridge to grab a cold beer.

The final guest to approach you is none other than your own mother. You sneak a glance at Yelena, her grin wide as she watches your surprised expression.

"Forgot to tell me about your new sweetheart, did you?" your mother gently teases, diverting her gaze from you to Yelena. "She's absolutely stunning and delightful. Happy birthday, my darling!"

Even though you’re not sure what to make of it, hearing your mother subtly hint at you that she likes Yelena gives you a sense of relief. But at the same time, it also makes you wonder what Yelena has that she never found in Wanda; how she went ahead and warmed up instantly to a month-old flame, but never to the woman who had been an integral part of your life for over a decade.

"Thanks, mom," you murmur, allowing her to plant kisses on both of your cheeks. She then mentions a pie she's working on in the kitchen before leaving you alone with Yelena. The rest of the group disperses, busying themselves with the dinner plans, except Scott, who contentedly sips his beer while puffing on a joint.

"How on earth did you manage to bring all these folks together?" you wonder, leading Yelena by the hand into a quieter bedroom. Yelena responds by draping her arms over your shoulders, as your hands find their place on her hips. This would probably be the moment you two will have alone for the next several hours, and she intends to savor each second of it.

Looking up at you through her dark, enticing lashes, she jests, “Ever heard of ‘preparation’? You might want to give it a go.” Her playful words are swiftly followed by her leaning in to steal a passionate kiss from you. For a brief spell, you just hold each other, appreciating the dear friends who've taken out time to celebrate your special day.

"Thank you," you whisper, planting a tender kiss on her nose.

"So, what do you make of all this? Your friends, your mom–all of them gathered here?" she asks.

Your answer comes in the form of a heavy sigh.

A medley of personalities under a single roof? It’s going to be a long day.

Dinner is served promptly at five in the afternoon, filling the air with the delightful aroma of home-cooked meals. The dining table is adorned with an array of dishes, a feast fit for a special occasion. The tantalizing scent of smoky barbecue, succulent steaks, and freshly caught lobsters wafts through the room, whetting everyone's appetite.

Seated around the table, sharing stories and laughter are the people who mean the most to you, even as you’d occasionally stare blankly at an empty chair, trying not to imagine a specific person sitting on it.

And then, when you least expect it, Natasha raises her glass, a sly smile on her lips. "To our incredibly lucky friend, who managed to survive another year without getting themselves into too much trouble. Happy birthday, I guess."

The room erupts in a languorous laughter, glasses clinking together as everyone joins in the toast, and then Scott, already nursing a buzz since around the time you arrived, suggests that your girlfriend give you a toast as well. Both you and Yelena blush at that, and then your mother claps eagerly, prompting Yelena to stand up, your steady gaze the only thing that’s tethering her as she prepares to give her message.

“Fate has a funny way of bringing people back together," Yelena starts her speech, a bit nervous addressing you with everyone, including your mother, watching. “Especially when you thought you’ve lost your chance with someone for good. Years ago, life took us down different roads, and we went our separate ways before college. We only reconnected last year, and I could have never guessed then where we would be now."

"Today, on this most special day, I raise my toast to second chances,” Yelena proclaims, her voice growing steadier with each word. “To the persistence of love that withstands the passage of time, the might of forgiveness, and the firm belief that two hearts meant to be together will always find their way back to each other.”

Tears prickle at the back of your eyes, threatening to fall. Second chances. Those words seem to hold so much more meaning now. They encapsulate both an idea and a reality–a reality crafted by the person pleading for this chance the most. In that moment, you realize that second chances are not merely given—they are earned, fought for, and nurtured. They require courage, vulnerability, and a willingness to embrace the unknown. It's a tender interplay between the echoes of the past and the whispers of tomorrow, a nuanced shift between clutching the remnants of what once was and boldly striding towards what could be.

"To Y/N, the one who holds my heart, thank you for coming back into my life and giving us this opportunity to be together again." Yelena concludes. As the clapping dies down, she strides towards you, her hand tenderly caressing your cheek. “Happy birthday,” she whispers.

You mouth the words, "Thank you," the syllables forming on your lips with an almost reverent hush. She gives you a blinding smile, opting to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, aware of her sister's presence and feeling a touch self-conscious to kiss you where she really wants to.

With the conversations shifting to lighter subjects and laughter filling the air, Clint's voice cuts through the lively chatter to share something with the group. His statement catches everyone's attention, and they turn their focus to him.

"You guys know I own a small practice in Brooklyn, right?"

Everybody nods except for your mother, who is meeting these people for the first time, with the exception of Natasha.

Caught in his reverie, Clint pushes on. "I believe I've bumped into Wanda a few times in the same building," he reflects. "Although, I don't think she has noticed me." Suddenly, he seems to recall the sensitive nature of the topic, his gaze flitting over to you and then Yelena, perhaps prompted by the pointed glare Natasha sends his way. He adds hastily, "No hard feelings about mentioning her, right? Just an observation, that's all."

Yelena locks eyes with you, as if letting be the judge of that. "It's okay," you tell Clint before taking a generous sip of your wine.

With your permission, he presses for more information. “I've seen her going to Dr. Calliope William's clinic,” he reveals. “The doc is a renowned psychiatrist and therapist who used to specialize in treating celebrities with substance abuse issues. But she's been relatively low-profile lately.”

“So, Wanda is her patient?” Natasha asks for confirmation.

“That’s right, although I never took Wanda for an addict.” comes Clint’s reply.

Though it’s the first time you’re hearing this, you're quick to dispel any misconceptions about your ex-wife. "She's not an addict," you state unequivocally.

Scott steps in. “Well, you haven't been in contact with her for a while. She could've slipped into that lifestyle without you knowing.”

Yelena clears her throat and then smiles wryly and says, “Actually, Y/N, has seen her recently.”

Natasha’s question slices through the atmosphere, sharp and demanding. “How recently?”

“Last week,” you admit. “And the week before that.”

Upon hearing your admission, Natasha noticeably squirms in her chair, avoiding meeting anyone's gaze. "I need some air," she mutters, quickly excusing herself as she dashes outside.

Noting Natasha's distressed reaction to your revelation, you rise from your seat, gesturing for Yelena to stay put, as you follow after Natasha.

This isn't exactly how you envisioned your birthday unfolding–then again, when you woke up this morning, you hadn't even remembered it was your birthday in the first place.

Stepping out into the brisk evening air, a shudder ripples through you. Natasha stands by the bonfire, her arms hugging her torso, the fire's enchanting light casting deep shadows on her tensed features.

“You haven't been entirely truthful with me, have you?” she asks, her gaze set on the flickering flames which paint the night in warm hues.

"Nat–"

“You could've told me when I came by your office. But instead, I have to hear it now, from my own sister of all people,” she articulates, her voice steady yet laced with sorrow. “And she seems fine with it, which I find hard to comprehend.”

“What are you insinuating?” you ask, annoyance seeping into your voice as you rake a hand through your hair. “I'm not doing anything that could hurt her. I have been straightforward with her from the onset–”

"If you genuinely believe you're not doing anything wrong, then you would've told me that you're still in touch with Wanda.” Natasha reasons, her gaze piercing as she drives home her point.

You open your mouth hotly, prepared to defend yourself, but Natasha raises a hand to cut you off before you can even begin.

"Because I can't think of any other reason why you would keep it from me–your best friend," Natasha declares.

“Natasha, I–” you really don’t know how to end this sentence, mostly because you’re not ready to admit that Natasha’s right. Natasha has always had an uncanny ability to see through your facades, to understand you even when you don't fully understand yourself.

In the end, you decide to lay it all out, starting from the beginning. You recount the moment when Wanda unexpectedly appeared at your apartment, only to be met by Yelena. You explain how you received a call from Vision, asking for your help to bring Wanda home. You tell her about Sparky’s delicate condition, the sole reason why Wanda sought you out. You explain your desire to have a civil relationship with Wanda, free from resentment, and your intention to move forward without completely cutting her out of your life.

Yet, Natasha just sneers at the last bit.

"Look, I get that you still have difficulty saying no to people and upsetting them because you’re such a fucking pushover sometimes," Natasha begins, her harsh tone making you wince. "But I know you better than anyone, and I can see that you still have feelings for her."

You attempt to cut in, but Natasha doesn't let up. "No, let me finish," she insists. "I've seen you go through this before. You're always trying to find a way to keep people in your life, even when it's not healthy for you or for them."

Her words hit you hard, and despite the obvious discomfort and hurt look on your face, Natasha continues, her tone compassionate yet insistent, "Sometimes, in order to truly move on and find happiness, you need to cut off certain people from your life. It's not easy, and it may hurt in the short term, but it's necessary for your own well-being and for the sake of your current relationship."

A lump forms in your gut as Natasha's words sink in. Deep down, you know she may have a point, yet accepting it feels like a difficult pill to swallow. You value her opinion and know that she only wants the best for you, even if it's hard to hear.

"I understand that it's not an easy decision to make," Natasha adds, her tone softening. "But I don't want to see you hurt Yelena or yourself in the process. You deserve a fresh start. You can’t be living in the present with one foot in the past."

“The world isn’t black or white, Nat. You seriously can’t mean that the only way I can move on is to hurt someone’s feelings.”

"I know you have a big heart, and that's one of the things I love about you," she says earnestly. “But if you hurt my sister because of Wanda, I can’t promise you that this won’t come between us.”

Once again, your mouth opens to say something, but the words continue to elude you.

“I know that’s a lot to take in and I should go. I really do wish you a happy birthday.” Following that, Natasha heads back inside only to say goodbye to everyone.

Your mother finds you in one of the bedrooms, gazing out the window while Yelena and Clint busy themselves clearing the table and washing the dishes after dinner. Meanwhile, Scott has already dozed off in the living room, clearly done for the night.

“You have the same look you had at your dad's funeral,” she says to you, as she steps in and gently closes the door behind her.

You offer a weak smile at your mother’s lack of filter.

“Thank you for being here, mom,” you say, your steps laden as you approach your mother, who stands uncertainly next to a petite, pink children's wardrobe. It's only then that you recognize you've strayed into one of Clint's daughter's rooms. There's an undeniable innocence to the space, a sense of tranquility that pulls you back to a time when life was simpler, and your family hadn't been burdened by impacts of your father's passing and the subtle strain it has put on your relationship with your mother over the years.

You envelop her in a hug. She feels so tiny and fragile in your arms, so different from the woman whose anger you used to cower from, whose opinion always intimidated you as a teenager–who used to carry you home when you’ve exhausted yourself in the playground near where you grew up.

Life seems like a long, winding road when you look at it from a child's perspective. And sometimes it stays that way even as an adult, with various distractions vying for your attention. But in reality, while there are still many years left in you, you may very well be nearing the end of your time with some of the most important people in your life. Your mother, at 60 years old, stands before you. Taking into account the current average human lifespan, she probably has about 30 summers left–and among those remaining summers, it's uncertain which ones you'll be fortunate enough to fully share with her. Even if it's just a single day per summer, that amounts to a mere 30 precious days left with her. You're approaching the endgame.

In your mind, you can't appreciate Yelena enough for involving your mother in this intimate gathering.

"She's quite determined, that girl," your mother exhales on your shoulder. "I can see that she's good for you."

"She is," you respond with a faint smile.

"But why does it seem like it's not enough?"

“What do you mean? It’s been a long day. Nat and I got into a heated argument–”

“This doesn't seem like Natasha's doing at all, dear. Every time I've seen you appear as though the world is closing in on you, it's always been because of her.”

Wanda.

Taken aback, you retreat, needing room to digest her words. Your jaw tightens as you counter, "That's a very unfair assumption you're making."

Your mother gently suggests, "It's merely an observation–"

“You don’t get to tell me what I feel–not when you never gave Wanda the chance you’re giving to Yelena now. Don’t pretend now that you knew anything about how important Wanda is–was to me.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think–”

"Of course it matters!" The words exploding from your mouth would likely echo downstairs, if not for the loud music that Clint turned on to mask Scott’s snores.

“It has always mattered to me,” you continue, quietly now. “It mattered to me that the two people I love most in the world loved each other.” Your voice fades into a hushed tone, and the silence lingers, broken only by the sound of your breathing.

“I... I did love Wanda. How could I not? She brought so much happiness into your life. I just couldn't bring myself to like her," she says, defeatedly. Slowly, she makes her way to the window, standing in the very spot where you had previously stood. The view outside is truly enchanting—a moonlit scene painted in shades of blue, casting ethereal shadows that seem to belong only in fairytales.

If only life were as simple as a fairytale, where everyone could find their happy ending. Perhaps then, on your birthday, all your wishes would have a chance to come true.

“Why?” you ask.

Your mother looks over her shoulder with a questioning look.

"Why don't you like Wanda?" you press.

"You might think I'm being irrational," she warns.

“Try me.” you challenge, eager to hear whatever her reasons are.

With a sigh, she relents. "Well, I guess I've struggled with the notion that Wanda has provided all the love and support you need, leaving no space for me anymore. And for a while, it seemed that way."

“Mom–”

“It’s true, honey,” she continues. “When your father passed away… being left alone to raise a child was a burden. Your father had always been better than me. He knew how to communicate with you–basically everything there is about being a good parent. So, I relied heavily on him. But when he was gone, I felt utterly lost... I saw you as this enormous responsibility that he left in my care, and that's why, as you've noticed while growing up, I was often a bit angry.”

She pauses, shrinking away, letting the silence creep back in as she gathers her thoughts.

“You needed me all along. Just like you sought out your father, you looked for him in me, as if hoping to find a part of him that lives on. And surprisingly, instead of feeling burdened, it became my source of comfort. I became dependent on your dependence on me. I found joy in being needed and believed I could provide everything necessary for your happiness. Your happiness was your father’s priority. I definitely took a backseat when you were born. But then I learned why–because you’re the most wonderful thing to ever happen to us.

“And then Wanda came along, like a beacon.” she says. Wanda entered the picture long before your mother got to meet her. She effortlessly dominated your conversations, each call becoming an ode to her presence. Your decisions and availability always revolved around Wanda.

Your mother saw the danger in that because it meant that Wanda, while being the key to your happiness, was also your greatest undoing.

“I never abandoned you, mom.” you say, a soft, sad declaration.

"I know, sweetheart. My reservations about Wanda had nothing to do with you or your actions. It was the fear that if she ever broke your heart, it would change you in ways I couldn't bear to see. And now, I witness that change unfolding before my eyes. As your mother, it pains me to see my daughter living a half-life."

“I'm not... it's not what you think..." you try to protest, but your voice falters; something wet hits your hands on your lap, and it dawns on you that you've started crying.

“You’re not living. You’re surviving,” she softly reiterates. “You may not want to admit it right now, but as your mother, I want you to know that I see you. You never have to hide from me because I will always look at you with love and understanding, never with judgment."

“I don't know what to do," you whisper, covering your face with your hands, your fingers scratching at your scalp in frustration. You feel your mother settle beside you, her arm wrapping around your shoulders, offering a comforting presence.

"Because you love Yelena too?" she asks tentatively.

You nod. “I really do.”

***

In the afternoon, Second Chances radiates a serene atmosphere, bathed in the glowing, honey-hued light of the setting sun filtering through its windows. A scant number of patrons fill the snug interior, sipping their drinks in solitude, lost in their own personal spheres. Wanda is nestled at a corner table, with a piece of cake served on a dainty plate before her. It's the final slice of the birthday cake she had lovingly prepared for you, and she delights in each mouthful, luxuriating in the sweet caramel's contrast with the dark chocolate's bitterness.

As Wanda savors her final bite, Agatha approaches, her fingers already retrieving a pack of cigarettes from her sweater. "Hey, Wanda," she murmurs, gesturing towards the exit. "Fancy a smoke break? The crisp fall air might do us some good."

"I'd prefer a walk, actually. I quit smoking a while ago," Wanda proposes, already on her feet, carrying her plate and fork to the kitchen. With a nod of understanding, Agatha waits patiently by the entrance.

There’s only a few more hours before your birthday comes to an end. She clings to her phone, fingers hovering over the screen, drafting and redrafting messages that remain unsent. Time is slipping through her fingers, and uncertainty clouds her mind. Will you be available to read her words? Will she have the courage to press send?

Yet, the fear of rejection and the unknown continues to hold her back.

"How are you holding up?" Agatha's voice pierces the silence, yanking Wanda back to the present.

"Okay, I guess," Wanda responds, her hands and phone disappearing into her pockets for warmth.

"You can be yourself around me, you know? I'm no longer your boss," Agatha assures, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "In fact, the roles have reversed now, haven't they?"

Wanda closes her eyes, her face tilting skyward, as she lets out a quiet sigh, "I miss her. I miss us."

Agatha nods in understanding. Throughout the day, she's watched Wanda's forced cheerfulness, a thinly veiled attempt to hide her longing for something—someone—gone. Often, she'd see Wanda gazing at nothing in particular, her body present, but her soul evidently elsewhere.

She attempts to find words of comfort, but realizes that a shot of tequila would likely do a better job of it.

“Have you wished her a happy birthday yet?” Agatha gently asks.

"I've been trying to, but I can't seem to find the right words," Wanda admits.

“How about just ‘happy birthday’?”

A soft laugh escapes Wanda at this. It's bittersweet how everyone else can simply wish you with ease, while her own vocabulary falls short in expressing the depth of her feelings.

"I'm overthinking, I know," Wanda murmurs, her foot idly nudging a stone on the sidewalk.

Agatha’s eyes soften. “When you look at it, much of what makes us suffer happens inside here,” she says, tapping a finger to the side of her head. “Our fears are often our own creation.”

Wanda ponders on Agatha's words for a while, the weight of self-imposed expectations sinking in. She wishes she hadn't set such high expectations for herself and instead had embraced the simplicity of greeting you with a heartfelt "happy birthday" from the start.

Her heart sinks as she contemplates the missed opportunity. The moment feels like it has passed, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand. Texting you now would seem forced, as if she's just randomly remembered your birthday and is sending a trivial greeting like one you'd give to an acquaintance. But in reality, she had been thinking about your birthday since the beginning of October, carefully crafting and deleting messages, obsessing endlessly over a simple message.

As she walks with Agatha, the city lights flickering around them, Wanda wonders when she'll finally find the courage to tell you how much you still mean to her. She wants to tell you about the cake she baked for you, how it became an instant hit and customers are already requesting it to be added to the menu. She can almost see the joy in your eyes as you take your first bite, the taste as sweet as the memory.

She wants to tell you about her journey with Calliope, wants to reminisce about your past birthdays, the shared laughter and inside jokes that have never lost their charm even after all these years.

She tries not to think about the last times, however. Or she’ll never stop grieving.

“I hate to sound like a cliche, but Wanda?” Agatha says.

“Yes?”

“Just fucking do it.” Agatha tells her, no nonsense.

Wanda nods, pressing her lips tightly together.

"Headed straight home after your shift?" Agatha asks once they wind up back to the cafe’s entrance.

Wanda shakes her head, her eyes wandering aimlessly in the distance. "No, I think I'm going to go for a run first. Clear my head."

“And then you’ll fucking do it?”

Wanda simply smiles.

***

“I'm sorry about Nat,” Yelena murmurs as you both finally arrive back home. The drive was filled with an uneasy silence, punctuated by sporadic remarks about the ever-worsening Manhattan traffic. "And I'm sorry that I probably triggered your fight.”

You let out a weary sigh, the exhaustion of the day seeping into your bones. “It’s not your fault,” you say. “It was going to happen sooner or later anyway. I think I’d be pissed at me too if I were in her shoes.”

Yelena makes a sound of agreement as she begins to undress, preparing for a much-needed shower to wash away the remnants of the day.

“Does it bother you?” you ask. “Me seeing Wanda all those times?”

“It does,” she admits, her gaze steady on you. “But I think I understand it’s hard for you to simply cut off someone who has been your constant for the last decade.

"I can't say it doesn't sting," she continues, her voice calm despite the depth of the admission. "I want you to be able to move forward, but I also know that it's not something you can do overnight. It takes time." she says and then disappears into the bathroom to start filling the tub.

You let out a sigh. You wish it were as easy as flipping a switch. "I don’t deserve you," you say, sincerity in your tone.

Yelena smiles at you and then says, “Don’t make that conclusion yet because I have one more surprise for you.”

"There's more?" you ask, your gaze flicking up to meet Yelena's in amazement.

From under the bed, Yelena hauls out a sizable box, causing you to laugh and wonder how long it’s been hiding there.

"What's this?" you question as she strides over to you, the box in hand.

"Go ahead and open it," she encourages. It's loosely wrapped in parchment paper, so it doesn't take you long to remove the lid.

The contents of the box halt you in your tracks. A memory from another time flashes before your eyes as you gaze, uncertain, at the identical puzzle that Wanda gifted you years ago, the puzzle you had worked on with your father.

"I know we already have a similar one hanging in our room," Yelena says, "But it's pretty worn out. I came across this copy accidentally and knew right away that it’ll be perfect. We can put this one together.”

It’s unexpected but thoughtful. And you feel like the universe is mocking you right now.

“Thank you,” you whisper to Yelena, drawing her in for a brief, tender kiss. Yelena hums happily against your lips.

“You’re welcome,” she says, and then disappears into the bathroom.

You sink into the couch to rest for a bit, undecided if you also want to join Yelena in the bath. In the meantime, you unlock your phone and navigate to your Facebook profile, curious to read the birthday wishes posted on your wall. You meticulously scan through each notification, hoping to spot a particular name—the person who had always been the first to celebrate your day and the last to share your joy as it wound down. Yet, as you sift through the comments and messages, both public and personal, her name is conspicuously missing.

Following that, you check your text messages. There's a standard birthday greeting from your credit card company, along with a slew of generic messages from different businesses that have somehow gotten hold of your information.

But, there's nothing from Wanda.

You tell yourself it's probably better this way.

Several minutes later, Yelena steps out of the bathroom, draped only in a towel. The sight of her kindles a warmth within your chest.

“Other than the thing with Nat, did you enjoy your birthday?” she asks.

“I did,” you reply honestly, walking towards her and gently pressing a sweet kiss on her neck. “But after eating so much, I feel like I need to burn off some calories. Would you mind if I went for a run?"

“It’s your birthday,” Yelena's smile brushes against your lips, somewhat relieved. “Do whatever you want for whatever time is left of it. I'll be here when you get back."

***

"Baby, I'm so sorry. I lost track of time, and just..." you call out to your wife as soon as you close the door behind you. Wanda steps out from the kitchen, cradling Sparky in her arms, her eyes swollen and glistening with fresh tears. Clearly, she has been crying for a while.

Wanda tries to respond, but her voice cracks, and only broken sobs escape her lips.

"Hey," you murmur, hastily discarding your belongings on the floor and instantly making your way to her side. "What's happened? Why are you crying?"

"I've been so worried. You weren't answering my calls. It’s a new town. And I want to be so mad at you right now, but it's your birthday, and I really, really hate you right now..." Her words fragment into disjointed sobs; her voice quivers the more she tries to articulate her feelings.

Gently, you take Sparky from her arms, setting him on the floor so that you can envelop Wanda in your arms unimpeded.

"I'm here now," you murmur into her hair as she nestles herself in your neck impossibly closer. Dinner reservations had been made months in advance to celebrate your 29th, but earlier today, a board meeting took an unexpected turn, forcing you to cancel on Wanda. She had been understanding, deciding to just cook your favorite meals instead. That conversation took place exactly eight hours ago, and since then, Wanda hadn't heard from you at all.

“You can’t do that. I can’t bear the thought of something bad happening to you, not on your birthday or any other day of the year," she sobs, her tears dampening the fabric of your shirt as she buries herself further into your embrace.

Guilt gnaws at you, sinking its teeth deeper with each passing moment. Lately, work has been demanding, occupying your time and energy, leaving you with little to spare for anything else–even Wanda. With Scott's mention of a potential promotion looming over your head, the pressure has only intensified.

Both of you had hoped that today, of all days, would be different, but it seemed you were swallowed up again – caught in the relentless tide of deadlines and emergency meetings.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm here now," you soothe, peppering her with tender kisses wherever your lips can reach.

You feel Wanda’s meek nod, and then she says, “Have you eaten at least? I can warm the food–”

“Later,” you say, holding her even tighter, as if trying to merge your souls together so you'll never have to be apart again. “Let’s just stay like this for a while.”

***

Running doesn’t clear Wanda’s head like it’s supposed to–like she’s expected it to.

As she runs through the sprawling expanse of Central Park, her thoughts race just as rapidly. The rhythmic pounding of her feet on the pavement fails to provide the clarity she had hoped for. Instead, each stride seems to bring her closer to the haunting words she had crafted but never sent to you. They dance before her eyes, tormenting her with their unsent weight, urging her to confront them.

Breathless and weary, Wanda slows her pace, finally acknowledging that literally running away from her wants will not trump them down. On the contrary, they amplify, persisting stubbornly until she finds herself reaching for the phone strapped to her arm, determined to compose the message she's been contemplating, but still uncertain of what to say to you.

Wanda patiently waits for her heart rate to return to normal as she types a tentative opener.

Hey! Y/N!!!

She grimaces at the excessive use of exclamation points.

Hey, Y/N

But that doesn't feel quite right either. Doesn’t sound cheerful or celebratory at the very least.

Wanda shivers as a cool breeze sweeps over her, causing her drenched t-shirt to cling to her skin. She’d probably catch a cold faster than she can hit that send button.

Your legs are burdened, yet not as heavily as your heart. This birthday has turned out to be the most emotionally taxing event of your life, surpassing even the first one you faced after your father's passing. The physical weariness from your run does little to alleviate the thought that Wanda didn't reach out to you at all.

You start questioning why it hits you so hard—why receiving a message from her feels so crucial. As you search for answers within yourself, you're confronted with a disquieting realization: you don't want Wanda to get over you.

Or maybe it's not the fear of her moving on that you struggle with. Because that would be utterly selfish on your part (wouldn’t it?).

Maybe–just maybe–you don’t want to be forgotten. Not by someone who left an indelible mark on your life and had stripped away every piece of your identity. Someone who held your heart in her hand for more than a decade.

Being forgotten so easily makes you feel insignificant. And you’re shocked that it could even hurt more than her initial betrayal–that it could leave you questioning your own worth.

It’s pathetic that one text can unravel you this way.

Your footsteps gradually come to a halt as you walk away from the running path. And then as you approach a quiet intersection that’s dimly lit by a single, flickering lamp post, you find the very person you’ve been waiting for all day.

There, under the shelter of a Sugar Maple tree, stands Wanda. She’s anxiously nipping at her fingernails, caught up in something that’s unknown to you.

Central Park is a sprawling oasis, a world of its own within the bustling concrete jungle. Its vastness is almost overwhelming, with winding paths and hidden corners that seem to stretch endlessly. The chances of stumbling upon someone you know in this labyrinthine expanse are incredibly slim, like finding a needle in a haystack.

In spite of the odds, there you are, simultaneously existing in the same space. Watching Wanda pace and clutch her phone sends waves of amazement through you. That you've both somehow found each other in this vast park at this exact moment overwhelms you with incredulity—it's bordering on unnerving.

For now, you remain undetected. You quietly take in her every action, the soft furrows of her brow as she broods, the subtle parting and pressing of her lips as she attempts to vocalize her internal monologue.

It’s an endearing sight, and it’s only then that you realize how much you miss Wanda. Maybe not in the way that you miss her when you were married to her, but just her steady presence. There is a certain peace that comes with her being in your life, a feeling that is difficult to put into words.

Wanda, oblivious to your watchful gaze, finishes the final(she swears it) draft of her greeting to you.

Hey, Y/N! I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday! I hope you had an amazing time. I simply wish you happiness and good health–always. Thank you for being born and the privilege of knowing you.

It’s all she wants to say–except for one thing:

That she loves you and always will.

But it doesn’t need to be said. Not by her. Not right now. And Wanda figures that’s okay. If her love for you needs to survive on its own, she is more than willing to hold it close and let it burn brightly within her.

Love always has somewhere to go.

It's because of her love for you that Wanda will continue to nurture the Chrysanthemums she has at home. She will care for Sparky with all her heart and give him the love and attention he deserves. She will keep growing and striving to be the person you've always believed her to be.

And before she can retract what she's typed, her thumb accidentally presses the send button. Wanda's eyes widen in panic as she realizes what she has done. She quickly takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and willing herself to calm down. It's out there now, and whatever happens, whether you read it or not, she won’t have to think about it anymore. She surmises that, in itself, is a win.

The message lands in your inbox within seconds. Your forgetfulness to switch your phone to silent mode means its arrival resonates in the quiet, drawing Wanda's attention.However, by then, your intrigue has already taken over, causing you to miss the exact moment her gaze finds you, concealed in the dimness. The glow from your phone screen illuminates your face as you digest her message.

You go over the message repeatedly, with every word causing a wider smile to form on your face. By the time you decide that you’ve had your fill of Wanda’s text, she’s gotten close enough for you to catch the green in her eyes.

“Y/N?” Wanda blinks, questioning whether she's just imagining you.

“I got your message,” you say, laughing a little, the sound of it coming off a little watery. “I… thank you.”

Wanda instantly forgets what she has just written. All that matters is that you’re there in front of her, and you seem happy about what you’ve read.

"I’ve–"

"I–"

You both start talking at the same time, then stop, chuckling at the coincidental timing.

"I'll defer to the birthday girl," Wanda whispers with a playful smirk.

"I've missed you," the words leave your mouth before doubt can dissuade you. Wanda seems to freeze at your admission – she wasn't expecting to hear from you, let alone those three words.

Before Wanda could respond, she feels herself being drawn into your arms, your warmth seeping through her being. “Me too,” Wanda sighs against her will, as if she’s finally returned home.

Eventually, you both break away, wearing matching bashful smiles on your faces.

“I was wondering if you, maybe, want to get a bite to eat?” she asks.

The vigorous run made you a little hungry, and you’re not ready to let go of Wanda just yet.

“As long as it’s my treat.” you say.

Later, you find yourselves seated in a well-lit restaurant in the heart of Chinatown. Your conversation revolves around stories from your shared past, reminiscing about college and the friends you haven't seen in a while. You tease Wanda about only learning how to use a chopstick when she met you.

You ask about Wanda’s coffee shop, and express your genuine happiness for her to see it thriving. She shares random anecdotes about her customers, and you can't help but feel a sense of pride for Wanda and her ability to create not just a business, but a world of its own.

When Wanda inquires about your work at Stark Industries, you eagerly explain the current project you're managing. You throw around some financial terms that she might not understand. Still, Wanda's eyes light up with genuine interest as she absorbs your words. Even if she doesn't completely get the complexities of your job, she does see how passionate you are about it. The excitement you exhibit when discussing your work is infectious, and it makes her smile to see how much you enjoy what you do.

You and Wanda carefully skirt around discussions of the divorce or Yelena. Nonetheless, Wanda voices her joy at seeing you thrive in your work and new relationship–to which you merely respond with a restrained smile.

Throughout your evening together, a pair of envious eyes watches from afar. They hold a storm of jealousy and deep yearning, overshadowing the pure moment you and Wanda share.

Vision wonders if it’s too late for some kind of revenge.

***

You return to Yelena late in the evening.

"You seem in high spirits," Yelena observes, her tone barely audible as she busies herself tidying up the kitchen.

"It's probably the endorphins from the run," you respond, peeling off your shirt which has dried since your time with Wanda.

Yelena gives a knowing nod. "I can see that. You were gone for quite some time."

You hum noncommittally as you move towards the shower, not picking up on Yelena’s subtle hint, leaving her alone with her thoughts about how a simple run could bring you more joy than all the thoughtful surprises she'd planned for the day.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

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srslyscary · 5 months

Text

songs // mini series

a mini series on how I would associate a song to skz members!

headcanons + small rants incoming! This isn’t based off meanings or lyrics, just instrumentals!

Candy ; Doja Cat

not based on the ENTIRE SONG but like.. from the timestamp 2:04 - 2:34 .. GOSH HE LOOKS LIKE THAT SONG.

IMAGINE IF HIS PARTNER WAS WITH HIM IN LIKE A SHARED HOME OR JUST IN THE STUDIO.. THIS MF WALKS IN WITH A COMPRESSION SHIRT, NO MAKEUP, AND HIS BEANIE. GODDD BAREFACED CHAN IS SO SCRUMPTIOUS.

I actually feel like on any occasion he would look like this song bc of the many different types of chan’s you get from him. obviously there’s Chan, then there’s Chris, and Christopher.

it also gives off rockstar chan in the photoshoot where he was in the bathtub with the wires and had the metal things in his mouth.. yeah this is him.

Swang ; Rae Sremmurd

Lord give this man my heart I forever bow in his presence. If I find an edit with this sound I’ll be so happy. HE LOOKS LIKE HE WOULD LISTEN TO THIS SONG WHILE WORKING OUT LKE IM SORRY.

“Hey Stay… how ya doin’?” TYPE SHIT.

It’s giving “late night drives with the windows open”… am I right or wrong???

This song gives that one blonde chan from Super intern ep. 3 I think and also chan in the oddinary trailer. SORRY NOT SORRY.

Swoon ; Beach Weather

Idk if it’s just me but this instrumental gives off chan at the beach (it’s obviously by beach weather) but aside from the artist’ name I can sort of picture his partner hand in hand while they run to the beach water and splash each other until sunset.

I also like to picture park dates. HE JUST LOOKS LIKE HE WOULD POST SCENERY PICS WITH THIS SONG.

this is like happy and calming chan, giving off those soft moments.

Messages From The Stars ; The Rah Band

i’m foive. literally that’s it. I SWEAR it gives off youngest son chan.

I also play this song in my head anytime chan does his little excited fists or anything to show he’s happy.

It just gives off silly channie.. like that one interview with Lee know where he was messing with him.. “a fiveee! A fouurrr- a threee- a— I’m sorry.” Apologies spouted when he realized Lee know was threatening him.

Dream, Ivory ; Dream, Ivory

this gives off him being up really late at the studio, and his partner calls his phone to tell him they miss him. he’s like “I miss you too, maybe even more.”

he skedaddles right on home to lay with them in bed, he’s holding them tight and giving them kisses on their head while whispering sweet nothings (god I want this)

the song is literally the same as the artist (how ironic) but like I could picture chan having dreams of sunny days with his partner and the boys. they’re all out on a grassy field having a picnic and playing with water balloons and water guns. they’re laughing and having a good time, him and lee know are probably sitting down watching them (ugh get a load of these oldies..)

West Coast ; Lana Del Rey

his partner simply woke up first and was faced with Chan’s back towards them. just running their fingers along his back one time to get a reality that he was real. that might have tickled him a big.

he turns around in his sleep, facing the other way. and now his partner could see his sleeping face. they rearranged his hair and smiled, nothing was more precious than waking up to the face of the one you love the most.

Idk I feel like this only goes well with morning scenarios… anyhoo he’s a cutie to wake up to I’m telling you.

taglist: @sixxze

#skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz imagines #skz scenarios #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan #christopher bang

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wildemaven · 1 year

Text

The Beginning: The Proposal

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

WC: 3528

Warnings: language, established relationship, 2nd POV, mentions of food and drinks, im going to refrain from any other things to not give anything away, but it’s all fluff

A/N: It’s here!! I’m excited and nervous!! Happy to give these to a little more love and a little bit more backstory to them. Normally I have a full blown moodboard (and I do) but it would give away too much so I’m opting to not have one but if you’re interested in seeing it, I can post it in like a separate “spoilers below” post. Also, reader’s nickname is revealed in this, so any future posts will have it when referring to her (so much easier to when trying to avoid a name). And last but not least, their song picked by y’all is Lover by T.Swift and there’s a playlist linked below.

Edited to add a big thank you to @noisynaia for letting scream at her my thoughts!!!

Okay. I hope you like it. And if you ever want to scream about these two with me, my ask box is always open.

Previous / Series Masterlist / The Proposal Playlist / Weekends Masterlist

Sometimes the beauty of life is allowing it happen organically.

Delicate bits of time woven together through fleeting moments— in varying degrees of inconsequential or life changing events.

Momentous is how you would describe your life in a single word at this very moment in time.

The last 6 months had been a whirlwind for you and Frankie. Since that night you’d both not only confessed your love to each other, but also deciding to spend the rest of time together.

You’d convinced your landlord to let you out if your lease early, due to you being a exemplary tenant for several years. With the help of Frankie and the guys, you were able to box up your things and move into Frankie’s house across town.

It had taken a few weeks to unpack your life into this new space, but you felt a sense of accomplishment once everything had a place and mixed in effortlessly with Frankie’s belongings.

You’d both decided early on to keep your engagement to yourselves— a secret for the two of you to savor and enjoy.

Not that you were worried about what others might think, but this felt like a special kind of thing you wanted to bask in before sharing with your loved ones.

And when the time was right, everyone would know.

Your schedules had been booked and busy, so you’d both decided to take a random Friday off to spend some extra time together. You were excited to have a 3 day weekend, alone with your fiancé. Which also meant sleeping in as late as you wanted and taking your leisure time to extricate yourself from your cozy lush surroundings.

The bed dips a bit as you turn and stretch out your slow waking form.

“Time to get up sleepy head.” His voice is still your favorite part of waking up. The soft cadence tickles every inch of your body, better than any cup of coffee ever could.

“You let me sleep in, thank you.”

“You looked comfy all wrapped up, figured you could use a few more hours.”

He kisses you, it’s sweet and laced with a hint of bitterness from his morning coffee.

“Mmm! Good morning handsome.”

“Mornin’ Beautiful. There’s a coffee and a danish on the nightstand for you.” You shoot him a questioning look, amusingly taken aback and confused. “Don’t look at me like that. They were all out of croissants this morning, so I went with your second favorite.”

You accept the offer, rolling on to your stomach to reach for your coffee. You get lost in the first sip and savor its creamy rich flavor as it hits every waiting taste bud.

“Alright sleeping beauty. Time to get your ass outta bed and get ready.” Giving your backside a few pats before heading for the bedroom door. “Our appointment is at 3 and then dinner reservations are at 6. Gonna go iron my shirt and clean up my shoes.”

“Hey!” Playfully yelling for his attention as he walks away.

He stops just outside the door, turning back towards you.

“I love you.” He serious expression relaxes and his face lighting up instantly.

“I love you too.” He shoots you a wink before turning to carry on.

It takes you a minute to get yourself up and moving. Bites of your delicious danish and sips of your warm latte aid in your efforts to get yourself ready.

Your mundane routine of showering and prepping for the day were taken at a deliberate pace. Enjoying the balmy spray of the water, soothing the slight aches and pains that had built up over the last week, the feeling of relief is almost instant.

Toweling yourself off and slipping on your cozy rob, you finish readying yourself with a simple makeup look— nothing too fancy or bold, just enough to accentuate your most favorite features.

The garment bag containing your dress for the day was tucked away in the back of your closet. You were so excited to finally get to wear it and eager to see the look on Frankie’s face when he sees you in it.

It was muted in coloring, an off shade of white, it wasn’t anything you’d ever considered for yourself but the moment you’d tried it on there was an instant reaction of sorts. It’s silky smooth fabric hugged your body in such a way that you couldn’t help but feel like it was made for you.

Jewelry and shoes finished off the look, taking yourself in fully as you stand in front of your full length mirror. You hands smoothing over the dress, admiring every detail of your reflection.

“You look stunning.”

Your eyes immediately drawn to Frankie in the mirror leaning against the door frame.

Your breath catches at the sight of him. His head cocked to the side as he admires you, hands tucked into his pant pockets, suit jacket hugging his broad shoulders over his freshly ironed shirt— the top buttons forgotten about in true Frankie fashion.

He pushes himself off the doorframe, taking a few long strides until he is crowding behind your spot in front of the mirror.

His eye contact is direct, holding an intensity that makes you dizzy. Your body tingles when his large hands slowly rest on your shoulders, his thumbs toying at the delicate straps of your dress.

“Frankie…” His name floats over your lips as you look at him with an ardent smile.

His eyes never stop watching you as he leans down pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, your eyelids flutter as the sensation of his lips ripples through your body.

Your hand comes up to caress the side of his face, his beard trimmed down, the stubble causing a bit of resistance to your touch.

You can’t help the tiny moan that escapes from your throat as Frankie begins to press kiss after kiss along your neck, tilting your head to completely give into to his wandering mouth.

“If you don’t stop, we’re never going to be on time.” Your breathless, knowing that it’s a slippery slop of carnal desire once things start to heat up.

He kisses you one last time before standing to his full height.

“You look so pretty.”

“Pretty?” His eyebrow raises at your comment, not he doesn’t think a man can be pretty, he’s just never saw himself as such.

You turn so you’re fully facing him, hands resting on his chest as you look at him with a sweet gaze. ��Yes, pretty. And your hair looks good too.” Your fingers lightly combs through the sides just purely for the experience of touching him some more.

“You think so??” You nod softly and lean into kiss him gently.

“Let’s go handsome.”

It was a 45 minute drive, which gave you both plenty of time to enjoy each other’s company. Chats about work and plans for the next few months permeated the truck cabin. 70’s ballads filled the in between silence, but usually evoking laughter from you as Frankie would do his best to stay in tune with the music.

This was now a regular feature in both of your lives. These days spent together, relishing each and every moment, were your favorite. Weekends alone or with friends had you craving adventure as much as possible. But even the slow paced weekends, at home had become a cherished time for the both of you, wanting to absorb each and every moment before the work week was knocking at the door.

The large building towers over the street as Frankie pulls into the parking spot. Its florid design was beautiful for a giant cement building, the front covered in windows and ornate decorative details that are reminiscent of older times.

The weather is warm and sunny as you make your way to the building, Frankie’s grasp on your hand is grounding, giving it a few subtle squeezes as you walk through the glass doors.

The air inside feels cold and stale as you wait for the next available window, very on brand for such a building. A slight shiver has Frankie pulling you in to him, wrapping you in his warmth.

“Next!”

“Good afternoon ma’am. We have an appointment, should be under Morales.”

She doesn’t respond as she clicks away at her keyboard, squinting at her computer screen through her wide-rim glasses.

“Do you have all your proper documentation with you today?” Straight to the point and zero enthusiasm in her tone.

“Uh, yes ma’am.” Frankie hands her the small stack of papers she had asked for. You squeeze his hand now, 3 times as a silent ‘I love you’.

“It’s says here Mr. Morales you’re previously divorced. Do you have proof of dissolution? Otherwise you may not proceed with your application.” She asks as she continues to hold the papers that she hasn’t looked at yet, not even looking away from the screen.

“Yes. It’s in the with the other papers. It was an amicable dissolution, we both signed and agreed to end the marriage—“

“I don’t need your life story sir, just the proper paperwork.”

“Right. Sorry, ma’am.” 3 more squeezes to his sweaty hand, thankful that Frankie is handling her crankiness so calmly and with a smile. She clearly has been doing this for years and has zero intention of small talk.

Her fingers continue to click more buttons and she scans through the papers, inputting the information into the proper boxes. And after what feels like a long process, she’s printing out some new documents, stacking them with the ones you’d given her and hands them back to Frankie.

“Please wait for your name to be called.” Barely making eye contact as she adjusts herself in her chair.

“Thank you ma’am. Have a great weekend.”

“Mhmm. Next!”

“Clearly your charming good looks had no effect on her.” You snicker into Frankie’s shoulder as you both walk to the sitting area, trying to keep your comment contained between the two of you.

The minutes tick by, the space is eerily quiet, so you keep talking to a minimum while you wait.

The other chairs are filled with what look like other couples, all most likely there for the same reason.

You take in the sweet older couple who sits across from you. They must be in their 80’s and yet they have a young innocence that seems to envelop them. Their hands anchoring them to each other as they sit snuggled in sweetly. You can’t make out their conversation, but the way she is smiling and looking at him, it feels like she completely taken by him as has been for awhile. He pats her fragile little hands as he talks and every few minutes he looks at her like she’s the only one in the room— your heart nearly implodes at the gentle kiss he gives her forehead.

It’s like you’re looking at a glimpse of your future. A love so authentic and undying, strong enough to endure hardships, a vivid and passionate life together that never gets tiring.

The soft whisper of your name catches your attention.

“You okay?” 3 gentle squeezes to your hand, the reciprocated gesture tugging at your heart.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just happy to be here with you.” You smile emphasizing your words.

“Alight, we have Morales up next! Please make your way through these doors and the commissioner is waiting for you up at the front.”

Entering the room, you’re welcomed by a lady standing behind a wooden podium— she’s already more inviting than the older one at the front desk.

Frankie’s hand is anchored to your lower back as you both make your way closer to her. Frankie hands her the papers she’s needs and you both wait for her to begin.

“Welcome. I have a few more couples after you so let’s get started. Do you have any witnesses with you today?”

“No ma’am we do not.”

“Okay, that’s fine, not a requirement in the state of Florida. And will you be exchanging rings today?”

“No ma’am, we do not have rings.”

“Well, this might just be the easiest one today.” She laughs a bit as she shuffled her papers around a bit.

“I’m going to ask you both to face each other while I read the declaration of intent.”

You can feel the emotions already flowing through you, as you look at Frankie. This man has gifted you with so much in such a short amount of time and you can’t help but feel so grateful for this life you’re about to begin.

“Please join hands.”

Frankie takes yours in his, his is touch is the most powerful thing you have ever felt.

“Francisco, do you take—“ There’s an pang in your chest as she says your name, but it’s not a heavy feeling, it’s light and airy as she continues reading from her paper. “To be your lawful wedded partner?”

“I do.”

His thumb sweeps back and forth across the top of your hand, his smile is beaming with elation.

“… do you take Francisco to be your lawful wedding partner?”

“I do.” There’s a slight crack when you say it, emotion fully overtaking your voice.

“… you have come here today on your own free will and declared your love for one and other.”

Tears begin to fall from your eyes as you look back at Frankie, your whole body feels like it’s floating on a blissful cloud. He wipes each tear and gently rubs your cheekbone, you lean into his touch.

“You have joined yourselves in matrimony. May you aim all your lives to meet this commitment and celebrate

in each other's company. And now that you have given and pledged your love and have stated so by joining

hands, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the State of Florida as Deputy Marriage Commissioner, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

And you do. It’s unlike any kiss you have ever experienced before. It’s all-encompassing and heart-stopping, pouring out all the love you have for one another— his lips feel like forever.

Wedded bliss is intoxicating. An indescribable feeling of starting this new chapter together and looking forward to a future where it’s the two of you steadfast in your fidelity and aspirations.

Driving straight from the courthouse, you’d both felt slightly over dressed at your favorite restaurant, it’s casual setting a stark contrast from your wedding attire. In the short time together, you’d both become regulars, dining in or takeout had become a weekly occurrence.

Frankie had made the reservation and must have mentioned it was a special occasion because the table is nestled in a corner that was secluded from the rest of the restaurant. Lit candles and small arrangement of flowers placed in the center.

You couldn’t have imagined a more perfect post wedding celebration. Indulging in your favorite dishes as you reflect on the day, it all still feeling surreal and fresh. The staff also gifting a slice of cake, a little congratulations on your new marriage.

“How long should we keep it from them? Santi’s going to be pissed when he finds out. I can already see that assholes face.”

You laugh because you know he’s right, but you know he’ll be happy for you both, they all will.

“How about we wait a month. Then we can invite everyone over for dinner, the weather’s been nice too, so maybe we pull out the bbq even and we tell them then. I mean, we made it 6 months engaged and none of them had a single clue. I like the thought of this being between us for a little bit.”

“That sounds like a great plan.” He leans over and looks at you with an almost devilish smirk. “Now, let’s get home so I can get you out of that fucking dress.”

“Mr. Morales, you have quiet the mouth on you.” You tease amusingly.

“Well Mrs. Morales, this mouth also has plans for you this evening.” His tone hushed as he spoke, a wink to seal his response.

You close the space between you, feeling his plush lips against yours. “Then take me home soldier.” Your tongue peeking out, the softest lick to his lips before pulling away and settling back into your chair.

“Can we get the check?!”

It was dark by the time Frankie pull the truck into the drive way. The stars like little fireflies lighting the sky and the moon silently vigilant as it settles in for the night.

“Did we leave a light on before we left?” Unbuckling yourself and noticing a faint light illuminating the front room, a slight panic creeping in your eyes.

“Hmm, I thought we turned them all off. Go head on in and check it out, I’m gonna lock up the truck and grab the leftovers.”

Thankfully the door is secured and you don’t see any sign of a break-in or anything out of place, relief washing over you.

Stepping through the threshold into the house you’re met with an unexpected sight. Dozens of white roses on every surface surround the open room, the floor draped in a sea of white petals. Bouquets covering the kitchen island where small candles are lit, the glow you saw from the window, more bouquets as you look into the living room.

You’re completely speechless and in awe of the beauty of the room and you’re so confused trying to figure out where they all came from. Clearly someone did break in? But decorated with flowers and locked up after they left…

Footsteps through the doorway bring your attention back to your surroundings, their presence stopping behind you.

“Frankie? What are all these flowers doing here?”

He doesn’t respond, but you can sense that he’s there. Pulling your eyes away from the flowers you turn to face Frankie, except he’s not level with you when you do so.

There before you is Frankie, your husband, kneeling on one knee looking up at you holding a small box in his hands.

“Frankie?” A wave of shock and elation crash over you in a matter of seconds. “What are you doing?”

“Hermosa… I know you said you didn’t need some big extravagant proposal and seeing as how we just got married just a few hours ago 6 months after meeting, we definitely don’t follow traditions.” His voice is so soft, and his eyes have never looked brighter.

“This is me promising you a future, a life where you are not alone. From the moment I met you, I knew I wanted to be apart of your life in some capacity and I wanted to make you smile everyday because it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Everyday I wake and think of you and when I sleep I think of you, you consume me with your laughter and your words of encouragement and your ability to live without abandonment.” You gasp as he slowly opens the small box revealing a ring. The design is simple and elegant, a beautiful stone setting with a unique design on a wider gold band.

“Te amo Hermosa. Will you be mine forever?”

You can’t stop the tears that are pouring down your face, you can’t even properly form any words as you nod your head reaching out for him, standing to his full height, placing the ring on your finger.

“I just need to double check that was a yes?”

“Yes! A million times yes!” You laugh through the still streaming tears, swatting at his chest as you look down at your hand, the ring sitting perfectly on your finger.

“How did you manage to get this all set up? It’s beautiful by the way.”

“I enlisted Hannah to help.”

“Hannah knows?!”

“No. No she doesn’t know what it was for exactly. I just said I wanted to surprise you after a dinner with flowers, I didn’t realize she was going to go all out. Remind me to check my credit card later.”

You kiss him, soaking in the moment with him. “I love you Frankie.” You whisper against his lips before you begin kissing him again.

“Wait, there’s one more thing.” He states as he pulls out his phone. “I also had Hannah show me how to use my phone with the speaker, something about blue teeth?”

It takes him a minute to get it connected, but he manages to get it hooked up. Music begins to play, it’s a softer song and you realize it’s one of your favorites. You’ve played it numerous times over the last few months, claiming that the song remind you of yours and Frankie’s love for each other.

“Can I have this dance?” Tossing his phone to the couch and holding his hand out to you.

“Always.”

The song played on as you both held each other, the soft sway of your bodies around the room. The flicker of the candles still adding a touch of light, laughter and kisses exchanged as he spins you about.

This was only the beginning.

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x reader #Frankie morales #Pedro pascal #weekends with frankie #wildemaven writes

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cantstoptheimagines · 1 year

Text

Stolen Love (John B Routledge | Outer Banks)

Summary — John B doesn’t want you to go home yet.

Warnings and Other Tags ➳ Mentions and implications of sex at the beginning, but no actual smut; brief mentions of alcohol; semi-secret relationship (Reader’s parents don’t like John B); mostly fluff and a clingy John B.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 1,170. ➳ Reader uses feminine pronouns (she/her). ➳ This is based on “Stolen Love” by Josiah and the Bonnevilles. It has such a John B vibe to it! ➳ This work has a visual edit!

It’s a stolen love in the middle of the night, it’s the story of you and I. Hearts on fire like a Marlboro light, burning up, and it feels alright. A stolen love, you and I.

John B’s hands were a saving grace.

Lying on your front, you could hardly keep your eyes open at the feeling of his rough palm slowly caressing the bare skin of your back. He rested next to you on his side, one cheek squished against his pillow as he gazed at you with a soft smile.

You could hear your friends in the living room of the Château, despite the door of John B’s bedroom being closed. They were listening to music, laughing loudly as they drank the night away.

Your eyes opened at the sound of John B shuffling beneath the sheets. He had come much closer. He gently tugged at a strand of your hair before leaning in to kiss your forehead. Then, his hand returned to its soothing movements against your lower back, rubbing at any aches and knots hiding beneath your skin.

“Are you trying to make me fall asleep?” you muttered, eyes falling shut once more. “I need to go home soon, ya know?”

“Do you really need to?” he whispered back, kissing your forehead again. “You could stay here with me instead. We can cuddle, kiss, have sex… again.”

Your lips quirked in an attempt to hide a smile. John B trailed a series of kisses along your skin, traveling from your temple to your cheek to your nose. Finally, he came to your lips, grinning against them in a moment of sweet affection.

“I think you’ll find I can be very convincing,” he chucked.

You finally allowed an amused smile to slip through, “Oh, really?”

He hummed with a nod, wrapping his arms around you and gently rolling you onto your back. He hovered over you with a soft smile as his nose rubbed against yours. He was really putting in the work now.

He kissed you again, then breathed, “Wanna see my methods?”

We tore up the room, we blurred out the lines, breakin’ hearts and rules at the same time! God knows it’s wrong! Baby, it feels so right! It’s a stolen love, keeps us up at night! Stolen love, keep me up all night!

You tucked some of his thick curls behind his ears. John B admired the way your eyes flitted around the room with a certain sparkle. As one hand rested next to your head on one of his pillows, the other gently traced over the skin of your bare shoulder. He couldn’t stop himself from layering a few more kisses over the area, even occasionally nipping with his teeth in a series of gentle bites.

“I think you’ve already shown me your methods, John Booker Routledge. Look at the state of your bed right now.”

He groaned at the sound of his full name leaving your lips. His forehead dropped to your shoulder and his face hid against your neck. An embarrassed flush quickly covered his cheeks.

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered. “You know what it does to me when you do.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you sighed, feeling him place open-mouthed kisses against your neck. “What do you wanna be called?”

“You know,” he whispered, running his nose along your jawline.

You smirked, “I don’t think I do.”

“Baby,” he whined, “stop messing with me.”

His nose dug into your cheek, repeatedly pecking the area. You could tell he wasn’t being serious by the way he grinned against you. His brown curls tickled each time they made contact with your skin.

Baby, cut the cord, cross that line. In the name of love, give me one more night. Hey, come on, love, give me one more night!

“Stay,” he whispered. “Just this once, stay. I want you here with me.”

You shook your head, trying not to fall for his undeniable charm. His warm hands slowly moved to your hips. He shifted to lie between your legs with his chest flush against yours. His weight against you was heavy, but nice, comforting, and warm.

“I can’t,” you murmured. “Want to, but I can’t. Not tonight.”

“You always say that,” groaned John B, allowing his head to rest against your shoulder.

“And it’s always true.”

“Whatever.”

It seemed he had finally come to the conclusion that you wouldn’t be spending the night at the Château, no matter how much he wanted you to. There would be no convincing you tonight.

You snorted at his sudden change in attitude, “Don’t pout, Johnny.”

“I’m not,” he grumbled, though you could barely hear him from his hiding spot against your bare skin.

Oh, stolen love, I keep on falling! Damn, is that your old man calling? Tell him I’ll give you back in the morning! Oh, stolen love, I keep on falling! Hey!

“Really? Because it sure does sound like—”

Your teasing was interrupted by the ringing of your cell phone. John B rose with a dejected expression, eyes sparkling with sadness when he read the screen.

Your parents, specifically your dad, had never liked John B very much. Due to that, the two of you had been keeping your relationship on the hush-hush when it came to them.

John B glared when you kept him snatching your phone away. He left a wet trail of kisses along your collarbones as you quickly answered and pressed the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

John B’s fingers dug into the flesh of your hips. His lips moved to your cheek. He then nuzzled his nose against the space, admiring every detail of your skin. He could vaguely make out the echo of your father’s voice.

“No,” you continued, weaving your hands into your boyfriend’s thick mess of curls. “I’m at Sarah’s place right now.”

Shivers wracked your body at the feeling of John B smirking against you. His nose ran over your ear as he whispered, “Tell him I’ll give you back in the morning.”

His affections continued. His lips kissed your skin, his arms tightened around your body, his hands ran over your skin, and his chest was flush against yours.

You took a deep breath at the feeling, “Hey, dad? Do you care if I spend the night? We wanna go swimming tomorrow and it’ll be easier if I just stay here.”

You tried not to laugh when John B pressed his face close to yours, trying to hear what your father’s answer would be. He bit his plush lip when he heard a quiet, “Don’t see why not.”

“Cool, thanks!” you replied, finally hanging up once you had bid him farewell before looking at your grinning boyfriend after doing so. “Happy now? Are you proud of constantly stealing me from my parents?”

He could tell by the smile on your face that you weren’t being serious. Kissing the space between your eyebrows, he muttered, “Very.”

Stolen love, I keep on falling! Falling!

#2023 #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks imagines #outer banks x reader #john b x reader #john b imagine #john b imagines #john b routledge x reader #john b routledge imagine #john b routledge imagines #stolen love

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year

Text

Psychomanteum / Chapter 12

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 12: Ghost in the Machine

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter go on a date while grappling with the past, present, and future.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 8.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, insecurities, mirror, angst, fluff, acting career things idk, awkward/nervous speech patterns, cocaine use, past infidelity, suspicion, dissociation, argument, abuse mention

Notes: Chapter title from "Ghost in the Machine" by SZA featuring Phoebe Bridgers. Howdy! If you want the taglist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. If you want a link to the spotify playlist for this chapter, let me know and I'll send it to ya.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Every window in the house sits ajar, welcoming a warm cross-breeze that tickles your skin. It carries an earthy scent from further up the hill, giving faint whiffs of sage and dirt.

Dieter moseys around the house in his boxers, voyaging between his kitchen sink and potted plants, watering can in hand. He mumbles sweet little affirmations to his green dependents, checking in with each in a hushed voice, saying shit like, “Now, how are we doing here? Thirsty?” or “Looking great today,” or “Wow, someone needs a haircut.”

From your place nestled into the couch, you alternate between watching him and studying the white wisps of steam that swirl off the surface of your coffee cup.

This morning, while peaceful, has you feeling off-kilter. Your mind keeps wandering to the interview with DIRT. To your mom. To Dieter.

Overnight, the dust began to settle in your mind, providing more clarity. Details started to surface shortly after you woke. Things you heard yesterday, but didn’t understand or deem important in the moment.

Like David’s statement: “Dieter has had a lot of big changes in his personal life this past year as well, with his divorce to Anika, and the scandals surrounding it.”

Like your mother saying: “He had a problem with drugs, you know, big problem, had other women, too,“ and, “I know he has a cocaine habit, and that he cheated on his wife, does that sound like anyone else?”

Like Dieter saying: “No, I definitely deserved that.”

In each still, calm moment, they replay. Every time you look at Dieter and your heart aches with love and adoration, your memory blindsides you with this information.

Is your mom right? Did he cheat on Anika?

Or is she just trying to drive a wedge between you?

Wouldn’t he have told you when he had the chance?

You know you could do a web search to look into it, do your own research into the matter. Hell, you could even just fucking ask him. But the prospect makes you itch.

Because what if she’s wrong and he thinks you don’t trust him? Or, worse, what if she’s right?

Fuck, what if she’s right?

Your blood starts to buzz hot and rapid through your veins. You look around for an escape hatch and see a bookshelf, then set your coffee cup down to approach it.

Among knickknacks and a few small plants housed on the solid oak shelves, you find titles you expect to see, like 1984 by George Orwell, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann, and at least a dozen art reference books. You also find a few things you weren’t expecting, like Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, half a dozen Julia Quinn novels, and, most importantly, a first edition of Betty Crocker’s Picture Cook Book.

You pull the cookbook out and examine it, running your fingertips along the frayed corners of the faded red hardcover, then flip it open, asking, “Why do you have this?”

Dieter looks up from an unruly Monstera, “Have what?”

“This cookbook,” you answer, padding across the living room’s black and white striped rug to show him.

He frowns as you hold it up, shaking his head, “Must’ve been Annie’s. She left some stuff behind when she moved out.”

“My grandma had this one,” you murmur, glancing up at him, “Is—is it ok if I look through it?”

He scoffs and shrugs, “Not like she’s coming to get it,” then returns his attention to the Monstera.

You settle into the couch, thumbing through the yellowed pages, reading recipes, tips, and instructions compiled for housewives of the 1950’s. Dieter finishes grooming his plants and plops down at your side, curling an arm around your shoulders, “Betty giving you any inspiration?”

“Fun fact: Betty Crocker isn’t an actual person,” you smirk, turn the page to the section on custard pies, and inform him, “In the 1920’s, a flour company noticed they got a lot of homemakers requesting baking advice, so they adopted the moniker Betty Crocker as a pen name for the people who answered the questions.”

“Huh,” he blinks, “Interesting.”

“Listen to this,” you flip to a dog-eared page towards the back of the book and start reading from it, “If you’re tired from overwork, house chores you’re bound to shirk, read these pointers tried and true, and discover what to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Tips for housewives who are fucking miserable,” you tell him, then read another excerpt, “Get outdoors every day. Take a walk, do some gardening, take the children for an outing, or pay your neighbor a short visit,” and another, “Harbor pleasant thoughts while working. It will make every task lighter and pleasanter. Notice humorous and interesting incidents to relate at dinnertime, etc.”

“Jesus,” he mutters.

You want to tell him that the page was bookmarked. Its connection to the spine, well-creased. Referenced often. The comment lingers at the back of your throat.

When you backtrack your place in the book, trying to resume your study on custard pies, a white index card slides from between two pages.

“Oh,” you pluck it out and furrow your brow at the ingredients, measurements, instructions printed in a precise script, “It’s a recipe for banitsa. You ever had this?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s like a flaky cheese pastry… phyllo, feta, yogurt,” you murmur, then glance up at him, “What do we have going on today?”

“Reservations at 7, and Darlene’s gonna stop by later, but other than that,” he grins and shakes his head, “Nada.”

So, the two of you smoke a joint on the patio while Lincoln picks up the called-for ingredients Dieter doesn’t have on hand. After Lincoln drops them off, you sanitize the sun-drenched quartz of Dieter’s kitchen countertop, all sparkling rainbows in the light. Dieter spreads a paint-splattered drop cloth across the no-man’s land between the dining room and kitchen, sets up an easel, equips it with a canvas, then rolls a little yellow file cabinet out next to it.

He puts on a mix of music described as roller-rink 1978. As the funky tunes play over the sound system wired throughout his house, you attach a bread hook to his matte black stand mixer and sift bread flour into its 7-qt bowl.

Then you go to work.

You concentrate on the task at hand in each given moment, taking it step-by-step. Measuring, mixing, and kneading. Trying not to think too long about the romance novels lining the bookshelf, or the recipe’s delicate handwriting, or the dog-eared page, or Dieter’s baited breath after he recounted why he and Anika split, or your mother saying, “I know he has a cocaine habit, and that he cheated on his wife, does that sound like anyone else?” Or David Alterman asking, “Do you worry that those patterns are bound to repeat themselves?”

Instead of these things, you try your hardest to occupy your hazy, pot-laced brain by separating the dough into equal pieces while humming along to ABBA and Elton John and Electric Light Orchestra.

When the recipe calls for the dough to rest for an hour, you clean your workspace, throw together the banitsa filling, and wash the dishes.

Then the timer tells you: seventeen minutes left.

You turn your attention to Dieter. His bare feet move fluid from side-to-side, paintbrush flitting between the palette and canvas as he lip-syncs along to “Hollywood Swinging” by Kool & The Gang. A grin stretches across your face.

They cannot be right about him. This is not the kind of man who has affairs. No fucking way. This man is an angel.

I’ve been fooled before.

You banish the thought with a quick shake of your head, then try to distract yourself by asking, “Do you still see ghosts?”

He looks up at you, then back at his work-in-progress with a shrug, “I don’t usually see them per se, it’s more like a, uhh… an understanding. Or a knowing, I guess. Like a picture in my head with a feeling attached to it.”

His features twitch animatedly as he talks, accenting his words, dark eyes glancing between the canvas and your face.

“It’s like… have you ever had intrusive thoughts?”

“Have I ever,” you snort.

“It’s like that,” he explains, “Like a flash of something. Not like that kid in the Sixth Sense, seeing them fuckin’ uhh… walking around and shit.”

You hop up onto the kitchen counter and inquire, “Where’s the most haunted place you’ve been?”

Dieter pauses mid-brushstroke and scrunches his face up as he thinks about this, resuming when he says, “Well, hotels are always the worst. They’re so transitive, you know, all this energy coming and going constantly. And the people stuck there… they usually went intending to have a good time, a vacation or party or whatever, and something happened to them. That, or… they went in with an intention not to come out and succeeded.”

The implication unfolds in your brain, and you nod.

“Either way they seem to have unfinished business,” he shrugs and squints at the canvas, smudging paint with his thumb, “Usually they’re harmless, so it’s pretty easy to ignore,” he pauses here, clears his throat, then continues, “But in terms of the worst vibes I got, like, uhh… how scared it made me feel, it was definitely Ethan.”

Blood drains from your face and extremities, leaving you cold and dizzy.

“I—I thought—wait, really?”

He squints up at the ceiling, like he’s re-evaluating his statement, then levels his eyes with yours with a nod, “Yeah. At first, at least. Like the first night I was there, I felt him and it was,” he furrows his brow and drops his gaze to the floor, “Dark. Really fucking dark. And I was already in a bad way, y’know, I went to your place straight from the airport and you were—”

“A fucking disaster?”

“A beautiful trainwreck,” he corrects with a persuasive smile. It falters as soon as he continues, “And I just had this big fight with Annie about the divorce and, uhh, stuff, and hadn’t used blow in a day or two, just… not great,” he swallows, then shakes his head, “I think maybe… he could sense that about me. It was a warning. I remember knowing that’s what it was.”

“Oh,” you breathe. Look down at your hands. Start picking at your cuticles.

“It was hard to stay. So… I left.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad. I’m sorry. I mean, he told me that he liked you—”

“It got better, really, love. It’s fine,” he assures you, then frowns, “Wait, he told you he likes me? Did you ask him about me or something?”

“Well, yeah,” you drop your gaze to the floor, “I just wanted to—I don’t know, see if he approved, I guess.”

His head jerks back and he blinks, “Oh.”

“Yeah—he, um, told me that he always liked you,” you tilt your head at your dangling legs and chuckle, “Told me you were a triangle guy.”

Dieter lets out a light puff of laughter.

“He asked if you make me happy,” you tell him, so quiet it’s almost a whisper, then look up to study his reaction.

He pulls his paintbrush from the canvas and stares at you, his eyes soft and searching, “And?”

A soft scoff flees your lips, and you say, “Of course you do, Dee.”

“Yeah?”

This crooked smile spreads across his face and makes your heart ache.

“Obviously,” you chuckle, grinning in return.

Dieter seems to think about this, pink tongue rolling along his bottom lip as his eyebrow quirks. He sets his palette down on the little yellow file cabinet, drops his paintbrush into a cup of water, then crosses the room towards you.

The way he looks at you seems to take a physical presence on your skin, making you shiver before he even reaches you. When he does, his hands slide up your bare legs, fingertips dipping under the hem of your jean shorts. His hips nudge your knees apart.

You hook your arms around his neck as he tugs you closer, brushing his nose against yours, “You make me happy, too.”

He kisses you, gentle for only a moment before your tongues meet.

It’s so soft and wet it makes you gasp. A rumble sounds from his throat and his grip tightens. You arch your back, balling his shirt in your fist

He guides your hand to the bulge in his sweatpants, “Do you feel that? How happy you make me?”

“That’s pretty fucking happy,” you grin, wrapping your fingers around his girth, over the soft fabric. You start to work him and he tosses his head back with a moan.

Your lips meet his again, finding depth. It’s a slow heat, the way you take your time with his cock in your grip and your tongue in his mouth. Drives him crazy. His breaths carry strained groans that tickle your throat and make your cunt throb.

When you roll your thumb against the damp spot in his sweatpants, he gasps, “Fuck–”

You hook a finger under his waistband, “I wanna see it.”

“Oh yeah?” he chuckles, pausing to drag his tongue against yours, earning a whimper from you, then says, “Any time, any place, he’s all yours, baby.”

And right when he starts to pull down his pants, the front door swings open.

You both jump and look towards the noise.

In walks Darlene, cell phone pinched between her ear and shoulder, talking to someone on the other line, “Yeah, I just got to Dieter’s house, I’m going to tell him—Yeah, I will—Ok. Ok.”

Dieter rearranges himself and meets your eyes, murmuring, “To be continued,” before turning to approach her.

“Yep, bye,” she tosses her phone in her designer bag and sighs, looking between the two of you, “Did I interrupt something?”

Your mouth gapes open. You shake your head and hop down off the counter, “We, um–we–”

Dieter cuts in, thank fucking god, responding, “No. What's the news?”

Darlene raises an eyebrow at him, then you. She leans back against the dining room table and crosses her arms, “Well, I raised hell at DIRT. David Alterman is on disciplinary leave. The interview will be published without the phone call tomorrow. So… we will see what happens.”

“Oh, that’s good!” you grin, glancing at the back of Dieter’s head, then to Darlene, “Thank you so much. And—and I’m sorry, you know, you had to deal with that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Darlene nods, flashing you a wane smile, then looks to Dieter, “Can I steal you for a sec? I have to talk to you about something.”

He clears his throat and nods, “Yeah,” then follows her outside.

You release a little chuckle and smile to yourself.

The timer goes off.

Dieter slides the door closed behind him, following Darlene around the centerpiece of his patio: a sprawling oak tree. He looks up into it as he trails behind, admiring all the twisted innards of the beast. When they step out of its shade and into the hot afternoon sun, he grimaces.

She plugs a cigarette between her lips and lights it, asking him on the exhale, “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” he takes a step forward and leans against the steel railing, peaking over the edge to look down the cliffside.

“How’s she doing since yesterday? That was a fucking mess,” Darlene leans on the railing beside him.

Dieter scrunches his nose up, shrugging, “Kind of hard to read, I guess. She seems fine. But–but I don’t know, she’s just,” he pauses here and frowns, “I think I would be freaking out if I were her, you know? But she’s not? And I don’t know what to do about that.”

She flicks her cigarette and raises her eyebrows, then sighs, “Actually, Dieter, that’s what I wanted to talk about with you.”

“About what? Lua? What about her?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you serious about this girl?”

“Jesus Christ, Darlene,” he groans, dropping his head, “Yes, I’m fucking serious. I wouldn’t be doing all this bullshit for just anyone.”

“It just seems like there’s a lot you haven’t figured out. Maybe some things you haven’t discussed,” she takes a drag and looks him up and down, “What if I got some intel that says she’s still selling drugs?”

He plays along, inquiring, “What kind of drugs?”

“Edibles. Pot brownies, shit like that.”

“I’d say your intel is bunk. She’s straight.”

“Well, I looked into it,” she blows a plume of blue smoke out into the canyon, “She has no online presence, no license, sells out of her apartment—I mean, it fucking reeks, Dieter. How’s she able to make enough to live in that area with no marketing?”

“She doesn’t make a huge profit. I mean, this month I helped her with rent—”

“You’re fucking kidding me. So she’s using you—”

“No, she’s not. I had to beg her to let me help. It’s not like that,” he maintains, shaking his head, “I mean, who’s your source? Why are you even looking into this?”

“I don’t trust her, Dieter! Something isn’t right, it’s not adding up.”

He pushes off the railing and pushes non-existent sleeves up his forearms, “Let’s say you’re right, and she’s selling edibles,” he stops for a beat, then scoffs, “Who fucking cares? Fucking pot brownies? Who gives a shit.”

“Movie studios care. The public cares. Doesn’t matter if it’s crack or pot, she’s a fucking drug dealer.”

“She’s not a fucking drug dealer, Darlene,” he snaps.

She stares at him. Takes a drag off her cigarette.

He kneads his neck, shifting his weight from one foot, to the other, before throwing his hands out in exasperation, “I need you to just believe that, for once, someone loves me and is good for me. Please.”

Darlene’s lips purse, “That’s what you said about Anika.”

“That—that’s different,” Dieter drops his gaze to the ground.

“Is it, though?” she blinks at him, “You swore that was it, that she wasn’t a gold digger, and yet… now she’s ex-Mrs. Dieter Bravo. Walked away with almost half your estate in return for not selling your secrets. She’s a rich woman now.”

“Yep,” Dieter sighs, skidding his toes against the mahogany deckboards, “I’m just a big fuck up, you got me there.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she asserts, “I just want you to really think about this before doing anything… rash.”

“I’m not going to run away and fucking marry her the first chance I get, ok?” he sneers, “Just—chill the fuck out.”

“Dieter, let me be perfectly honest with you,” she drops her cigarette and crushes it with the toe of her beige pump, “I worry it’s more than you just being cunt-struck again.”

His head jerks back and he scoffs.

She lowers her voice to a pleading tone, “Look, you’re falling headfirst into a serious relationship with this girl, she used to deal drugs, there’s all this shady stuff with her business, and… I just—I worry, are you, you know… are you ok?”

“Am I ok?” he repeats the question, drenching it with incredulity, “What the fuck do you mean, am I ok?”

She studies his face, crossing her arms. A meaningful tilt of her head tells him everything he needs to know.

His jaw gnashes from side-to-side and he shakes his head, “I’ve been clean for months, Darlene, because of her.”

“Alright,” she raises her eyebrows and blinks, “Good.”

“Do you believe me?”

Darlene shrugs, “If you say you’re ok, you’re ok.”

Bullshit.

“I am,” he confirms, his voice firm and final.

“Great,” she nods, then pulls out her phone and looks at the screen, “Alright, well, I’ll keep an eye on things after the interview drops and let you know how it goes.”

She stomps past him, the click-clack of her heels echoing out behind her, and exits out the side gate.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, shaking his hands out at his sides, rolling his neck as he starts towards the glass patio door.

Dieter walks beside you as the hostess leads the way through the busy restaurant. Everything around him is white noise. It doesn’t matter at all.

All that exists is his palm on the small of your back. His whole universe has boiled down to you, right now, draped in this white, flowing chiffon dress that Kelly picked out for tonight. You, all starry-eyed and dolled up, gawking at your surroundings because you’re just so damn excited to be at another fancy-schmancy restaurant.

Earlier today, while wrapped up in his sheets, you told him all about the menu, and haute cuisine, and French culinary history, and Escoffier. He closed his eyes and held your warm body in place next to his, content to listen to you chatter on as long as you’d allow him.

He loves that about you. How passionate you are in everything you do. How you slow to appreciate beauty in things like snowstorms, and layers in croissants, and even the subtle timbre of a cello woven into his favorite song.

“Listen close,” you told him when you pointed it out, “It’s fucking incredible.”

He did.

He felt the chords vibrate through him, resolute and melodic. It gave the music new meaning, and he couldn’t believe he’d never noticed it before. He notices every time he hears it now.

But that’s what you do.

Everything seemed so fucking boring before you. Meaningless. You opened his eyes to what was right in front of him and gave it new life. Gave him new life.

The hostess comes to a stop and gestures to a square table, laying a menu on either side of the white linen. You sit across from him and meet his gaze, face all lit up with that gorgeous fucking smile that makes his chest tighten.

“Do you have a strategy in mind here?” he asks, leaning forward onto the table, rubbing his hands together, “Food, wine, dessert, the whole nine yards?”

“I love that movie,” you comment mildly, “Bruce Willis is hot.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“What?” you laugh.

“Bruce Willis, really?”

You study him, clearly very entertained, “Why, are you jealous?”

He scoffs at this, “No—I’m just saying, though, he’s never even been nominated for an Oscar—”

“Oh, well in that case,” you roll your eyes and let out this dramatic sigh.

Dieter laughs and shakes his head, “Wow.”

“Ok, but really,” you turn your attention back to the menu. As you survey it, you tilt your head back and forth thoughtfully, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. A mischievous smirk plays on your lips and you ask, “Did Darlene say we were allowed one glass or one bottle of wine?”

Dieter taps an index finger to his chin and grins, “I recall her saying bottle, don’t you?”

“Mmmm, yep, now that you mention it, I’m like… 99% sure she said bottle,” you agree conspiratorially.

He smiles up at you, but his breath hitches when something behind you catches his eye.

Or, someone, rather.

A bright tangerine dress tight around her petite, curvy frame. Loose chestnut curls flowing down her back. Glowing brown eyes locked onto his. A small smirk plays on her plump, shiny lips.

His spine straightens and he mutters under his breath, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You frown and follow his gaze to Lilly Stokes just as she pushes her chair back and starts towards the table.

“Dieter, hiiii,” Lilly croons, squeezing his forearm, “How are you, Pookie? It’s been a minute.”

Dieter watches your eyes flick between Lilly’s hand on his suit jacket, and her face, and Dieter’s face. He watches the gears turn. The light bulb turns on. Your eyebrows shoot up and you meet his gaze, then immediately drop your eyes to the tablecloth.

“Fine,” he answers and leans back in his chair, pulling his arm from her grasp.

Lilly glances back at her table, then to Dieter, “I’m here with Jay—you remember Jay, right?”

Dieter blinks at her, thinking, “We’ve been inside you at the same time, of fucking course I remember Jay.”

But what he says is, “Yeah.”

“Oh, duh,” Lilly waves off the obvious, then wets the seam of her mouth, eyes dragging along Dieter’s body, “We should merge tables so we can catch up.”

“Oh, no—” Dieter shakes his head and gestures to you, “We’re—”

Lilly finally seems to notice your presence and turns towards you, “Oh my god, Dieter, she’s so cute, are you two on a date?”

“Yeah,” he meets your eyes for a moment before telling Lilly, “This is Louella.”

“Lou-el-la,“ Lilly repeats, enunciating each syllable like she’s trying to commit it to memory, “You don’t mind, do you, beautiful?”

You stare at her for a beat like you’re trying to figure out what she’s asking, then stammer, “Me? Wh—I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s ok if we join you?” Lilly nods, batting her false eyelashes. She asks this in a condescending way, slowing her words down like she’s asking a toddler.

Your throat croaks as you look from her, to Dieter, who’s mentally pleading, “Please no,” then back to Lilly, “Uhh—I mean, sure?”

He deflates as Lilly calls Jay over and pulls out a chair. You mouth, “Sorry.”

Jay Blackburn, who looks like a poor man’s Alexander Skarsgård but six inches shorter, saunters over, a lopsided grin plastered on his smug face, “Bravo. Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” Dieter responds, shifting in his seat at the reminder.

Across the table, you gnaw away at your bottom lip, eyes downcast, your bubbling excitement replaced with this raw, nervous energy. He soaks it up like a sponge. It trickles down his backbone and seeps into his bloodstream as he wrings his hands together.

“Who do we have here?” Jay asks, dragging his eyes along your body, drinking in your beauty with zero fucking shame.

Dieter’s jaw clenches and cocks to one side. His leg starts to bounce.

“I’m Louella.”

A warm smile crosses your face and you extend a hand to him.

Jay takes it in his like a baby bird and presses a kiss into your knuckles, then releases you, “Jay Blackburn.”

“Oh—um, nice to meet you,” you say, glancing at Dieter, then at Lilly, “And you are?”

Lilly bristles at this, huffing a little before her mask of sweetness goes back up and she responds, “Lilly Stokes.”

“So nice to meet you,” you look from her to Jay, “Are you guys actors, too?”

“Um, no,” Lilly lets out this half-chuckle, half-scoff, “That’s so funny. No. Well, maybe someday. But for now I’m just a makeup artist, content creator, brand ambassador for Wowie Zowie Cosmetics, and model,” she counts each role on her fingers, then adds as an afterthought, “Jay is a wellness guru.”

You furrow your brow, “Wellness… guru?”

“Lifestyle coach,” Jay corrects, “Shepherding people to wellness through mindfulness, yoga, and nutrition.”

Dieter rolls his eyes.

“Ohhh,” you nod, “Wow, you’re both, like, really popular on the internet?”

“I have over 10 million followers,” Lilly advises, “So, yeah.”

“She didn’t know who I was, either, if that makes you feel better,” Dieter teases, casting a smirk your way.

You wince and shrug, “Yeah, I, umm… live under a rock, I guess. Sorry.”

“I like that,” Jay says, still eyeing you up like you’re a piece of fucking meat, “It’s refreshing. We should all be so lucky to be sheltered from the world in such a digital age.”

You raise your eyebrows, “I mean, I read the newspaper every day, so I’m very much aware of what’s going on in the world—“

“Right, but,” Jay starts.

“—Just, you know, stuff that matters.”

A stunned sort of silence falls over the table for a moment, then laughter erupts from Dieter’s throat. You grin at him, and Jay must think you were kidding, because he joins in on the laughter.

“You’re funny,” Lilly flashes this smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, then lets out an exasperated sigh and looks around, “Are we going to get some fucking service here or what?”

Throughout the meal, you remain quiet.

You don’t share your thoughts on the cuisine, or the wine, or the world-renowned chef. Your face stays painfully neutral as Lilly and Jay dominate the conversation, going on and on in a masturbatory fashion about their busy lives.

More than anything, Dieter wants to tell them to fuck off. He wants to tell them that neither of you fucking care about subscribers or algorithms or sponsorships. He wants to comment on the restaurant’s heavy-handed use of bear décor and kiss you and tell you he loves you.

But Darlene’s warning to be on his best behavior rings in his head.

Despite this, the one bottle of wine you agreed upon is easily negotiated up to two.

After the plat principal is cleared from the table, Lilly leans towards Dieter and asks “So, what’s new with you? We haven’t heard from you in, what,” she turns to Jay for confirmation, “Months?”

“Summer, I think?” Jay supplies.

“Yeah,” Dieter nods and looks up at you, watching the way you wiggle in your chair and look down at your lap. He shrugs, “I’ve been keeping busy.”

“I see how it is,” Lilly pouts, glancing between his eyes and mouth, “Pookie gets a girlfriend and forgets all about us.”

Heat rises to his face. Every muscle in his body clenches. A hundred violent images flash through his head. The words shut the fuck up wrestle their way up his throat.

“How did you all meet?” you ask, plastering on this polite smile.

Lilly combs her long fingernails through her hair, “I met Dieter at some fundraising gala last year.”

Dieter’s leg starts bouncing. He leans his elbows into the table and presses his closed fist against his lips, watching you absorb this information. But he can’t get a read on you.

“She introduced us,” Jay nods to Lilly, “Yeah, we were at this party, it was fucking wild—”

“Lua doesn’t wanna hear about that,” Dieter cuts in, dropping a hand to the table.

“It’s fine, Dee,” you chuckle, then take a big swallow from your wine glass. Unconvincing.

Jay ignores Dieter’s protest, “It was one of those nights where everyone got very well acquainted with one another, if you know what I mean.”

Your fake smile twitches.

“Sounds… hot,” you offer. You empty the remaining pinot grigio in your glass down your throat. Dieter mirrors the action, taking the wine like a shot of hard liquor.

Lilly sips her martini and lets out this wistful little sigh, “Soooo hot.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you announce as you push your chair back, then hurry away from the table before anyone else can respond.

His blood boils.

He glares between Jay and Lilly, well aware of the slew of insults percolating at the tip of his tongue, held back by his awareness of the public eye surrounding them.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Lilly says.

Dieter grits his teeth and warns, “Lillith—”

She waves him off and starts towards the bathroom.

“Dieter,” Jay smirks, tilting his head, “You seem upset.”

“What an astute observation,” Dieter mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, “Fucking incredible.“

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Jay raises his eyebrows, “So we’re touchy, ok. Is it because I told the story?”

Dieter says nothing, just grinds his teeth together.

“She doesn’t know about your more salacious hobbies, I take it?”

“She sure as fuck does now,” Dieter grumbles, “Thank you for that.”

Jay scoffs, “What, is this your first date or something?”

“No.”

Jay hums and takes a sip from his cocktail.

Dieter shakes his head. Scrubs a hand over his face.

Then he sits up and points at your empty seat, “If she’s going to hear about that shit from anyone, it should be me. Not some fucking ghouls just trying to get a rise out of her.”

“Then why didn’t she hear it from you?” Jay questions, pausing a beat before he sighs, “You know, you gotta own your demons, man. It’s not my fault you didn’t tell her—”

“Yeah, I fucking know, ok?” Dieter snips. He leans his elbows against the table, looking towards the women’s bathroom, “What’s taking them so goddamn long?”

Behind the roar of the flushing toilet, you hear the bathroom door open, followed by the sharp click of stilettos against ceramic tile. You open the stall door to find Lilly leaned up against the marble slab countertop, pulling a tiny silver canister from her clutch.

She looks up at the mirror and makes eye contact with you, “Hey, girl.”

“Hi,” you smile politely and approach the sink.

While you wash your hands, you watch Lilly through the mirror as she cuts two thin lines of coke right on the countertop. She fishes a short straw out of her purse and holds it out to you, “Do you want any?”

The ghost of cocaine’s allure sends your heart racing. It’s tempting, but you decline. She shrugs and leans over the counter. You look away and hear the two deep, short breaths through the straw. You swear you can feel the rush vicariously.

She sits up straight and keeps one nostril plugged closed, taking a few sharp inhales, making sure she got it all to the brain. Her eyes flutter and throat hums with contentment, “Fuck, that’s good. You sure you don’t want any?

“I’m fine,” you assure her, but don’t go to leave. You lean one hip against the sink and cross your arms, “Did you and Dieter, like… date?”

Lilly releases a chuckle, a sniffle, then rubs a fingertip against the white marble countertop where her blow was cut, “Oh, no. We fucked, like, a lot. But no, we never dated per se. It was more of a fuck buddy arrangement. No biggie.”

She scrubs her finger against her gums, then turns to the mirror to assess her appearance.

“Was that while he was still with Anika?”

“Well, yeah, that’s how it started. He asked if I could be their third,” she sniffles a few times as she examines her nostrils, “I know Kate Ridley was seeing them for a while, but that must’ve fallen through. Anyway, we all fucked around and it was fun. I brought Jay with a few times. Then Anika got turned off or something, she didn’t wanna get together anymore. Jealous I think, probably. He reached out to me for some one-on-one time.”

The information hits you like a slap in the face. A kick in the gut. A fist closed around your windpipe, squeezing tighter and tighter.

You can’t breathe.

“And of course I said yes. It doesn’t hurt to cozy up to a guy like him, with his connections and all. Good career move. Plus, he’s so good in bed. Fucks like an animal,” Lilly giggles, “Not that I have to tell you, right?”

Your face heats and lips part to respond, but she continues without regard.

“If you ever wanted a third, I’d be happy to step in. Jay, too, I’m sure of it. He was checking you out. You’re hot, you know, in a non-traditional kind of way. How long have the two of you been going out?”

She stares at you, waiting. Your throat croaks and you hear yourself say, “A few months, officially.”

“Oh, are you two, like, serious?”

You bring your hand to your throat and nod, “Yeah.”

“Weird,” she murmurs, “After what happened with Anika, I thought he was done trying to pretend he was like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… monogamous, you know. He told me he’s a free spirit, doesn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again, all that. Then he disappears and re-emerges in a supposedly serious relationship, no offense, but it’s just confusing.”

“Oh,” you breathe, frowning down at the floor, “Well, maybe he changed?”

“The man is almost 50, I doubt that,” she scoffs, checking herself out in the mirror, then glances over at you, “Or, I mean, maybe? Hopefully?”

You nod solemnly and swallow the knot in your throat, “Should we go back?”

“Sure,” she shrugs, then leads the way out of the bathroom, into the dining room.

When you meet Dieter’s eyes, his annoyed expression goes slack. You lay one hand flat, palm facing the ceiling, balling the other into a thumbs up on top, and raise both hands. The signal he taught you back in your apartment before this clusterfuck started: Help.

Once seated, you keep your eyes low, trying to keep the steady hum in your chest from amplifying. Everything seems fuzzy and out-of-focus.

It’s too much. Too much noise. Too much information. Too much change at one time. You want off this fucking ride. You want to be home in bed, hidden under the covers where no one can reach you.

“We should go,” Dieter announces from far away.

Your body is cement. Limbs frozen. Lilly’s words play on repeat at a deafening volume:

I thought he was done trying to pretend he was like that.

He’s a free spirit, doesn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again.

“Oh, come on, Pookie–”

“Stop fucking calling me that,” he growls, then softer, in your direction, “Are you ready, love?”

You nod, then look from Lilly to Jay, your smile wavering, “It was nice to meet you both.”

Dieter leads you past blurry tables of shiny, well-to-do patrons, his hand at the small of your back, burning through your dress. You can feel his gaze glued to your profile, trying to assess the damage. You can hear the words queued up behind his closed lips.

A restaurant employee holds the door open for you. The cool night air kisses your heated, buzzing skin.

“Hey, are you ok?” Dieter asks, his thumb working against your spine.

You look down at the sidewalk and open your mouth to tell him, but it’s all a jumbled mess at the base of your tongue. Fire rises up your throat and tingles behind your eyes. You just shake your head and smother the sob in your chest.

Tears bloom in your eyes and drop to the cement. You croak out, “I’m fine.”

He scoffs.

The valet rolls up in Dieter’s cartoonish, pea soup-colored two-seater and tosses him the keys.

Once inside, you clasp the seatbelt. Grip the leather upholstery. Stare out the side window as the landscape starts to move.

“Louella” he coos, glancing between you and the road.

The car clunks a little as he shifts gears. You grip the seat tighter. Watch the city lights fly by.

He tries every once and a while to talk to you, but you can’t make yourself respond.

You’ve been here before.

You know what happens if you make a sound. If you vocalize the protest in your lungs.

What happens next is acceleration.

Car horns.

Impact.

Those vacant black eyes.

Darkness.

The second the car pulls into Dieter’s garage, you’re unfastening the seat belt.

When he shifts to park, you yank on the door handle and scramble from the vehicle.

The entryway door slams in Dieter’s face as you kick off the stupid high heels you never would have picked out for yourself.

“What the fuck is your problem?” his voice booms through the house when he opens the door.

By now, you’re halfway down the hall, making a beeline to his en suite bathroom, leaving a trail of jewelry behind you like breadcrumbs: the left earring, the right earring, bracelets, a necklace. All these brilliant ornaments Kelly loaned you to make you look more refined.

Dieter’s footsteps sound from a few paces behind as you turn into his bedroom.

“Louella, come on. Why won’t you talk to me?”

The edge his words carry make your heart jump and your feet move faster. You hurry into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you.

He jiggles the handle, “What the fuck is this? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask.

“That I slept with Lilly and Jay?“ he scoffs, “I didn’t think it mattered who I fucked before you—”

“That’s not what I mean. You know that’s not what I mean,” you press your forehead against the door and squeeze your eyes closed, “When I asked you what happened with you and Anika, you said the two of you grew apart. That—that she was resentful—like it was her fault–”

“Open the door so we can talk about this,” he says in a low voice, “Please, baby.”

You shake your head, whimpering, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The door handle jiggles again, “Come on, Lua, open the door.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, just unlock it—”

“Answer me.”

“GodDAMNIT–”

A hard thud shakes the doorframe.

You jump back and yelp.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he seethes, “Lock yourself in my fucking bathroom instead of talking to me. You realize how fucking stupid that is, right?”

He hits the door again. You scramble away from it, watching the doorknob rattle.

“Stop it, Dieter,” you cry out, backing yourself up to the wall, “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you?” he scoffs, his words still steeped in red, “Do you really think I would fucking hurt you?”

You slide down the wall and collapse into a pile, covering your head. All you can hear are your own shattered breaths.

A few quiet moments go by.

When his voice comes again, it’s a plea.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

You look up at the door and sniffle, wiping your eyes.

“I—I wanted to tell you. I mean, I was going to tell you. I swear to god. It’s just,” there’s a soft thump against the door, and you can picture him on the other side, forehead pressed up against it, “Do you know how hard it is to admit that you’re a piece of shit?”

You don’t say anything, just watch his still shadow beneath the door.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to willingly show you that? I mean, fuck. How–how are you supposed to trust me now?”

What follows is silence. Broken up by occasional sniffles and wet, labored breaths. Your chest aches.

Slowly, you rise to your feet and pad across the cool tile floor.

When you reach the door, you don’t say anything, just press your palm against the barrier where you think his heart is. And you swear, if you concentrate hard enough, you can feel its steady rhythm.

“How are you supposed to love me now?” he whispers, “You won’t even look at me, Louella.”

Your eyelids clamp shut and you take a deep breath. Then you step back and turn the doorknob, pulling the door open.

And there he is.

Dieter Bravo. The man you love.

His eyes all puffed-up and red-rimmed, cheeks streaked with tears. Every handsome feature laced with remorse.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his suit jacket. He envelops you in a warm embrace and squeezes you tight.

“I’m–I’m sorry for yelling,” he tells you in a hoarse whisper, petting your hair, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I lost it.”

You swallow hard and rub his back, a silent kind of reassurance.

“I would never hurt you, Lua,” his voice cracks, “I’m not him. I’m not him.”

Instantly, tears flood your eyes.

“I know, love,” you croak out, pulling him closer, “I know.”

Dieter kisses the crown of your head with reverence. Then your forehead. He tilts your chin to face him dead on, grazing his nose against yours, “Wanna talk about this more in the bath?”

You nod and weave your fingers through the curls at the back of his head. His lips meet yours, lingering for a tender moment before he pulls back and makes his way over to the soaking tub.

While you wash the makeup off your face, he fiddles with the water temperature and crumbles a magenta bubble bar in the stream. The sweet scent of blackcurrant fills the air. You glance up in the mirror and see him shucking off his suit jacket, eyes trailing down your spine. His breath heats the nape of your neck when he draws close and unzips your dress, his movements gentle and slow as he slides it off your shoulders.

The dress falls at your feet. You turn to face him, murmuring, “Look up.”

He does, and you set to work on his shirt buttons. When you’re halfway down his chest, he asks, “Will you tell me what she said?”

“She, um,” you pause to bite down on your bottom lip, then sigh, “She told me you and Anika would fuck around with her and sometimes Jay. Then, you know, just her.”

He hums in acknowledgment.

You reach the end of his button-down, then spread the shirt apart. As he takes over tugging it off, you ask, “Was that something that you wanted, or…?”

“We both wanted to try it,” he shrugs. Your hands move to his belt buckle and you unfasten it. He continues, “Thought it would reignite that passion. It was fucking stupid because it just made us both jealous.”

He pauses to kick off his slacks, then ushers you face the mirror again. You watch him unclasp your bra and toss it aside, glancing up when you recount, “She said you didn’t want to be tied down by one person ever again.“

He nods, diverting his gaze, “Yeah. Well, that’s true. I didn’t,” then his eyes return to yours, “But then you came along. Fucked up all my big plans to be lonely and miserable forever.”

You can’t help but grin.

He casts a backwards glance at the tub, “I think it’s ready.”

Dieter gets in first, groaning as he lowers himself into the bubbles. You sit on the opposite side and tip your face to the ceiling, stretching your legs across him, then sink down to your shoulders.

The water burns your skin a little, but you like it. It feels real.

“Hey,” Dieter rumbles.

You swivel your head down to look at him, but can only see bubbles.

“Holy shit,” you giggle, then sit up and meet his eyes, “What?”

“Come here, doll,” he reaches out to you.

You slide your feet under the water and crawl over to him, closing your eyes as you lay your cheek on his shoulder and relax against his body. He wraps his arms around your waist, snuggling you like you’re his favorite teddy bear.

One of your hands occupies itself by absentmindedly tracing the edges of his jaw. The shell of his ear. That one silver hoop earring he refuses to part with. Your nails work into his hairline and play with his damp curls.

“Were there others?” you ask him.

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, then he admits, “Yeah. A few. Just hookups, really. Lilly was the most consistent, and that was still, you know…”

“No strings attached?” you smirk.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you do it?”

Your spine arches as he draws a big breath in, then releases it, “All the reasons I said it didn’t work. That was true, you know. I was gone a lot. Filming, meetings, press stuff. A few days here, a week there. There was one stretch where I was gone for two months. I’m not drowning in work or anything, but it adds up. I don’t think she realized that being with me meant being away from me that often. And. Yeah.

“At first, it upset me a lot. I thought she would be supportive and loving. Compassionate, you know. But she turned so cold when she was mad. Completely ignored me. Acted like I didn’t exist. Even when I begged for her reassurance, for her to show me she still cared and noticed me, but she wouldn’t react. I felt like a ghost. It-it kind of reminded me—”

He pauses here for a moment, holding his breath, then releases a soft, sad chuckle. His Adam’s apple bobs. When he starts again, his voice is watery.

“It reminded me of what it was like for me growing up. If I didn’t please my dad, he would ignore me completely. I would act out, be loud, push him until he exploded. Because then… then at least I knew he could see me. It was something, you know?”

You blindly cup his cheek and graze your thumb against his beard to let him know you’re listening. He nuzzles into the touch, a small rumble sounding from his throat.

“Maybe I was acting out with Annie? Or maybe just trying to… fill that emptiness, loneliness. Or numb out. Forget that my wife didn’t love me anymore. I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter. I started using again. Heroin, oxy, bars, morphine, adderall, booze. Whatever I could get my hands on, really. But blow has always been my favorite. It makes me feel…”

“Powerful?”

“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah. Powerful. And with other people I actually felt… desired. Plus, they were both a rush. I felt alive. When I was home I was hollow. I stopped groveling for her affection when I started fucking around. Neither of us wanted to work on the hard things. The whole fucking thing, you know, it metastasized. And—and our relationship died.”

“Fuck,” you grimace.

Dieter cranes his neck to look at you, “Too bleak?”

“No, it’s not that,” you tell him, “It’s just… familiar.”

Adrenaline spikes your bloodstream. Your mouth opens to say more, then you close it and hold your breath.

He rests his cheek on your head. Squeezes you a little tighter. Like he’s prodding you so say more.

“Do I make you happy?” you ask him.

“Do you make me happy?” he repeats, disbelief raising his voice an octave.

You nod.

“I told you earlier,” he kisses your hairline, “You make me so happy, Louella.”

“But will you feel the same tomorrow?”

“Obviously,” he lets out a little snort of laughter like he thinks you’re kidding. Silence settles. His body seems to tense and he adds, “Really, love, I mean it.”

Your teeth catch your bottom lip. Brows lace together. Then you ask, “What about a month from now?”

“Don’t do that, come on—”

“A year from now? Or—or longer, even—”

“Lua,” he huffs, then pulls you up to face him. His eyes are soft and pleading. He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, “Look, we won’t be happy every second of every day. You know why?”

A sharp pain radiates across your chest. You wince and shake your head.

He tilts your chin up to meet his eyes and says, “Because it’s fucking impossible. If we do this thing right, which I fully intend to, sometimes we’re going to be scared, and frustrated, and–and we might want to take an easy way out. But I’m telling you that I will not do that. Because I love you.”

You search his face and only find sincerity. Your stomach flips in a freefall so violent it makes you gasp, “Fuck, I love you.”

He smirks, gaze flicking between your eyes and lips, “And I’m going to love you tomorrow.”

Your heart skips. Heat creeps up your neck.

He cups your cheeks and locks his eyes onto yours, “And the next day, and ten years from now, and all the way until my next fucking life, ok?”

“Ok,” you nod. Tension liquifies and drains from your body. The corners of your mouth upturn and you ask, “What then?”

“What then?” he snorts, shaking his head with amusement, “What do you think? Hmm?”

You grin and shrug, pressing the tip of your tongue to your front teeth.

His eyes drop to your mouth and he pulls you in for a kiss. When you part, he murmurs, “I’ll fucking find you in the next life and fall in love with you all over again.”

The words electrify you. You hook your hands behind his head and press your forehead against his, “Promise?”

“Cross my heart,” he murmurs, and kisses you again.

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