#also i forever hate drawing furniture

[reticent-fate]

part 8/26ish

it is sacrilege of the utmost kind to not eat your pizza crusts. that's free bread you're throwing out!!

(i could swear there was a statistic about how much pizza crust is thrown out in the united states annually or something, but alas, i cannot find it)

from the beginning

[skrunksthatwunk]

KUWAMESHI SKETCH DUMP KUWAMESHI SKETCH DUMP in which they are little shits who cannot stop messing with each other

also obv zoom in to see everything bc this shit is CRAMPED. but it's all neat i prommy

[runninriot]

when it's love, it lasts forever

another fill for my @steddiebingo card

prompt: mixtape | rated: T | wc: 1.733 | tags: post Vecna, established relationship, romantic fluff, reminiscing about the past | also on ao3

   “Oh my God!”

Eddie’s stunned voice filters in from the other room, causing Steve to stop what he’s doing. He sighs, feels mocked by the piles of clothes still scattered around the room, waiting to be organised into the newly put up dresser.

Steve cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, trying to ignore the dull ache in his muscles. He is tired. Exhausted from the long drive, physically drained from loading and unloading the van, from carrying boxes and furniture – there’s so much that still needs to be done, which is why he hates to leave his task unfinished.

But curiosity wins, so he walks into the living room to find his boyfriend sitting on the floor with his back turned, surrounded by boxes he was supposed to unpack. Instead of him stacking up the bookshelf like he said he would, it seems like something else must’ve caught his attention. Not that that’s new; Eddie gets so easily distracted sometimes. Steve doesn’t mind, has long since learned to keep up with his boyfriend’s antics – he’ll get there eventually and a little distraction doesn’t hurt anyone.

   “What you got there, babe?” Steve asks when he walks closer, trying to look over Eddie’s shoulder to see what’s gotten him all excited.

   “I can’t believe you still have that.”

Eddie blinks up at him with big, round eyes that have gone all soft, revealing the small treasure he’s cradling in his hands.

It takes Steve a moment to recognise it but when he does, his heart does a little flip.

   “Oh.”

He crouches down to get to Eddie’s level, can’t help but smile when his eyes catch the familiar drawings on the paper inlay peeking through the plastic case – the two bats in the centre, one with nails and one with wings; a heart in the top left corner with their initials in its middle, and a scatter of flowers to fill the empty space. Eddie’s handwriting at the top, ‘THIS IS MUSIC!’ screaming back at them in bold letters.

   “Of course, I kept it,” Steve finally says after clearing his throat, feeling oddly sentimental now. “I kept all of them. Everything.”

It’s true. Steve has kept every little piece of memorabilia he collected over the years. From the movie theatre ticket stub of their first unofficial date to the little note Eddie had left after spending the night at Steve’s for the first time. From the faded and wrinkled flyer of the first Corroded Coffin show Steve ever went to, to the mixtape in Eddie’s hands.

Maybe he should feel embarrassed about it, but instead of making fun of him for being such a sap, Eddie just smiles, eyes so full of love that Steve’s insides turn into a mushy, gooey mess.

   “This one’s my favourite,” he confesses, stroking a thumb over the case whose scratched surface shows all the signs of passing time and overuse.

   “It was all I listened to for weeks.”

He’s not even exaggerating, knows every song on the tape by heart from listening to it on repeat. Played the cassette so many times it’s a miracle it didn’t break, unwind or outright combust.

   “God, I remember how nervous I was to give it to you. So scared you’d hate it.”

Steve remembers, too, can see it so clearly before his mind’s eye.

After spending months in physical recovery – after Death had unsuccessfully tried to snuff out his life – Eddie had finally gotten the all clear from his doctors. ‘I’m as good as new,’ he’d announced when he entered the Harrington home, a six-pack of beer in one hand, joking about being ready to get drunk on his first sip after having been forced into abstinence for so long.

Eddie and Steve had become quite close during their time of healing, when everything kind of seemed on hold while Hawkins slowly came out of the state of shock it had been trapped in for months.

For the most part, people had thankfully remained unaware of the true horrors, eating up the highly dubious cover-up stories they’d been fed by the government. But Steve and Eddie and their little band of misfits had a lot of coping to do. Kept holding on to each other, finding strength in the support of their tightly knit circle of friends to deal with all the shit they’d been through together.

Despite everything, Steve would be lying if he said that he wished none of it ever happened because without it, he never would’ve learned what true happiness feels like. Would’ve never gotten to know Eddie the way he had after the almost-end of the world.

It was then, in their time of dealing with the aftermath of their final war against hell, something had started to sprout and bud inside of Steve.

Something that grew and kept growing until it was in full bloom, impossible to ignore anymore. Until, with a bang and a crisis and a lot of emotional support from Robin, Steve finally realised that what had blossomed over time, was actually love. Love born out of trauma and friendship and trust and survival.

They hadn’t talked about it then, that day Eddie came to celebrate his newly recovered life with him. But even though his own feelings had yet to be formed into words to be spoken aloud, Steve had noticed a shift in Eddie’s demeanour over the course of their growing closeness. Had this lingering impression that maybe he wasn’t the only one having to deal with a riot of unsorted, confusing feelings.

He could sense how nervous Eddie was that day. Could feel the crackling tension between them when they were sitting side by side on the back porch, brushing fingers when passing their shared cigarette from one to the other.

    ‘Got something for you,’ Eddie had said after finishing his beer, cheeks red, eyes cast down to where his right hand kept playing with the pocket of his jean vest.

   ‘What is it?’ Steve had asked in return, sounding breathless for reasons unknown to him at the time.

That’s when Eddie retrieved a cassette from his pocket, a mixtape he said he’d made just for him, with songs that reminded Eddie of Steve and songs he wanted Steve to listen to because they meant something special to him. And all Steve could do was stare. Stare and wonder and hold his breath, scared of opening his mouth, of possibly saying something he’d regret. Not realising how long he must’ve stayed quiet. So long in fact, Eddie started to pull back the hand holding the tape.

   ‘It’s- it’s stupid. Sorry.’

After weeks of fighting himself, Steve couldn’t hold back any longer. Couldn’t fight the urge anymore, the overwhelming need to break down the last remaining barrier that had kept him from finally telling Eddie the truth.

Only he didn’t say what he wanted him to know and instead, balled his fist in Eddie’s shirt to pull him in, crashing their lips together without warning. Kissing him in a way he’d hoped would be enough for Eddie to understand what he was trying to tell him. Pouring all his feelings into every press of lips, letting love spill from his tongue.

Love Eddie reciprocated in a way that was almost too much for Steve to handle – unashamed and unfiltered, confessing his feelings like it was the easiest thing to do.

That night, after Eddie had gone home, Steve lay in bed, not asleep but with his eyes closed, listening to the mixtape Eddie had made for him. Letting the music take him back to the moment in the Upside Down, brushing shoulders with the frazzled, doe-eyed man on the run – ‘Ozzy Osbourne? Black Sabbath? He bit a bat’s head off onstage?’ – laughing at himself for how clueless he’d been about so many things.

Steve has learned a lot since then. Not only about the seemingly endless list of things Eddie’s interested in but also, more importantly, he learned so much about himself.

   “Wanna listen to it while we ignore the mess and get to the good part of finally having an apartment to ourselves?” Eddie winks at him, the mischievous glimmer in his eyes telling Steve everything he needs to know.

   “You mean jumping into our new, giant bed so you can cuddle me until I fall asleep?”

   “Something like that, yeah.”

Tomorrow, Steve will be mad at himself for letting Eddie seduce him with his dorky charm, when he wakes up to the chaos of all the boxes still unpacked. And Eddie will be mopey as hell when he realises that they haven’t even recovered the coffee maker and cups from whatever cardboard prison they’re still stuck in.

But right now, none of that matters. Not when they’re kissing and touching each other to the sound of the music that means so much to both of them, memories locked in songs, every beat of drum a matching tune to their hearts’ rhythm. Sating their hunger for flesh and that deeper kind of love. Holding each other close in the comfort of their intimate bubble of you and me while Eddie – Van Halen, not Munson –  strums his guitar and sings along to the voice of Sammy Hagar, filling the background with a song that feels like it was written for them.

    How do I know when it’s love?

    I can’t tell you but it lasts forever.

    How does it feel when it’s love?

    It’s just something you feel together.

Later, when the music has long stopped and Steve allows sleep to slowly take a hold of him, he remembers the words and silently agrees. Love isn’t something that can be categorised into how or when or why. It’s something you just know is there because you can feel it in every part of your being. It’s something you can share through touch, and show through little things, and express with words – but even without all of that, there’s no doubt that their love, just like the song rightfully claims, is made to last forever.

It’s the essence of Steve’s existence, the one thing he can always hold on to, no matter what. This love for a man whose appreciation for life – after almost losing his fight against death – makes every day extra special. A man who constantly reminds him of how beautiful life is, and continues to make it so.

[traiaadd156]

ANGST POST BC I WANT TOO!

Plot/summary; teen pregnancy and damian leaving you to go back to the league, you never got to see him again until he found you.

Warning!; angst, teenage pregnancy, self harm, suicidal thoughts, ed, post partum, femReader!, surprise in the end!!!

It wasnt supposed to end up like this.. it feels like forever as you gaze into Odette's eyes, a soft hum leaving your lips rubbing your toddlers side lulling her.

You wished it would have been different.

She was a happy child, the more she grew the more alike she was to her father as she grew, a salt rubbing to your wound whenever you looked at her. But how could you hate her? It never seems to occur that she loves just like him.

Letters you had wrote and sent and none coming back from you, it felt so sudden and quickly. She lay in your arms whilst continuing to hum, she always liked it whenever you did hum even in her sleep. She says its like a cat purring.

She was your everything.

Her soft raven hair brushing against her softly tanned skin, she has your nose and lips. Holding your hand in hers, she always seem to not want to let go. Her chubby hands holding you whist she slept, she was afraid you'd leave again to do your work.

Its not easy.

She would always seem to cry at the slightest thing, but was the most happiest girl. In school she was called delight, her friends call her delila, but in your arms she was odette. She plays with her friends till dusk and how her figure walks back to your dirty apartment, the light from the sun shining behind her while she did. She was like an angel, your angel.

Mother why do you do that to yourself? She had thought many times, Im trying to help you and make you happy. You're the only one I have left mama. She would say under her breath whilst nuzzling in the bed with you, why does mama always look so sad? Even when you smile I dont think its true...

She used to mutter a lot to herself, when she thinks Im still in school. Mama? Why do you always hide your legs? I always bleach in the bathroom and something rotting.

I rarely see mama eat now, she says she is fine. Her body grew frail by the years. Hmph, she is always lying about how you were a big girl now. Your far from it! She can still lift you, she can still be with you.. you werent going to leave.

Mama was happy, I was happy. We went to the amusement park this week and the next is we went to a big house.

An old strange man who called himself 'uncle grayson', well you didnt know what that meant but it was really fun. But it was a little scary when you werent around mama, but I know you would always come back.

That always keeps me smiling like you, now Im writing this letter. I hope you can visit me soon:⁠-⁠) luv odette—

Uncle said that you had me very young, I didnt understand why and how papa didnt know. I never knew that, and how he was a cool ninja but then when he tucked me into bed I heard his phone ring.

I dont think much of it since I was tired.

Papa was so happy to see me, he also remembered my birthday which was today. We went out buying decorations and cake and went back to mamas house.

He watched as little oddet went in, in this cramped dirty apartment; there was rarely any furniture or color but there were duck tapped drawings of hers. A soft smile on his lips gazing at the drawings, she clearly had a talent for drawing just like her dad.

But then he heard her say; "please mama get down!" Her broken cry let out.

Both your laugh echoes in these halls, the small room where you both lived. And how the she wept and wailed tugging at your feet, how your limp body swung and the rope really was strong, you knew it was better the braid it.

Her hands clutching your soft ankles sobbing and crying, oh my dear odette. I wish he took you away, my dearest Odette I'm sorry for letting you live a life you never asked, I'm sorry. But I'll be there, but I won't be able to hold your hand anymore. I'm sorry odette I can't make it to your birthday.

The letter he held whilst reading, damians expression blank as he looked up at you. You covered your face with a face mask to hide the swell of your mouth probably, or cover the blueishness of your face.

"mama please dont leave me."

Her sobs continued, only if you were alive you'd want to comfort her like you always did. It was okay to cry, she soon turned to her father before asking.

"papa help her!" She stressed whilst looking back at his blank indifference, with a soft tone he soon spoke.

"mommies just asleep, I promise you she will wake up."

The girl shook her head as damian wondered, this girl has seen death and death already took your soul. How would odette know? He wondered before gently pulling her away from you, her reluctance easing a bit at his reassurance.

He wondered, why did it had to be like this? He was no heartless man, he cant let his child live to see the blue face of her mothers corpse.

"its going to be alright my dear." He tried to lull, gently patting her head as she cried her little heart out. She wasnt even tall enough to reach the upper cabinet, but one thing she will always remember is your skinny body and how it looked, limp and cool to her warm touch and her nubby fingers clinging onto it.

Damian wasnt a man to let things go, and neither were you. He didnt mean to abandon you, you sounded so sure you'll be fine alone. You always were such a fucking liar.

But I will miss you, but I will never let you go. I'll make it up when you wake up.

He tried to comfort her but failed miserably, but he knew one thing was sure to be pointed out.

This is the worst birthday ever.

Kinda short but I just wanted to write it down bc I cant help it.

[sxvual]

act six • the break

a/n: wheewwww this was a lot, and propably the most I ever wrote at once. it was a tear jerker for me, I really hope you all enjoy it !

cw: angst, themes of depression and anxiety, mild infidelity and emotional affair

word count: 11.2k (told you) also i didn't proof, so if you see any mistakes or basic spelling errors, so sorry!

————————————————————————————

The early evening light poured gold across the kitchen counters, casting a soft glow over the freshly printed party list Sunny had taped to the fridge. Roman stood in front of it like it was a crime scene—arms folded, jaw set, an expression of deep suspicion as he scanned it.

“Do you hate me?”

Sunny, barefoot and grinning, turned from the bowl of homemade guacamole she was mixing. “What now?”

He pointed to the list like it had personally offended him. “Thirty-five people, Suniva. In our backyard. In our house.”

“They’re our friends and family, Romie,” she said, sweetly dragging out the word our like honey. “Come on. It’s our first place together. Our forever home. Don’t you want to break it in right, make it just ours?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of… I don’t know. Naked christening in the living room. You, me, a bottle of wine. Not a herd of people eating dip and judging my choice of patio furniture.”

Sunny laughed, the sound bright and effervescent, the way it always was when she was buzzing with an idea. She crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her chin against his chest. “It’s just one afternoon. It’ll be fun. There’ll be music and drinks. You’ll survive.”

He didn’t hug her back right away. He sighed like a man preparing for war.

“I’ll take you to Michaels. Right now. Buy the whole damn store. If you change your mind.”

She giggled again, her fingertips drawing lazy circles over the small of his back. “Is this your version of bribery? I have enough of everything right now."

“It’s desperation,” he muttered, then finally pulled her closer with a long, begrudging groan. “Suniva, I’m serious. You know how my family is. They’re not like you.”

“So? I’m not like anyone,” she replied, cheeky and soft at once. “That’s what you love about me, remember?”

“I do,” he said, his voice lowering as he rested his forehead against hers. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

She tilted her head, searching his face with that knowing expression she always wore when she sensed something deeper beneath his teasing. “You think they won’t like me.”

“I don’t give a damn whether they do or don’t,” Roman said. “But I do give a damn if you feel uncomfortable or unwelcome. They’re cold, Sunny. Not on purpose—it’s just how they are. You’ll be warm and sparkly and full of light, and they’ll be…” He trailed off, huffing a half-laugh. “They’ll be sitting there silently judging the ratio of cilantro in your salsa.”

Sunny smiled, gentle now, her hands cupping his face. “Baby, I’ve been a Black girl navigating rooms full of cold people since I was ten. I’ll be fine.”

He leaned into her touch, brushing his lips over her wrist like it grounded him. “This isn’t like work, though. This is personal.”

“So is building a life with you. Which means inviting our people into it, even if it’s just once in a while.” She tilted her head. “Besides, your mom already doesn’t like me, right?”

Sunny had met Valencia Reigns one time in passing and it was tense, akward, and off putting for the both of them. His girl was all smiles and his mother simply ghosted past her like a stormy cloud.

Roman winced like she’d pinched him. “She’s just… old-school. Suspicious of things she doesn’t understand. You smile too much for her taste.”

“God forbid.” Sunny snorted and leaned up to kiss him on the jaw. “Well, she’s gonna have to get used to it. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands found her waist, drawing her closer until they were pressed together, perfectly fitted. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

There was a beat of quiet between them, the fridge humming faintly behind them, the world paused in this simple, soft moment.

Roman closed his eyes. “Okay. Fine. We’ll throw the party.”

Sunny squealed and kissed him full on the mouth, all teeth and joy, while he groaned like a martyr but kissed her back all the same.

When she pulled away, glowing, already listing food options aloud again, Roman watched her like she was the only light in the room. Because she was.

And still, that tight coil in his chest didn’t unravel.

Something about this—about his world crashing into hers—made him uneasy. He didn’t want his family to dim her. Not even for a day.

He swallowed it down, smiling as she talked about string lights and lawn chairs.

If it mattered to Sunny, then it mattered to him.

Even if he’d rather chew glass than play host.

Even if his gut told him that this day—this party—was going to change things.

The scent of grilled jerk chicken, sun-warmed grass, and charred sweet corn hung in the air like a lazy summer halo. Laughter spilled from the backyard in bursts, mixing with the clink of ice against glass, the occasional bass thump of old-school R&B tracks floating from a Bluetooth speaker set near the patio.

The yard wasn’t huge—Roman lived alone most of his time there and never needed much space—but Sunny had worked a kind of magic. String lights zig-zagged across the fence line, casting a golden warmth as the sun began to dip. A folding table covered in a vibrant batik print was stacked with food: smoky ribs, colorful pasta salad, cornbread muffins, mango slices, and a pitcher of fresh limeade she’d made that morning.

She floated from guest to guest like sunlight incarnate, laughing with Solo and his wife, teasing Roman’s cousins—the twins—who adored her, and slipping an extra slice of pie to her father, who sat at the far end of the yard in a lawn chair he brought from home all the way in Georgia “because these new ones are too soft.”

Roman watched her from the patio with a beer in hand and a tightly coiled tension just beneath his skin.

He didn’t miss the way his mother stood off to the side like a statue in pearls, her mouth tight, sunglasses hiding her eyes. Valencia Reigns had said all of five words since arriving—none of them to Sunny.

Roman’s sisters, dressed in tasteful beige linen like they were auditioning for a J. Crew catalog, offered polite smiles. They nodded when spoken to. But their distance was unmistakable. Warmth didn’t run through their family so much as it existed in carefully managed sips. They weren’t hostile—but they weren’t open, either.

Sunny didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe, Roman thought grimly, she was just trying not to.

She moved through the yard like it didn’t bother her, all grace and joy, checking on everyone, making sure plates were full and drinks were poured, a hostess in her element.

But Roman knew her too well.

He saw the way her smile strained just slightly when his mother turned her back mid-sentence. The way her eyes flicked toward him once, seeking reassurance. The little nod she gave herself in the reflection of the sliding glass door, like a reminder to breathe.

His jaw ticked.

“You’re not saying anything,” came a familiar voice behind him.

Roman turned to find Jimmy, his cousin and one of his closest confidants, beside him, nursing his own beer. He wore sunglasses and a half-smirk.

Roman grunted. “Ain’t shit to say.”

“Mm.” Jimmy took a slow sip. “Your woman put all this together. And your mom been out here acting like she’s waiting for Jesus to rapture her out of the middle class.”

Roman huffed a breath, not quite a laugh.

“Sunny’s handling it like a champ,” Jimmy added. “But you might wanna shut it down before your mom pulls some Queen of Ice shit and ruins this for her.”

Roman looked toward his mother again. She stood near the edge of the patio, speaking softly with one of his sisters, her chin tilted just high enough to seem disapproving of everything beneath her.

Then he looked at Sunny.

She was by the grill now, flipping patty's like she hadn’t just been quietly snubbed by the matriarch of the Reigns family. Her father sat nearby, unaware, humming along to Al Green and wiping sweat from his brow with a linen napkin.

Roman clenched his jaw.

This was the part of his world he never wanted to give her. The part filled with judgment and silence and emotional detachment passed off as tradition.

Sunny was too bright, too tender for it.

He downed the rest of his beer, handed the empty bottle to his cousin, and made his way across the yard.

She looked up when he approached, her smile faltering ever so slightly when she saw his expression. “Hey, babe. You okay?”

Roman didn’t say anything at first. He just took the tongs from her hands, set them aside, and cupped her face in both palms. Right there in front of everybody.

Her eyes widened, caught between surprise and confusion.

Roman kissed her.

Not just a peck—but a real kiss. Warm, grounding, reverent. The kind of kiss that said I see you. I love you. You are not alone.

It silenced the party for a beat.

When he pulled back, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes searched his like maybe she could read what was stirring underneath.

“I got you,” he murmured.

Sunny nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know.”

Behind them, someone made a show of clearing their throat. Probably his mother.

Roman didn’t care.

Because this was their home. Their life.

And no one—no one—was going to make Sunny feel like she didn’t belong in it.

—

The last of the guests had filtered out with lingering hugs and take-home plates stacked with leftovers. The string lights still glowed over the backyard, casting amber across the grass. Inside, Sunny was curled up with her father on the couch, her cheek resting on his shoulder, eyes closed but not asleep while he read the paper from this morning aloud, to her or to himself he didn't know. Roman watched them for a beat, his jaw clenched.

He knew the moment would come. His mother hadn’t left yet.

Valencia Reigns stood in the kitchen, her purse perched on the counter, phone in hand like she was ready to call her driver within a moments notice. Roman could tell she was waiting for a word—some subtle nod of approval, maybe even gratitude for gracing them with her presence. But Roman didn’t play polite anymore.

Not when it came to Sunny.

“You got a minute?” he asked, voice low but firm.

Valencia turned, expression unreadable behind the chill of practiced decorum. “Of course darling.”

Roman nodded toward the back porch. She followed him without protest, stepping outside like a queen exiting her throne room.

The air was cooler now. A breeze swept through the yard, carrying the scent of citrus and smoke. Roman shut the door behind them and leaned against the railing, arms crossed, his profile shadowed under the dim porch light.

“I’m only gonna say this once,” he began.

Valencia arched a brow, her stance calm. “Roman honey—”

“No,” he cut in, tone sharper. “Just listen.”

Silence fell between them like a curtain.

Roman inhaled through his nose, steady and tight. “I know you don’t think you were rude tonight. But I watched you treat Sunny like she was a stranger in her own damn home.”

Valencia’s mouth pressed into a line. “I was nothing but cordial in your home.”

“You were cold in our home.” He stared straight ahead, voice low but seething. “Dismissive. You wouldn’t even look her in the eye when she offered you a plate.”

“She insisted I take food I didn’t want. What would you have me do, pretend?”

“I’d have you show some basic respect,” Roman shot back. “This woman—is going to be my wife—she planned this whole thing to welcome you, to bring both our families together, and you acted like she wasn’t worth your time.”

Valencia drew herself taller. “I wasn’t raised to fall over myself for appearances. I observe. I reserve judgment. That’s my right, son."

Roman turned toward her now, arms dropping to his sides. “You’re not here to judge her. You don’t get to come into our space and decide whether she passes some test you made up.”

“I know you think she’s perfect—”

“I don’t,” Roman snapped. “She’s real. And she’s everything to me.”

Valencia’s face finally faltered, just slightly.

Roman stepped closer, his voice tight with emotion. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? You did the same thing to Dad. To my sisters. And now you're doing it to me, the one person who still puts up with you. You push people away, act like it’s strength. It’s not. You look miserable. ”

His mother blinked.

“She’s not like us,” he said, softer now. “She’s warm. Kind. She makes people feel at home. And she’s gonna be the mother of my children one day and my wife, so you better believe I’m gonna protect her like my life depends on it.”

Valencia looked down for the first time, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. But Roman didn’t wait for her to speak.

“I don’t need your approval. But if you want to be part of my life—our life—you better learn how to show up with more than just your last name and cold shoulders.”

He let that settle, the weight of it hanging thick in the air.

Valencia exhaled, the sound brittle.

Roman didn’t flinch. “You can go now.”

She gathered her things in silence, didn’t look back as she walked through the house. Sunny glanced up just in time to see her pass through the foyer. When her eyes met Roman’s across the room, he just nodded once.

It was done.

He didn’t need his mother’s validation.

But Sunny?

She needed to know she was his family now.

—

The door clicked shut behind him.

Roman exhaled like it hurt, shoulders sagging under the weight of everything he wasn’t ready to face. Again, he was late. Again, he was empty-handed, soul hollowed out from the inside and scrubbed raw with shame. His car keys barely made it to the dish on the foyer table before the silence hit him.

And then he saw her.

Sunny stood near the hallway, not in bed where he thought she’d be, not curled up in grief or isolation like she had been for weeks—months, really. No. She was standing there waiting.

And she looked different.

Not done-up. Not distant. But present. Wide awake. Hair tucked behind one ear, face clean, expression raw but impossibly striking, like she'd just walked out of a dream. Or a memory. Or a decision.

Her eyes were bloodshot, but not with sadness. They burned. Like something had shifted. Like she'd seen something and finally chosen to stop pretending she hadn’t.

Roman opened his mouth to speak—anything, something—but what came out first wasn’t from him.

“Are you cheating on me?”

Her voice cracked the stillness in half.

It didn’t rise. It didn’t accuse. It just cut.

Roman froze, hand still resting on the doorframe. Her name—his name for her—was still caught in his throat: Suniva, My Sunshine, like a prayer, like a plea. But now it hung there, suspended between them, unspoken and useless.

Her arms were crossed, more to hold herself together than to wall him out. But the line was drawn, and he knew—he knew—she wasn’t asking for reassurance.

She was asking for the truth.

The air between them grew thick and unbearable, and still, neither moved. His mouth opened again, but there were no words big enough to fill the space between her question and what he’d nearly done.

The scent of unfamiliar perfume still clung to his jacket. Sweet. Feminine. Wrong.

And Sunny smelled it too—he could tell. Her eyes flicked to his collar for a fraction of a second, just enough.

Roman saw the moment her heart fractured. Not shattered—no, that had already happened months ago when they lost Yara. But this? This was something else.

This was the crack of finality.

“I...” he started, but stopped. What was there to say?

The truth?

He hadn’t cheated.

But he almost did.

And in some ways, that was worse.

The silence roared like a wave between them. Her stare never wavered. And for the first time in a long time, she looked like she could do somthing like walk away. Like she might want to.

Roman swallowed hard.

He couldn’t lie. Not to her.

But he didn't wanna blow his whole life up when the dust had still yet to settle from the last explosion.

—

She should have looked away. Should have turned on her heel, gone upstairs, buried her face in a pillow, and pretended this moment—this question—never left her lips. But Sunny didn’t move. She stood still, arms folded loosely across her chest, not in defiance but out of instinct, as if holding herself together was the only thing she could manage right now.

The air between them was suffocating, saturated with tension and truths left unspoken for far too long. Her question—Are you cheating on me?—still hung between them like smoke, thick and cloying, impossible to ignore.

She hadn’t meant to say it that way. So blunt. So raw. But maybe she had. Maybe it had been brewing for weeks, creeping into her mind every time he came home later than the night before, every time the scent on his clothes wasn’t his usual cedarwood and vanilla but something unfamiliar, too sweet and too foreign to be hers.

The ache in her chest had been building slowly, quietly, a dull pressure that had become a constant presence. It wasn’t just about tonight. It was everything—the long silences, the way his eyes no longer lingered on her, how their hands hadn’t found each other in the dark for what felt like forever. Something inside her had been unraveling, and she’d kept trying to sew herself back together with nothing but hope and denial.

She had known, in a way only a woman could know. Not because of what he said or didn’t say, not even because of the way his expression shifted when he walked in tonight—guarded, withdrawn—but because her body recognized the absence. The absence of warmth. Of intimacy. Of effort.

And the guilt.

It was in the way his eyes wouldn’t meet hers, the hesitation in his breath, the stillness of a man who had nowhere to run now that the moment had arrived. There had once been such a profound tenderness in the way he looked at her, even in the quietest hours. But now, all she saw was distance. And something darker. Regret, maybe.

The scent on his clothes wasn’t hers—hadn’t been in a long time. She hadn’t worn perfume in months. Hadn’t felt his hands linger long enough for any part of her to cling to him. But someone else had. She could feel it in her gut, and though she’d been afraid to trust that knowing, she could no longer pretend it was just paranoia.

She dropped her gaze briefly, gathering herself, trying to suppress the sting rising behind her eyes. There was so much she wanted to say—so many questions, confessions, accusations and pleas tangled up in her throat—but they all stuck there, heavy and immovable.

What hurt the most wasn’t even the possibility that he had strayed. It was the knowing that somewhere along the way, something between them had broken, and neither of them had reached to fix it.

So she waited. Silent. Searching his face for something—remorse, denial, anything that might tell her this was all some terrible misunderstanding.

But Roman said nothing.

And in the absence of words, everything she feared became true.

Roman opened his mouth, then closed it again, the weight of her question pinning him to the spot. His throat was dry, his thoughts a chaotic mess of shame and explanations he didn’t know how to offer without making things worse.

He hadn’t touched Madeline. Not really. Not in a way that would hold up in court, or maybe even in conversation. But he’d thought about it—more than once. Let himself drift toward her warmth like a man starved of sunlight, until it almost became something real.

And that was enough.

Enough to feel like a betrayal. Enough to stain whatever remained between him and the woman standing in front of him now, her arms wrapped around herself like armor, her jaw tight with the effort not to cry.

“Sunny…” He said her name again, quieter this time, but she flinched like it burned.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling, more tired than angry now. “Don’t say my name like you still know me.”

The words gutted him.

“I haven’t—” he started, but his voice cracked on the denial. It wasn’t just what he had or hadn’t done. It was what he’d allowed to happen. What he’d let go of without even noticing until it was too far out of reach.

Her gaze flicked up to meet his, and for a brief second, he saw her—really saw her—not the ghost of the woman who used to dance barefoot in the kitchen, but the one standing here now, eyes bloodshot, not from sleep but from waiting. From wondering.

“Why, Roman?” she asked softly, and that was what undid him. The quiet plea of a woman who still wanted to understand, even when it was easier to walk away.

He stepped forward, then stopped, his hands clenched at his sides. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’ve been…lost. Drowning, if I’m being real. And instead of reaching for you, I—” His voice faltered, and he looked down at the floor, ashamed. “I didn’t cheat. But I wanted something I shouldn’t have.”

The silence between them roared.

Sunny’s shoulders sank under the weight of those words. It wasn’t a relief. Not really. It wasn’t proof of his loyalty, only a confirmation of the distance that had been growing between them in the quiet, unseen hours.

She nodded, more to herself than to him. “That’s the worst part,” she murmured. “You didn’t cheat. You just stopped choosing me.”

Roman staggered back a step like her words had struck him in the chest.

“I never stopped loving you,” he said quickly, desperate to say something.

“But you stopped seeing me,” she replied, eyes shining now, finally letting the truth bleed out. “You stopped coming home to me.”

Neither of them spoke after that. There was nothing else that could be said without breaking something that couldn’t be put back together in the same shape.

And for the first time, Roman wasn’t sure if love was going to be enough to fix it.

Sunny didn’t say another word.

She turned from him slowly, the air between them still electric with pain, her bare feet soundless against the hardwood floor. Roman watched her with bated breath, thinking—hoping—she might just crawl into bed and bury herself under the covers like she used to when everything was too much. He would’ve taken that as a small mercy. At least then, she’d still be close. Still within reach.

But she didn’t.

Instead, Sunny veered toward the bathroom without a word, her shoulders stiff, her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection like she was holding herself together with nothing but tension and willpower. Roman moved after her on instinct.

“Sunny…” he called gently, his voice hoarse, full of something broken and unfamiliar.

She shut the door behind her.

The lock clicked.

Roman’s heart fell out of his chest.

He stood there, stunned, staring at the white-painted door like it had betrayed him too. “Don’t do this,” he whispered, forehead resting against the wood, the weight of everything finally crashing down on him. “Please don’t shut me out.”

Still, she said nothing.

Inside, the only sound was the rush of water—no sobbing, no movement, just the steady pulse of the faucet, maybe the tub. He couldn’t tell. It was unbearable, the silence. She hadn’t cried in front of him. Not really. Not since Yara. And now she was crying in a bathroom, alone. Because of him.

Roman clenched his fists against the ache in his chest.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, his voice a breathy, broken thing against the door. “I swear to God, Sunny, if you walk away from me… I don’t—I don’t know who I’ll be without you.”

Still, nothing.

He sank to the floor, head tilted back against the frame, the guilt clawing at his insides like glass.

Then, suddenly, the door jerked open.

Roman scrambled to his feet just as Sunny emerged, face blotchy, eyes red and hollow, her lips trembling—but not from sadness. From fury.

She stared at him for a long, tense moment, her hands shaking at her sides.

And then, in a voice stripped of any warmth, she asked, “Who was it?”

Roman’s chest constricted. “Sunny…”

“Don’t—” Her hand lifted, shaky and desperate. “Don’t you dare call me that. I want a name.”

He swallowed hard. The truth lodged like thorns in his throat.

When he didn’t answer, she laughed bitterly—one sharp, mirthless breath—and shoved past him. Her frame looked smaller now, hunched like something had caved in.

Sunny moved to the closet with determination, and Roman followed, panic starting to break through the numbness. “Wait—wait, what are you doing?” His voice cracked, even as he reached for her wrist and she yanked away like his touch scalded her.

“You really need to ask?” she snapped, wrenching the duffel from the shelf and tossing it on the bed.

“No. No, you’re not leaving.” His words were fierce, desperate, thick with dread. “Suniva, please. Don’t do this.”

She threw open drawers, haphazardly tossing clothes into the bag. “You had months to be scared of losing me, Roman. Where was all this begging and pleading when I was crying alone in the damn laundry room at night? Or curled up on the bathroom floor after your mothers visit? Or—” Her voice cracked. “Or waking up to an empty bed night after night because you were too busy letting some other woman make you feel seen, you weren't here!”

His throat closed. He had no answer for that. No excuse that didn’t sound pitiful.

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

Sunny whirled, eyes bloodshot and seething. “But you wanted to.”

Silence.

“I've dying, Roman,” she whispered, the tears finally spilling freely. “And you didn’t even notice.”

He stepped toward her, but she held up her hand again, more commanding this time. “Don’t. Just… don’t.”

The bag was nearly full now.

Roman stood helpless, the man who could handle boardrooms and stadiums, who could command millions with his voice—reduced to nothing but pleading silence in front of the only woman who’d ever really seen him.

And now she wouldn’t even look at him.

She zipped the bag shut with finality.

And with that sound, Roman felt the world he’d built with her begin to crack at the edges.

Sunny hoisted the duffel from the bed, her jaw set, her eyes dark with betrayal, grief, and something Roman couldn’t stomach: finality.

She was really going to walk away.

Roman’s breath hitched as he moved in front of her, blocking the door. “Please,” he said, voice thick and trembling. “Don’t do this. Don’t go.”

Her eyes met his—flashing. “Move, Roman.”

“I can’t,” he choked. “I can’t let you walk out like this. Not when I haven't said what I need to say.”

She shook her head, jaw trembling. “Don’t try to play the victim now. You made your choice.”

“I didn’t choose her,” he snapped, the desperation making his voice sharper than he meant. He took a breath, softer this time. “I didn’t choose her. I chose you, every single day—even when I didn’t know how to show it. Even when I was drowning in the same grief I saw swallowing you whole. I just—” His hand hovered in the air, unsure if she’d let him touch her. “I didn’t know how to reach you.”

Sunny’s mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

“I should’ve tried harder,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I should’ve—I should’ve been stronger. But Sunny, I swear to God, even when I was weak, even when I was so fucking lost—I never stopped loving you. Not for a second. I’ve been scared. Scared I already lost you. Scared I wasn’t enough to hold you through this.”

He stepped forward slowly, the duffel now caught between them.

“I don’t deserve you. I know that. Not after tonight. Not after what I almost did. But if you walk out that door, if you leave without letting me try to fix this, I’ll never forgive myself. And I don’t know if I’ll ever come back from that.”

Sunny stared at him, her fingers tightening around the strap.

The silence between them was deafening—thick with the weight of everything left unsaid, everything already broken.

Then, without a word, she dropped the bag to the floor.

It landed with a muted thud.

And Roman… Roman nearly collapsed with the sound.

The bag lay forgotten on the floor, her shoulders sagging under the weight of everything she couldn’t carry anymore—not her grief, not her marriage, not the man standing in front of her with red-rimmed eyes and a trembling voice. Sunny didn’t know if she wanted to scream or sob. Maybe both. Maybe neither. She just… wanted silence.

“I don’t want you sleeping next to me tonight,” she said, voice hoarse, deadened by the ache in her chest. “I might not be able to fight the urge to smother you in your sleep.”

The words were sharp, dry, and laced with something ugly. But Roman didn’t flinch. He nodded slowly, like he knew he deserved worse.

Still, before he left, he took a small step forward. Gently, like she was a wounded animal that might bite, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“I love you,” he whispered, so soft it could have been a prayer or a confession or a goodbye.

Sunny’s body tensed, just slightly—but it was enough. Roman felt it. He lingered for a second longer, but when she didn’t soften, didn’t lean back into him, he stepped away and left the room without another word.

The click of the door shutting behind him echoed too loudly in the quiet that followed.

—

She sat on the edge of the bed, too numb to cry, too drained to feel anything fully. Her hands hung limply in her lap, fingers still curled around the ghost of that duffel bag strap like she wasn’t sure whether to pick it up again or burn it in the driveway.

Her mind spiraled—tight, frantic loops that wouldn’t settle.

He said he loves me. But he let himself fall anyway. How do you love someone and still let them bleed out like this?

She hated the part of herself that still wanted to believe him. That still saw the man who used to tuck her into his chest and call her “My Sunshine” when the world felt too heavy. That still remembered the way he held her when Yara died, like if he let go, they’d both shatter.

But that man had changed. Or maybe grief had changed them both. And now they were just fragments of their old selves trying to piece together something whole from all the wreckage.

What if it’s too late?

Sunny blinked hard, trying to will away the sting behind her eyes. Her whole body ached—not just from exhaustion, but from carrying months of silence, of pretending, of barely surviving.

And yet…

Why does it still hurt this much?

Not just the betrayal. But the idea that she might not be enough anymore. That he had reached for comfort in someone else’s arms when hers had been empty—yes, but still open. Still his, if only he’d tried a little harder.

Sunny turned off the light.

She didn’t know what tomorrow would look like.

But she knew she couldn’t keep living like this, something had to give.

—

The door shut behind him with a hollow thud, sealing him shut in a room that didn't know him.

Roman didn’t go to the couch like he usually did when they fought, or when she couldn’t sleep with him, or when her grief made it too hard for them to share the same air, when he did that he wanted her to see him. He didn’t want to pretend tonight was something small. Tonight wasn’t about silence or distance, or craving her attention.

Tonight was a reckoning.

He walked to one of the guest rooms—quiet, impersonal, with walls that had never heard them laugh, never held their shared history. He sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like it could answer the questions screaming in his head.

His chest was tight.

His mouth dry.

And his heart… God, it felt like it was folding in on itself.

He ran a hand down his face, slow and rough, as if the drag of his palm might scrub away what he’d done—what he almost did.

Madeline’s kiss had been quick, barely more than a touch. But it was real. And he had let it happen.

He could still feel it like a stain on his mouth.

Roman closed his eyes and exhaled like he was emptying everything out—the shame, the ache, the memory of Sunny flinching under his kiss, like love itself had become a thing to fear.

What the fuck are you doing?

He asked himself that again and again, each time with more anger than the last.

He used to be her rock. The calm to her storm, the voice that steadied her when she was spiraling. Now, he was just another wound.

You destroyed her. You didn’t mean to—but you did. The loss broke her, but you destroyed all the fragments of what was left of her.

And the worst part? He knew exactly how it happened.

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t about Madeline, not really. It was the slow drift—the late nights, the unspoken grief, the loneliness that lived between their walls like a ghost neither of them had the strength to exorcise.

And instead of fighting through it, he let it drown them both.

He hadn’t been enough. Not strong enough. Not patient enough. To not just see that she was slipping, that he was slipping.

And now…

Now, he’d hurt the only woman who had ever made him feel like more than just his father's son, a cold arrogant bastard with too much money and not enough soul, more than his title, more than his body. Suniva Williams saw his soul. And he—he threw that away, all for a moment of borrowed comfort that meant nothing.

Roman scrubbed at his eyes. He didn’t cry. He never cried. But tonight, he was close.

Something has to give.

They couldn’t keep spiraling like this. Living in the ruins of what they used to be.

Either they faced it—really faced it—or they’d lose whatever was left.

And he couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t.

He sat there in the dark, body heavy with guilt, eyes fixed on the wall, still listening for her, even from down the hall. Wondering if she was still awake. Wondering if she was packing to leave for real this time.

Wondering if she still loved him—or if he’d finally destroyed the one thing he never thought he could lose.

—

The house smelled like garlic and rosemary, the faint scent of grilled meat still lingering from the night before. Sunny moved around the kitchen in a quiet rhythm, barefoot in one of Roman’s oversized shirts, her curls well defined and knotted up in a bun atop her head. The housewarming party had gone well—on the surface. But inside her, a quiet ache had started to grow, nestled just beneath her breastbone like something unnamed but insistent.

She stirred the sauce absentmindedly, eyes flicking to the back door where Roman had stood for half an hour yesterday, jaw tight, eyes stormy after whatever his mother had said to him. He hadn’t brought it up since. And neither had she. But the weight of it still hung in the air, heavier than the summer humidity that clung to the windows.

She doesn’t like me. She never will. And now he has to choose sides.

Sunny swallowed down the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to be the reason Roman felt torn between love and blood. And yet, she also couldn’t stomach the thought of shrinking herself to win over a woman who had barely looked her in the eye.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the pasta. She hadn’t been able to keep anything down since this morning. She chalked it up to stress—until she couldn’t anymore.

A soft shuffle of footsteps sounded behind her, then warm arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her against a solid chest that radiated heat and comfort.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” Roman murmured against her temple. “Too quiet. What’s going on in that head, Sunny baby?”

Sunny rested her hands over his as they crossed her stomach. She closed her eyes, letting herself breathe for a moment. He always felt like calm after a storm.

“I’ve just been thinking,” she admitted softly. “About the party. About your family.”

Roman didn’t move, but the tension in his arms betrayed him. “My mother,” he said flatly.

“I don’t want to come between you,” she said, voice cracking slightly. “It’s not just her. It’s… your sisters. I know they were polite. But I felt out of place. Like they were all thinking it.”

Roman gently turned her in his arms, cupping her cheek. “Thinking what?”

Sunny hesitated, then said it out loud for the first time. “That I’m not good enough for you.”

A shadow passed through Roman’s eyes. He shook his head slowly. “Don’t do that,” he said, voice low and steady. “You don’t have to prove yourself for anyone, Suniva. Not even my family.”

She tried to look away, but he tilted her chin up, thumb brushing beneath her eye.

“They don’t know you. They only see what they want. But I see everything. The real you. The strongest, sweetest person I know. You think I’d let anybody talk down on the woman I want to spend my life with?”

Sunny’s eyes welled. “But I know what she said. I saw the way you looked after you talked to her.”

“I was pissed,” Roman admitted. “But not at you. At her. At the fact she’d rather hold onto some perfect idea of who I’m supposed to be with than open her eyes and see the person who makes me happy.”

Sunny dropped her forehead to his chest. “It’s not just about me anymore,” she whispered, voice nearly inaudible.

Roman stilled.

“What do you mean?” he asked, pulling back just enough to see her face.

Sunny bit her lip, then slowly reached into the drawer near the stove and pulled out the small white stick she had tucked away. She pressed it into his hand, heart pounding.

Roman looked down at the pregnancy test, eyes scanning the faint pink lines before they lifted back to her face.

“You’re pregnant?”

She nodded, unsure whether to smile or cry. “Found out yesterday morning. I was waiting for the right time. But then everything with your mom… and I just started spiraling.”

Roman blinked, stunned for a long beat. Then his face broke—soft, awed, reverent. A trembling exhale escaped him as he cupped both hands around her face.

“We’re having a baby?”

Sunny nodded again, and this time a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I wanted her to like me,” she confessed. “Not for me. For them. So they’d be proud of us. Proud of you.”

Roman pulled her into him with a tenderness that hollowed her out and filled her back up all at once.

“Screw pride,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “This baby, you… us? That’s everything. They’ll either get on board or get left behind.”

And for the first time that day, Sunny smiled.

—

“Who was it?”

He didn’t respond then. Couldn’t. And now the silence sat between them like a chasm.

Roman dragged a hand down his face, the heel of his palm pressed into his brow as if he could force back time, undo the slow erosion that brought them here. But it hadn’t been sudden. It was a thousand quiet moments: late nights, missed dinners, deflected glances, the way he’d pulled inward and she’d stopped chasing him.

And then Madeline.

He hadn’t gone all the way, but he’d gone far enough that it didn’t matter. Emotional infidelity—he knew the weight of it now. Especially when the woman waiting for him at home had already weathered so much. Especially when she used to look at him like he was still her safe place.

Now she looked at him like a stranger.

He thought of the night in the kitchen when she told him she was pregnant. The soft nerves in her voice, the fierce hope in her eyes. She’d wanted him to be proud. She’d wanted to share something pure. And he had been. Proud. Terrified, but in awe of her, of them, of what they were building.

When did that begin to fade?

Roman leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them like a man in prayer. But nothing came. No clarity, no peace. Just a brutal awareness that he might’ve finally done something that couldn't be undone.

He could handle her anger. It was the detachment that wrecked him. The way she flinched when he kissed her head. Not dramatic. Not cruel. Just instinctive. A silent retreat.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed her warmth until it was gone.

—

The sun came in with no mercy.

Not that she’d slept. She’d drifted, maybe. Floated through hours of nothing with swollen eyes and a chest that felt packed with wet sand. Her body was still, but her mind never stopped—looping through every second of last night like a punishment.

She turned her head on the pillow. His imprint was still there, faint but unmistakable, like even the bed remembered him. Her stomach clenched. She hated that. Hated that her body still yearned for the man who broke it in the quietest, sharpest way.

Roman. Her Romie at one point, mere months ago felt like ages.

She closed her eyes, the name almost too much to bear in her own head. The man who held her when she couldn’t stand. Who kissed her with reverence. Who talked to her belly every night before Yara was born, even when he thought she was asleep.

The same man who came home last night wearing something that didn’t belong to them.

Her throat burned. She’d cried herself dry hours ago, but the ache remained. She still didn’t know what to do. Part of her wanted to scream, throw every piece of him out of the house. Another part… a smaller, tired part… just wanted to crawl into his lap and ask why.

Why didn’t you come to me?

Because you wouldn't let him.

Why didn’t you fall apart in front of me, instead of finding someone new to hold the pieces?

Because you were in pieces too.

But she hadn’t asked. She’d barely spoken after she banished him from the room, needing the space more than air. And still, she’d heard the soft click of the guest room door down the hall. Heard his sigh. His shame.

He’d whispered I love you last night.

She flinched then, she remembered that. A reflex, not because she didn’t love him. But because hearing it made her feel the loss of what they were all over again.

She sat up slowly, head pounding. Her limbs felt heavy, but she forced herself to move, to function, even if everything inside her was unraveling.

In the mirror, she saw it. The swollen eyes. The pallor in her cheeks. The woman staring back didn’t look like a wife. Didn’t look like a mother. She looked like someone who’d had everything good in her life lit on fire while she stood there holding the match.

Still, she straightened. Still, she brushed her hair.

She didn’t know what the day would bring, but she knew one thing:

If Roman thought she would fall apart and let him fix it with pretty words and aching apologies, he was wrong.

He wasn’t the only one who had decisions to make.

—

The house was quiet. Too quiet, save for the gentle hum of the pipes as Sunny turned the shower on full blast.

Steam rose in thick clouds around her, fogging up the glass and swallowing the mirror behind her. She stepped beneath the stream like she was bracing herself for war. The water was nearly scalding, but she welcomed it. Needed it. Let it blister away the sleepless night clinging to her skin, the sweat from tears and the stale ache of betrayal.

She scrubbed like she was trying to erase it all. Her chest. Her thighs. Behind her ears. The hollows of her collarbone where Roman’s mouth had once left silent promises. She lingered over every inch of herself with shaking hands, not in shame — but in sheer fury. Fury that her body had become a battlefield for someone else's choices.

It was the longest shower she’d taken in weeks.

When she stepped out, water ran in rivers down her bare shoulders, but her hands moved with certainty. She patted herself dry and reached for the body oil with the orange blossom scent. She hadn't used it in months. The jar of whipped shea butter followed. She massaged it into her skin with the kind of care she hadn't been able to summon since—

Since Yara. Since before.

She paused when she caught her reflection.

Then, with trembling precision, she reached for her comb. She parted her hair and began to work through it gently, shaping the curls one by one. Her ringlets sprang back to life, full and soft, framing her face like a crown. She curled her lashes. Two coats of mascara. A soft nude on her lips. Just enough to feel like herself again — or at least someone closer to the woman she used to be.

On the edge of the bed sat her old robe. The one she used to wear in the haze of long days and longer nights. Roman had always teased her about it, said it looked like a burrito blanket, but he loved the way she smelled in it. She reached for it.

Paused.

Then pivoted toward the closet instead.

She pulled out a simple outfit. Slacks. A silky blouse the color of sand. Nothing elaborate, but clean. Professional. Poised. She slid into it with ease, fastening each button with a steadiness that surprised her.

It wasn’t that she felt better. God no. She still felt like something inside her was splitting at the seams.

But the fog of despair had shifted. And beneath it, something else was blooming — something sharper. Something with teeth.

She’d spent so long drowning in not knowing. But she knew now. Maybe not the name. But the where. The how.

Roman had been glued to the office. When he wasn’t shutting her out at home, he was hiding in that building like it was sacred ground. His voice always careful when he mentioned his schedule. His texts from there vague. Avoidant. Hollow.

And she could feel it — the woman’s perfume clinging to his collar hadn’t been foreign by accident. It had been worn in. Faint but stubborn. Expensive, subtle, intentional. Like the woman who wore it knew she had something to hide.

Sunny didn’t know her name, not yet.

But she had a strong guess where she worked.

And that was enough.

By the time she left the bedroom, her heels clicked on the hardwood like a gavel. She didn’t walk like someone crumbling. She walked like someone who had survived the crumbling and was now gathering the wreckage in her hands, prepared to set it aflame if she had to.

And when she stepped into the kitchen, Roman was already there.

He heard her before he saw her. Not the soft pad of toes tapping on the hard marble flooring, but the sharp click of heels made his head lift from the open fridge door, curious. Still foggy from a restless night, he half-expected the same fragile, tired woman who'd barely looked at him over the last few weeks — the one he’d quietly broken the night prior.

But the woman who walked into the kitchen wasn’t fragile at all.

She was stunning. Devastating, even.

Hair defined into lush, bouncing curls that framed her face like soft armor. A hint of gloss on her lips. Her lashes curled to the heavens, eyes big and brown, eyes he'd fallen so helplessly in love with over the years. She wore slacks that hugged her hips and showed off her petite frame and a blouse tucked in with precise ease. The exposed skin on her chest glowed with oils and butter that caught the morning light like she’d been dipped in gold.

Roman nearly forgot to breathe.

Something about her presence filled the room, made it smaller. More suffocating. It reminded him of how she used to be—before—but also something new, something colder.

Something calculating.

He straightened up slowly, still in his T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. A faint, hopeful smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You look…”

He trailed off. Beautiful didn’t seem enough.

But before he could say more, Sunny offered him a smile — not the kind that melted him, not the kind he loved. No, this one was thin, sweetened artificially, like syrup covering a blade.

“Why aren’t you dressed, baby?”

Roman blinked. Her voice — soft, warm, usually the only balm to his chaos — scraped against his eardrums. Not because it was loud, but because it was fake. Sugar-laced and venomous. A mimicry of affection she no longer felt.

“I thought maybe we could have breakfast,” he said, cautious, moving to pour her tea like he used to. Jasmine, with a hint of honey. She hadn’t drunk it in weeks. “Stay in. Talk…”

She didn’t take the tea, instead what she did actually shook him to his core.

She swiped the cup with a quick ferocity from under the kettle, letting it slip to the floor without a care where it shattered at his thankfully covered feet. Thank god he brought his slippers to the guestroom. Sunny acted like the loud crash didn't even occur to her.

Instead, she set her purse gently on the counter, slid a gold watch on her wrist, and turned to face him fully, brows arched like it was any normal morning. Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t flinched from his kiss last night or shunned him to a guest room with a threat only half-joking.

Likely not joking at all.

“We’re going to work,” she said, still wearing that saccharine, soulless grin. “Be ready in fifteen, honey. Meet you in the car.”

Roman froze. His stomach bottomed out like a sinkhole.

Not because she’d said the words. But because she meant them.

Because she’d never want to go to the office, maybe a few times when things were good but only when she was feeling extra colicky. No, Sunny liked being home, in their backyard, the farmers market even but not really his office. Especially not in the past few months.

In recent months Reigns Enterprises had become his sanctuary, his excuse, his escape hatch.

But now it was a warzone. And Sunny was marching straight into it.

Madeline.

She knew it was her.

Or if she didn’t know, she knew enough. Enough to piece together the scent on his clothes. The sudden long hours. The tension in his shoulders when she asked him 'who?'. Sunny wasn’t a fighter, no. But she was a protector — and nothing was more dangerous than a gentle woman who’s been given a reason to go cold.

And Roman realized he was watching that transformation unfold in real time.

“Sunny…” he started, voice cracking just slightly as he hesistantly stepped toward her.

“Clock’s ticking, babe,” she said over her shoulder, already leaving the room.

No raised voice. No dramatic declarations. Just the terrifying calm before a storm.

Roman stood frozen in the kitchen, still holding his own untouched cup of coffee, watching the steam curl upward like smoke from something already burning.

He had fifteen minutes to get dressed.

And maybe less than that before his entire world went up in flames.

Roman stood in front of the mirror, his reflection a picture of poise — tall, broad, and imposing in his tailored charcoal grey suit, the fabric molding to his powerful frame like it was made for war. His long, raven-black hair fell in silky waves past his shoulders as he attmepted to tie it up, each stroke of his comb meant to settle him, to restore order where there was only unraveling.

But it didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

His hands trembled slightly when he reached for his cufflinks. Not enough for anyone else to see, never that because he was a man of a stone to the outside — but enough for him to feel. His heart beat too fast, the space behind his ribs tight with an anxiety he couldn’t dress up or press flat beneath wool and steel-grey silk.

He tried to breathe. Tried to shake it off.

It was just a car ride. Just a visit. Maybe Sunny was bluffing, maybe she didn’t really know.

But she does. He knew that look. He knew that tone. She wasn’t bluffing — she was hunting.

Roman sat at the edge of the bed briefly, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The urge to do something surged in him, frantic and rising.

His phone sat beside him on the dresser. He picked it up.

He could text Madeline. Warn her. Tell her to stay home. Call in sick. Leave town. Run.

But his thumb hovered over the screen.

And he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Because the thought of texting her — of reaching out — felt wrong in a way that hadn’t clicked until now. Not because of what Sunny might think, but because he knew. Knew that any contact with Madeline, even just to protect her, would deepen the wound. That it would be another betrayal. Another link in the chain.

And Sunny didn’t deserve another one.

He set the phone down, jaw clenched, breath shaky.

He hadn’t even wanted Madeline in that role to begin with — she was too eager, too perceptive, too much. But she’d slipped in through the cracks, through the chaos that followed Sunny’s retreat from the world. And Roman, grieving and spiraling, hadn’t been strong enough to keep the boundary firm. He hadn’t slept with Madeline. Hadn’t technically crossed that final line.

But what he’d done was enough to break something.

And today, Sunny — calm and composed in a way that screamed danger — was going to confront it.

He had planned to fix it this morning. Call HR, reshuffle Madeline into a different department far from his personal office. Maybe even let her go. Quietly. Cleanly. Before Sunny ever had to know. And no one would question him, he was the boss afterall. Everyone's boss.

But Sunny's. Because the way she bossed him this morning had him scrambling to follow direction, to listen to her, to please her.

But it was too late.

Now, she was coming with him. Not as a partner. Not as support. But as a force of nature, wrapped in pretty form fitting clothes and righteous fury.

Roman tightened his tie, watching his own eyes in the mirror. They looked tired. Haunted.

He didn’t know what to do. Not to protect Madeline. Not to fix this. Not to soften the blow. He was a man who usually had the answer. Today, he had none.

The only thing he did know — with absolute, bone-deep certainty — was that nothing good would come from today. Not for him. Not for Madeline. And not for Sunny.

Roman was the last one to the car.

Sunny was already seated in the front passenger side of his Bentley, her posture stiff, legs crossed, arms folded across her lap like a statue cast in glass. Not looking at him. Not speaking.

He opened the driver’s side door slowly, cautious like he was entering a room full of sleeping wolves. He slid in, shutting the door with a soft click, and turned the key. The low hum of the engine filled the silence.

“Sunny, I—”

Her hand lifted. No words. Just a firm, open palm raised in the air between them, cutting him off with surgical precision.

Roman went still.

She didn’t even look at him.

It wasn’t anger in her eyes. It wasn’t fury on her face. What terrified him more was that she looked empty. And he realized, with a sickening weight in his gut, that she wasn’t silencing him out of rage — she was doing it to keep herself together.

Whatever strength she had summoned this morning wasn’t sustainable. It was adrenaline and heartbreak and fumes.

And yet here she was.

Driving into the fire anyway.

Roman gripped the wheel tighter, his jaw flexing with restrained guilt. The ride was silent. The type of silence that vibrated in the chest. A silence that made every sound—the tick of the blinker, the hum of tires against pavement—feel thunderously loud.

Sunny stared out the window the entire ride.

She hadn’t spoken a word since her command. But Roman couldn’t stop glancing at her.

Her curls were perfectly defined, the crown of her head framed in dark, soft ringlets. She smelled like citrus and vanilla—freshly showered, freshly oiled, scrubbed down to bare skin. No more robe. No more shadows under her eyes. Her lips held the faintest pink hue, and her lashes, long and dark, flickered faintly with every blink.

She was beautiful. So painfully beautiful that it made his heart ache.

But there was something in her silence that scraped at him.

It wasn’t just sadness. It was resolve.

He parked in his private underground slot and moved to help her out, but she was already out of the car and walking, her heels clicking like a countdown.

He caught up to her quickly. Reflex. Habit.

His hand rested on the small of her back as they entered the private elevator, a gesture he’d always done—subtle, protective, proud. And even now, as the doors closed and they rose toward his office, he hovered close, slightly in front of her, shielding her from wandering eyes, from whispers. Suniva hadn't stepped foot in the Reigns building in a very long time, and the whisper weren't just regarding her absense she knew that much. And without thought she retreated in Roman just the slighest bit.

It was instinct to love her like that. It was instinct for her to want him to love her like that. But even instincts can become hollow when they’re ignored long enough.

And then—

Ding.

The elevator doors parted.

And there she was. Madeline.

Standing just inches from the threshold, a neatly stacked pile of papers in her arms. Her posture froze the moment she looked up and saw them. Her mouth parted slightly as if she were about to speak, to offer a greeting. She was likely headed to the copy room a floor below, but she hadn’t made it on the elevator in time.

Roman felt Sunny stop beside him.

He saw the shift in her expression. That tight, polite smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

“Well,” Sunny said, her tone silk-wrapped steel. “That didn’t take long at all.”

Madeline’s brows knit in confusion—or maybe panic—and Roman felt his stomach drop like stone in water but he held it together.

This was it. This was the moment the ground opened beneath them.

And he had no idea how to stop the falling feeling.

Madeline straightened her back and adjusted the papers in her arms as she blinked at them both, trying to recover from the surprise of their sudden arrival. She offered a polite, even warm smile. “Mr. Reigns I didn't think you'd be in today! Oh—hi. You must be the future Mrs. Reigns? I’ve heard a lot about you. All good things.”

Sunny’s head tilted ever so slightly.

She didn’t answer. She just let out the softest, sharpest scoff — a sound that felt more like a blade slicing through a ribbon.

Roman closed his eyes. Here it comes, good luck Madeline.

Madeline’s smile wavered, faltered.

Sunny’s voice came next — velvety and raw and edged in venom. Because as sweet as she was, his girl had a mouth on her and anything could come out honestly.

“Before or after you had your tongue all down my Mr. Reigns’ throat?”

A strangled silence followed. Madeline paled immediately, her eyes going wide — a deer caught in blinding headlights. She looked less like someone accused and more like someone exposed. Because what startled her most wasn’t the line itself — it was the fact that Sunny knew. Already. Clearly. In full.

Madeline turned slowly to Roman, searching his face for denial, a refutation, a life raft. Anything.

But there was nothing waiting for her there.

Roman didn’t even look at her.

His eyes were on Sunny — fixed, stricken, full of shame and helpless awe. Like she was both a mirror of everything he’d fucked up and the last person he ever wanted to lose.

And just like that…

Madeline realized: She was already done here.

The brown-skinned woman—tall, gorgeous, with a curvy silhouette, striking eyes, and full lips—parted her mouth to speak. She was exactly his type. Maybe she meant to apologize. Maybe to explain. Maybe even to beg.

But no words came. Only stutters, broken syllables, guilt splintering through her expression.

Sunny couldn’t hear a thing.

The world dropped out.

Sound dulled to a distant thrum, like she’d fallen underwater. The hallway twisted, breathing became impossible. Her hands felt sticky, her chest vice-tight. Heat rushed to her face and neck, her pulse drumming against her temples like war.

Madeline’s face blurred at the edges.

Roman saw it before she even swayed — that far-off look in Sunny’s eyes, the way her lips parted but nothing came out. He knew that look. That stillness before the storm.

“Get out of my sight. Now.” The words snapped like a whip.

Madeline flinched. That voice — low, cold, and unmistakably Roman Reigns — silenced any remnants of protest. The elevator doors closed in a near cinematic hush.

Then Sunny collapsed.

She didn’t fall so much as fold, her knees buckling beneath her, her body slumping into the corner of the elevator as her breaths came out fast, shallow, uneven.

Roman didn’t hesitate. He slammed the emergency stop and everything jolted to a halt.

He was on the floor with her in an instant, suit jacket forgotten, eyes locked only on her. The ritual was ingrained in his bones — something he hadn’t had to do in so long—not since the first few days after losing Yara—but never forgot.

“Hey. Hey—Sunshine baby. Look at me.” No response. Her eyes were wide, glassy, unseeing.

His fingers moved swiftly. He undid the top buttons of her blouse, exposing the skin over her sternum, now slick with sweat. One cool, steady palm pressed to her chest, the other cupped the side of her face.

“Breathe, Sunshine.” His voice dropped into something low and coaxing, tender and sure. “That’s all I need from you, baby. In and out. Come on.” His thumb swept gently across her damp temple. “It’s just us. You and me. Me and you. In and out, like we practiced.”

She was trembling, her hands clenched in fists.

“You’re safe,” he murmured. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

And slowly — achingly — her breathing began to shift. Still shaky. Still shallow. But something began to break through the spiral. Roman’s voice. His scent. His hands.

The first thing she focused on was the pressure of his cool palm grounding her heart.

And then — his eyes. Waiting. Watching. There.

Sunny's breathing slowed, no longer frantic but fragile, her chest rising and falling with a trembling rhythm. The worst of the panic had passed, but something far heavier settled in its place—a crushing sadness that folded itself around her bones. Her limbs felt weighted, her heart hollow, yet painfully full at the same time. The ache was unnameable, a quiet devastation that dulled everything except the hurt.

Roman watched her carefully, still crouched at her side, his hand lingering against her cheek, fingertips trembling despite his strength. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, fixed somewhere on the elevator floor. He waited, breath held like it might tether her to him.

Then, soft and splintered, she whispered: “Why?”

He leaned in, heart pounding. “Please… look at me,” he murmured, voice thick with desperation. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Her gaze stayed rooted to the tile beneath them.

Again: “Why…”

Roman swallowed hard, thinking she meant her. Madeline. The kiss. The betrayal.

But when she finally spoke again, it wasn’t anger that broke through—it was anguish.

“Why do I feel like this?” Her voice cracked, and a single tear traced the curve of her cheek. “I hate this feeling. I hate this body. I hate this life. And I hate that… with all that being said…” Her lips trembled, her eyes still not meeting his. “…I can’t hate you.”

"I wanna hate you! Because if I do that, then I can blame you, hate you for making me feel like this…but I can't—because its not your fault—"

"and its not yours either."

"I wish it felt like that."

Roman closed his eyes like her words physically struck him. His jaw clenched, aching to speak, to explain, to plead for something—anything—but no words came. Nothing he said could fix what he’d done. Nothing could pull her back from this edge if she wasn’t ready.

“I think…” she whispered, barely audible. “…I need some time.”

It was final. No anger, no yelling. Just the weary surrender.

Roman felt the breath leave his lungs like a punch to the chest. He wanted to fight, to hold her, to convince her to stay right there with him. But her silence and slumped posture told him this wasn’t a moment for him to fix—this was a wound she had to sit with, a storm she had to weather without him trying to be his umbrella.

He nodded, reluctantly, heart in pieces.

The elevator remained still, the hum of the city muffled behind its steel walls, holding their grief—with their daughter, with life, with each other— in quiet tension.

————————————————————————————

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[gingiesworld]

Family Is Forever

Chapter Three

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst.

Taglist: @fxckmiup @ginnsbaker @gb12d @casquinhaa @angrywhisperslove @louxbloom @natashamaximoff-69 @wizardofstories @canvascoloredin

18+ MINORS DNI

The next day came around pretty fast, Y/N had already had the lawyers draw up the papers, not wanting to draw the divorce out any longer than it needed to.

"So, we're doing it here?" Wanda questioned as she sat on the sofa as Y/N stood before the mantel, looking over the pictures of the four of them.

"Yeah, I figured it won't be long." They told her honestly, picking up the picture of the two of them stood outside of Tony's cabin. "I love this photo, I always thought you were stunning even of you hated the wind in your hair."

"What are you doing?" Wanda snapped as Y/N put the picture back in it's place.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention." They told her just as the doorbell rang, Wanda just huffed as she got up to answer it. Allowing the divorce lawyer inside as the three soon moved to the dining table. Both Wanda and Y/N sat opposite each other.

"So, what is the reason for this divorce, is it infidelity?" The lawyer questioned as the two shook their heads no.

"I guess we just drifted apart." Y/N told them as they looked away from Wanda. Wanda hummed in agreement as the lawyer sighed.

"We won't be able to get this divorce finalised as fast as you both would like." He told the two as he placed his pen down. "You will need to be separated for at least 6 months before a divorce can be filed. Even then it's a trial separation and marriage counselling is advised."

Both Y/N and Wanda shared a look before Wanda looked away, leaving Y/N with the talking.

"I don't think that counselling is an option." Y/N told him. "This decision by the two of us is set in stone."

"So it will be a trial separation, then in 6 months we can revisit the divorce. If that is what you both really want." He said as the two nodded. "I understand you both have a prenup and you have children, yes?"

"Yes." Wanda answered. "We are going to split the custody."

"And I am moving out so Wanda and the boys have the house." They spoke up. "Also I am still going to be paying for the boys, providing for them. Whatever they need."

"I do suggest going through the court for the child support, just incase of unforseen circumstances." He told the two.

"You mean like if I don't pay it one month?" Y/N questioned, Wanda could see that they were getting irritated by the insinuation.

"Y/N isn't like that, they never ever let the boys down." Wanda defended them. "This marriage is ending, not because we don't love each other."

"But because I haven't really had the time to split between work, Wanda and the boys." Y/N admitted as they looked at Wanda. "And I can't make a promise of something that isn't really in my control as I do travel for work sometimes, and Wanda deserves more than what I can give her." Y/N looked at the lawyer as Wanda's gaze remained on her soon to be ex. "We're going to co-parent the boys and Wanda has my schedule and she will get any changes made to it too." Y/N informed them both. "I have also just made appointment to sign a lease at an apartment nearby."

"What about belongings?" He questioned as Y/N sat up straight.

"I already took everything of my own." They told him.

"You only took your clothes." Wanda told them as Y/N nodded.

"I did take everything of my own." They repeated. "All of the furniture and electrical gadgets are all yours and the twins, I won't take anything more than what I already have."

"Ok." The lawyer hummed. "It seems you have everything under control with this separation." He packed away his papers before bidding the two good luck.

"So." Wanda started as Y/N stood up, pushing their chair back in it's place.

"I best be off." They told her. "I've got these reports from last week that areway behind."

"Ok." Wanda whispered. "Do you maybe want to have dinner tonight? I'm sure the twins would love to see you." Y/N inhaled shakily as they looked at the woman who will always have their heart.

"Yeah." They nodded. "I'll be here at the usual time."

"Thank you." Wanda told them as she walked them to the door.

"Why don't you open a book shop." Y/N suggested as Wanda looked taken aback. "It was always a dream you had and you have more than enough money in your account to do it."

"I don't know the first thing about running a business." Wanda admitted as Y/N gave her a tender smile.

"The community college has a business course that you could do." They told her. "You could learn everything you need to."

"But I have the twins." Wanda told them.

"I can always have them on the nights you have classes." They told her honestly. "I know you can do this Wanda so please just, make your dream come true. Do it for yourself."

"You really think I can do it?" She whispered as Y/N just nodded.

"I know you can." With that, they left her as she watched them drive away from the house. She started to wonder amidst all of the separation, she forgot about the dream she had before the twins were even a thought. Maybe because when she had that dream, Y/N would be by her side as she opened.

Once Y/N had finally made into the office, Tony greeted them as he dragged them into his own office. Gesturing for them to take a seat as he closed the door.

"I hear that you are having some trouble at home." He stated as Y/N sighed.

"Wanda and I are going through a separation." They stated calmly.

"So that's the reason for the recent splurge in absences." He stated as Y/N nodded.

"I've had to move out and well, I have an appointment for an apartment near the house so I am still there for the twins." They rambled as Tony held his hand up for them to stop.

"I understand Y/N but we can't be behind on weekly reports. It's not a good sight, especially on me." Tony told them. "Maybe you should step down from your senior position."

"No. I don't need to." Y/N told him. "I only have one appointment left and then the rest I am going to be doing in my own time. It's just this is hard right now and well."

"Maybe you should take a sebatical?" He suggested as Y/N shook their head no.

"That isn't an option." They stated. "I can assure you that this will not happen again Mr Stark. I just have a small appointment this week which I can take out of my lunch break. It's just signing a lease and picking up the keys for my new place."

"I am trusting your word Y/N." He told them sternly as Y/N thanked him before heading back to their own office to get to work. Time passed fairly quickly as they sent the late reports of and started on the new. They had also completely lost track of time, so they soon raced to the house just in time for dinner to be served.

"O'PA!!!" The twins yelled once they entered the house.

"Hey boys." They beamed as they hugged the twins, kissing the top of their heads before seeing Wanda stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"You're here, that's all that matters." Wanda stated indifferently. Although the sight of the three of them made her heart swell, she still felt the heartbreak that this is only brief.

The two listened as Tommy was telling them about an upcoming game he has this weekend to which both Y/N and Wanda stated they wouldn't miss it. That was something that Wanda could trust with Y/N, they never missed a chance to cheer on the boys.

"When's the decathlon meet?" Y/N asked Billy who smiled shyly, something he gets from his mom.

"In 4 months." He told them. "We're just studying for the possible subjects and questions we could be asked."

"That's awesome Billy." Wanda beamed at him.

"Be sure to save me a ticket for it." Y/N told him as he just nodded. Once dinner was over, the boys had disappeared to do their homework as Y/N helped Wanda clean.

"You don't have to do this." Wanda told them.

"I know." They said as they put the dishes away. "I guess I, never mind." Wanda turned to face them, seeing them troubled was something she never liked to see.

"Are you ok?" She asked them as they gave her a tight lipped smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine." They told her, although she didn't buy it. "I guess I am going to go."

"Yeah." Wanda nodded as she watched Y/N disappear to say goodbye to the twins before Wanda met them at the door. "Be careful." She told them as they nodded, already making their way back to the office to get up to date on the work that has been piling up on their desk. Their head in their hands as they let the tears slip through, wiping them away faster than they would fall.

[kindleaf]

Erlin, Albin for the obvious. Zirk for me. And as a curve ball. Also Luna.

[ask game] yayyyy so many :3c (under cut)

erlin:

how do i feel about this character?

gestures to my url. i'm normal. im literally normal. (favorite nadd character and maybe my favorite character ever. he's certainly up there.)

all the characters i ship romantically with them.

bev -w- truly no one else. no one else with bev either. no one can ever get involved with what they have going on at risk of their self esteem.

non-romantic pairings.

ofc egwene and erlin the siblings of all time forever. the most important guys. and then the rest of b-team obviously. him and hardwon make me cry. of course his other scoutmaster moonie as well. derlin. cran. probably ol cobb. i get weepy he has so many friends he's so LOVED...

unpopular opinion.

i'm a bev/erlin guy we all know this. and a large portion of his life is beverly and i love to discuss this i love to talk about the Themes And Motifs but i also think. maybe. both within the show and in fandom we could talk a little bit more about erlin and his desires outside of bev... we can look at his own tragedy as well... also he's gay. that's not unpopular i'm just saying it.

one thing i wish would happen/wish had happened in canon.

B-TEAM BONDING. ON SCREEN B-TEAM BONDING. PLEASE ON SCREAM B-TEAM BONDING. "MY FATHER FIGURE" BRIAN MURPHY ELABORATE.

albin:

how do i feel about this character?

LOVE HIM. loser wizard guy my favorite c3 character hands down. he's so sad. kicks him.

all the characters i ship romantically with them.

sol! mainly sol. sometimes i play dolls with him and calder, grem, or swag but it's mainly for the Bit and the Drama and the Sexual Ennui.

non-romantic pairings.

ma goblin and him are literally LITERALLY best friends bark bark ruff bark. they make me so happy to think about. also i have pretty extensive headcanons about him hanging out with the waterpark kids (liddy, tully, etc.) and maybe have a comic in the works for it hehe but i like that. and then also winch and callie. i think they should be FRIENDS.

unpopular opinion.

they should treat him better in canon before i start aggressively subtweeting jake and emily on twitter. be fucking nice to him he's literally just helping you and calder STARTED it.

one thing i wish would happen/wish had happened in canon.

i wish we had gotten to maybe see more flashbacks to launchpad with them in a more serious way? however the lizer fight flashback to albin crying out for help really does it for me i like that a LOT. i wish we'd maybe even gotten more of albin's story pre-launchpad but that's arcane knowledge that not even murph knows so. shrugs.

zirk:

how do i feel about this character?

i LIIIIKE zirk i think he's so interesting and fun. and ofc he's a blorbo in law. but i love alchemist characters by default and then ALSO he has mommy issues? let's fucking go.

all the characters i ship romantically with them.

uhhh not many? i don't really ship him but when people draw him with syb or henry i think that is a-okay!

non-romantic pairings.

him and fia. obviously. they are literally socialized together like kittens and they'll rip up your furniture if they're apart please do not separate. also i like your 🫵 zirk and hank jr stuff i think they should and could be friends even. also him and irina but that's mainly stuff i imagine in my brain. also i think him and tarragon could VIBE but i suppose we'll never know.

unpopular opinion.

hm. idk how unpopular this is with this certain audience but i literally hated the fucking through a bag scene so much. it sucks. it's not good. to me.

one thing i wish would happen/wish had happened in canon.

i would eventually like to see some third mates on their boat in the future :-) just to see what they are up to post All That Bullshit. and also for some zirk and irina interactions.

luna:

how do i feel about this character?

LOVE HER i love her role in the crick arc and i love her scene with melora and i especially love that we get a little peek into how the chosen recruits members because i am so horrible fascinated by how they function as a cult militia. i love her she's awesome.

all the characters i ship romantically with them.

i think shipping her with apple scrumper is literally just fun. so apple scrumper. also not romantic but i think her and moonshine could have a casual thing. in wolf beast mode.

non-romantic pairings.

also her a moonshine as mentioned previously. i think her and hardwon potentially also good friends and then this is so random i think her and tess from the bastards of none could literally hang.

unpopular opinion.

despite her relatively small role in the grand scheme of things i don't think luna is forgettable at all! i think she even brings about one of the most iconic parts of the series early on with melora's "you weren't cursed. you were born that way." i like her very much i think she was the most fun a tertiary npc could be.

one thing i wish would happen/wish had happened in canon.

i can't really think of anything specific i think her arc was very well done. i wish she had gotten to maim barret brisden if this counts.

[yvernal]

Body

I wouldn't call it self-love. Perhaps self-acknowledgement or self-recognition, maybe. Self-acceptance, even.

Recognition that this body is mine, this flesh is mine and that I inhabit it with each inhalation, with every exhalation. That if it's not really a home, it's not a prison nor a cage. Not anymore, at least.

It is a writing exercise. An exercise in description. An exercise in apprehension of the image I have of myself, of this body that I inhabit, of all its qualities and all of its defects.

My feet are flat, just like Mom's are. There's just the gentlest of curves in the center, which I often find myself dragging my fingers over. My toes are uneven, oddly curved and a bit bony, with nails that grow either too fast or too slow. The ones on my big toes will forever remain oddly square since my ingrown toenail surgeries. I have weird patches of hair on it, thanks to hormones, as well as calluses from walking too hard in shoes that weren't made for that. But it's also one of the places where my skin is palest, where the pattern of my veins are the most delicate and easy to follow, like an arachnean lace of blue-green-purple hues.

I love my ankles, despite having managed to fuck up both of them at least once. Sometimes when I look at them, bones and tendons playing under the thin skin with the slightest flex, I think I can understand the Victorian obsession with this otherwise forgettable joint.

I used to hate my calves. I found them too big, too imposing. Almost humorous in the worst way, with the way the muscle sagged when I crossed my legs. Then I started walking, more regularly. Long walks and short trips and climbing stairs... With the hormones, it changed. They are slimmer now, more toned. When I wear high heels, I have some killer legs. My leg hair is long, not that I care much for it. I tend to shave or wax in the summer though, between the sweat and the fact I simply prefer the look and feel of my smooth skin when I have to expose it.

I have knobby, bony knees. Skin marked with small scars from an age where I kept tripping in the playgrounds. They creak, like misaligned hinges, cracking and rattling as if I were in my eighties rather than my twenties. I tend to find it quite amusing.

Thanks to both sides of the family (for once), I have thick thighs. The kind of plush, meaty thighs that spread out when you sit down, taking up space and drawing the eye to them. Hairy, just like my calves. I hate it just a little because it makes my moles harder to spot. I have a handful of them, peppered all over my skin like secret kisses from nonexistent lovers.

I don't usually think about my crotch. It has changed under the influence of hormone treatment, in a somewhat pleasant way that I don't dwell on for too long. I don't wear a packer, although I think about it sometimes, but I have this lingering feeling that this extra bulge would just.... be in the way. My ass, on the other hand, is something I think about a little more. I've been told it looks good, and I guess with all the walking I do and a few pounds on my bones it may as well be. And without the chest to counterbalance, it's all the more remarkable. What matters more for me is that it allow me to sit comfortably for extended periods of time, to be honest.

My hips are wide, in a telling way that used to make me uncomfortable until I discovered flowy high-waisted culottes. Bony, easy to grab, and even easier to bruise. I can't even count the number of furniture corners I've run into. My waist is only slightly smaller, less than before my transition. I'm more rectangular now, less round yet somewhat still soft and squishable.

I'm not active or athletic enough to flaunt abs, and I've gained back the pounds I lost from my bad eating habits and medication side effects. Despite my rather short stature, I don't look my weight. Except maybe for the previously mentioned ass and my little soft belly. When I still had breasts, I hated this little curve with a passion. Now, I find it almost cute in its roundness, its squishiness. It makes me seem softer, more huggable, like something made to held and to be hold.

I used to have breasts, before my transition, and never really liked them, even before the worst surges of gender and body dysphoria. I had surgery last year, during summer, and I just.... I just love my top surgery scar. I only have one long scar, still slightly pink but in the process of disappearing, going from one armpit to the other. It's a beautiful work, my surgeon almost prouder of it than I was. I heal pretty poorly, so some areas are more extensive than others, the skin more wrinkled or weirdly smooth and veiny.

Testosterone injections left me with chest hair I could do without. I love the feel of smooth, soft skin, even if running my fingers through the messy happy trail below my belly button brings a euphoria that's hard to describe. But I like low-necked, openwork tops and just don't like the sight of chest hair protruding from it. And then, with the sweating and the operation I had, ingrown hairs and pimples are frequent during growth.

That's also the problem with my back, strange hair patches and persistent pimples. Otherwise, I think I have a somewhat pretty back, especially the hollow curve of my spine and the arch of my lower back. When I stretch and arch like a cat, I can sometimes feel the stares on the hollow of my back. I have several moles on my back, larger and more visible than on my thighs, with one in particular a little below my shoulder blades.

My shoulders are pretty, a soft slope from my neck to an enticing roundness. I have gained muscle definition with work and injections, not very noticeable but still present in the delicate curve and the discreet shadow when I flex my biceps. My skin is pale there, not as much as my feet but close to it, that same lace of veins easily noticeable in the soft hollow of my elbow. The moles are more numerous, more visible, like a strange game of connecting the dots, personal constellations never written on a map.

My forearms have the softest, most delicate skin, pale and blue-green veins to follow like the course of a stream to my wrists, strangely thin. A family trait once again, fragile joint that I can fully encircle with my hand, strangely resilient despite its apparent delicacy. My hands are less so, rougher and bony, shorter rather than long, more creaking than graceful. Bony joints like my knees, visible tendons like my ankles, I can somewhat see the bone's palor under the thin layer of skin. My nails are neither round nor square, a strange mix of both, if anything. They grow fast, when I allow them to do so. I never chewed on them, rather tearing them off until the white was all gone and the skin left raw. White means stress-free, something I am more regularly now than before. I paint them sometimes, colorful and shiny when life is otherwise too dull.

My collarbone is pretty, delicate bird bones under thin skin, veins like a cobweb and this faint hollow between them, like a natural jewelry case in which to nest my pendants. The beginning of my tattoo finds its source there, a snake with an open mouth and a darting tongue, whose scaly body winds up to my shoulder, its body semi-hidden in chrysanthemums and spider-lilies.

My hair is thick, always has been. Thick and numerous, slippery in a way that makes most hairstyle complicated to achieve. The texture changed since I was in high school and started testosterone, more prone to fluff up in indistinct waves and curls, whose ends caress my nape with every bounce of my steps. Half is my original color, a dark brown with chestnut tones and copper highlights, leftovers from my former fiery red hair dye. Half of it was bleached, a warm creamy-blond underlight peaking through the brown strands and which I should have the roots redone in a month or two, now that my hair has grown several centimeters.

It frames my face nicely, in a way that makes me look soft and gentle. I have a face that's almost more round than oval, with full, plump cheeks and a large forehead, now that I've been graced with a receding hairline. My lips are also plump, even if constantly dry and chapped, despite using chapstick (often a tinted one at that). The drooping corners inherited from Mom give me a permanent resting bitch face, or at least a quietly bored look. When I smile, however, the contrast is striking and my whole face glows.

I think my big, round, thin-rimmed glasses also help with this impression of gentle roundness, as well as making me look like a clichéd librarian. I think from time to time about having eye surgery so I don't have to wear them anymore, or trying to wear contact lenses more regularly.

My eyes are my favorite part of my body, something I have always loved about myself and have received many compliments on over the years. I would be unable to tell their exact color, leaning more towards a blue-green that sometimes looks gray, and ignoring the specks of golden-brown that seem to wander near my pupils. Maybe I will know more precisely in a few weeks, after the meeting in the photography gallery.

I have long and dark eyelashes framing them, as well as thick and quite unkept eyebrows. Fairly light blue-purplish circles, which a good night's sleep or a light massage with a skin care product can make disappear. Noticeable skin texture, large pores and blotchy red patches that won't go away, but I like it like that honestly, uneven and unsmooth.

I'm growing a beard now, even though I thought I wouldn't do it a few years ago. The texture is somewhat rough and some of the hair is oddly blond or red, despite the predominantly brown color of it. It grows a little too high on my cheeks and a little too low on my neck and sometimes I get so fed up with it that I shave it all off. But it gives my face a certain depth, a slightly older look that I quite like, as being mistaken for a high school student gets old fast.

This is my body.

A little creaky, soft and plush around all its bony and cutting edges, more solid and reliable than I could have believed, shifting and yet constant. Something I mold and inhabit, an almost-home and once-prison. I love it as much as I despise it.

This is my body.

This is me.

[sunshine-in-a-bottle]

I fantasize every single day about having my own house, decorated in a bright flourish of colors and filled with fun silly knickknacks and the comfiest furniture. I'll have a dishwasher and a washer/dryer set, and enough windows to let the light in. I'll have ac and heat, and a fan just in case. The lamps will have fun shapes, like flower bulbs, and there will be a clock that makes noises every hour like the one in my parents house.

My bed will be a queen size, and it's gonna have fun sheets and covers and maybe even something crocheted for the top (I would have the money to buy someone's work, to pay them what they deserve.) I'll put up glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, and do wallpaper on some walls and paint on others. No carpets, but a couple of rugs and mats with pretty patterns.

One of the rooms will be a small library, only half- filled because I have so much more I want to read. It'll also have a work desk maybe for my computer and a sketchbook, and there's plushies peeking out off some of the shelves.

There's gonna be a basement, and that's where all my art stuff will be. An art studio, but it's not fancy, and it's going to be messy as all hell, but I'll get to work with clay on the wheel again, paint things on a big canvas, or just draw. Maybe accidentally drink paint out of my mug. There'll be a fan in the basement window to keep the air down there from becoming too bad.

I'll have one dog and one cat. The dog will get training and get to go to a groomers and he'll protect the house but also get so many kisses and snuggles, and when I walk in to get a cat I'll ask who's been there the longest and who needs the most help, maybe an elderly cat, and I'll love it forever. It'll have toys and a cat tree and two litter boxes. I'll make time to walk the dog every week, and we can go to a dog park for many zoomies.

I want a guest bedroom that's clean and always ready to go, so my friends will always have a safe place to be if they need it. They can come over for fun times and we can make food together, and some of them will get antsy and ask to do dishes with me cause they want to help, so I'll rinse off the dishes and they can put them in the washer, or vice versa. They'll never have to, because they're my favorite guests in the whole world, but I'd never let them stew in anxiety over a couple of plates.

I don't have a green grass lawn. I hate mowing. There's gonna be flowers everywhere instead, and I'll have a bunch of written notes about where the sunlight goes and how much shading there is so I can make sure each plant gets the proper amount of light. I'll have a list in my big binder, all the flower names and where they are and what they need. I know it'll take me years to get everything set up and grown, but it'll be a really big reward to have butterflies and birds. There will be a big multi-feeder like my grandma has, and a squirrel feeder opposite side of it to keep them separated. I want a gooseberry bush so I can make a pie. I'll have a composter. I'll have overwhelming amounts of zucchini and sheepishly offer them to my neighbors every year. I want to be friends with all my neighbors.

I'll know all the people in the neighborhood and their kids, I'll say hi and give them food and be a part of the community. When the kids go out and play on our street like I did as a kid, they'll be safer cause I'll be an adult worth trusting. My dog will always be happy to see them and I'll never be mean and yell at the kids when they get too rowdy. If a neighbor wants to be left alone I'll leave them be, but I'll make sure they know I'm here if there's ever an emergency or they need a working phone, like our old neighbors did for us.

I'll have a ramp and no steps to get into my house, because I want my friends on wheels to be able to easily get inside my house. If I gotta have stairs inside my house, I want to someday afford one of those wheelchair lifts so they're not stuck to one floor. The floor space will be clean and open enough for the chair to zoom everywhere. I'll have a shower that's handicap accessible like the one in my family home now, along with a huge bathtub. I'll make my home accommodating in all the ways they suggest so I can have my friends be safe and comfortable when they're with me.

I could have a pond out in the back, like my grandparents did. Get toads every summer, get some fun plants to make it a diverse ecosystem. It would be lined with big rocks and the birds would like it, even if the water isn't clear. Could also get a bird bath. I'd take my grandmother's books about identifying birds with me, so I can learn about which ones are coming to my garden. I'd learn about all the different insects scuttling through the dirt.

There'd be two medical kits, one in the bathroom and one in the kitchen. Everything would be organized so I don't have to go rummaging through drawers at 3 am for a bandaid.

It wouldn't always be the cleanest place, because I know myself, but once a month I could hire a cleaning service and pay them to help me. It might be a little awkward at first, but I'll be very nice to them and check to see if I can leave a tip for the hard work, and maybe offer them zucchini bread.

I don't watch TV, but I'd probably have a small one in the living room that has a DVD player, perched in one of those wood shelves that have cupboards filled to brim with movies and shows and even music I like. I'd have them on in the background while I do things, cause I need the audio. I won't have to pay for streaming sites because every show I love I can hold in my hands.

I can never bring myself to hang my clothes up in a closet, so I'll have a couple baskets of clean clothes I can look through. I'll learn how to iron. I'll be able to pay to have my clothes tailored to fit me. The closet will have Legos in it instead, or some very soft nerf guns, or board games I know I love. I'll make messes I won't clean up for a week, but I'll be able to build a Lego city with my friends when they come over or build marble towers.

I'll host tea parties where we can have fun and dress up in pretty clothes, and costume parties where my friends can come and show off their cosplays. There'll be good food, maybe potlucks. I'll learn how to be a good host and maybe my friends will make friends with each other sometimes. Every holiday and season will get its own special flag that I'll hang outside my house. I'll have a welcome mat at the door.

I'll have pictures of my friends hanging up on the wall. I'll have paintings from artists I love. I'll have figurines and interesting rocks I found.

I'll have my friend's favorite sweets in the pantry for when they come visit. My fridge will always have food in it. There's vanilla ice cream in the freezer. The fridge won't have any fancy computers and alexas inside, none of my stuff ever will, but it'll have a long lifespan and be easy to repair.

I'll have the family piano and my violin case on top of it. My guitar will be safe in its stand. They'll all be clean, tuned, and well cared for. I'll never be forced to play an instrument ever again, but I can always pick them up again, and it'll be my choice.

There will always be clean water. I can walk around my whole neighborhood safely. I can go to the park and climb something. A grocery store might even be within walking distance! (But there will be a bus line that can take me there if not, or maybe a train, if the future is kind.)

The roof will be well tended. I might have solar power and a backup generator. The house's siding will be nice and clean. I'll have a nice fence that doesn't go too high so I can chat with my neighbors if they like.

I'll have a calendar on the wall to mark off each day, and even if there will be bad days (cause there will always be bad days) at least I know that I lived through another one. And that's definitely good enough.

[waxingrunes]

what are your thoughts on tracing ? because im fairly new to digital art and i’ve been trying to draw this truck forever now and i cant !! but i cant help but feel that if if i trace its cheating ?? but like also fuck that because art is art but some people can be really mean about it.

I’ll be really transparent with you here and you might not like my answer for that fact.

Firstly, as a beginner (I’ll circle back to this later in my answer) you do whatever you need to do in order to get comfortable with your style and learn. Trace the truck, trace whatever you need to and evolve and adapt as you go, I’m rooting for you newbie.

To answer on a greater scope, I’m very much of the mindset that this place is a stupid little ‘community’ for us to all enjoy no matter what you like or do or don’t do, or to what level. No piece of art created within this fandom space is up for exhibition in the Tate, none of it is up for marking or comparison, etc and should be created however you want to create it. Nothing here is that deep at the end of the day and every single one of us should be here to enjoy the same fictional characters no matter what.

All this being said I will be honest and say, I know for fact one or two artists here trace and make out it’s ‘100% their own’ and some of this stuff is so painfully obvious it’s traced, it makes me wildly confused when the hoards of ‘talent’ comments pour through. I hate this part of me that twists in annoyance because the other half up there ^ wants to throat punch me for it. What pains me about it, I think, is when people will claim one thing to be true when it’s not. They don’t have to make a big show out of it or how/where their materials are coming from, I’m not asking for a dedicated paragraph every time with cited sources and images, just be a bit more honest and transparent about where your shit’s coming from. If that’s AI, amazing, just don’t pass it off as your own. If that’s tracing, nothing wrong with that, just don’t churn out piece after agonising piece and say “I only use references” when it’s eye-wateringly clear that’s not the case. If I see it, I won’t be mean about it, just suffer in silence. And if the topic comes up amongst people I trust I’ll pass my opinion between those safe walls, as I don’t advocate for unwarranted, uninvited public criticism.

I don’t want to discourage anybody from learning to draw digitally through tracing because we all start somewhere. I’m pretty certain I had a sketchbook in the womb with me and have drawn humans/bodies/animals/basically living forms for a long time, but anything else like trees, buildings, furniture, scenery (this fucking car I’m trying to draw for the next piece) I suck at and absolutely despise doing. It bores me, but as a personal choice I won’t turn to tracing because I want my art to be consistent (-ly shit) over suddenly perfect. I don’t think I’m superior for making that choice and am not saying you suck for wanting to trace because honestly, I am constantly oscillating between ‘it ain’t that serious’ and ‘I just wish people would be more honest’.

I’m still going bet you regret fucking asking! Basically I’ll never be a dick about it if I see it or someone tells me, ‘hey I trace!’ Because good for you, give us the good shit, give us the characters and pairings we want in that form and I’ll eat it up just like the rest of us because we’re starved. But yeah, food for future thought maybe.

[silvysartfulness]

Talk Shop Tuesday: How do you decide which scene in a chapter of HHaR to illustrate? And are there any scenes that you'd like to illustrate but haven't had time/energy/etc.?

It’s always a careful see-saw balance between “interesting scene from the chapter that I would enjoy drawing and think people would like to see drawn” and “I’m a lazy, low-spoon disaster and will cop out on anything too complicated”..!

For example, I absolutely hate drawing interior settings, so you will notice there are very few detailed indoor scenes - and the times they spend entire chapters indoors and I can’t escape it, the settings tend to be very vague. So usually, if I have the choice, I’ll avoid any scenes taking place inside.

Drawing unnamed, random npcs/crowds is also boring/taking too many spoons, so again I tend to avoid those (or making the people around them silhouettes or just very roughly sketched background figures). Architecture is another headache – if I have decent refs and I really want to convey the atmosphere of a place, I’ll sometimes draw cityscapes, but I’m a happier artist when I don’t have to.

So in short, if I can get away with character close-ups or doing landscape backgrounds, that’s what I’ll likely go for, especially if I’m a bit low on spoons!

Sometimes I really do want to capture something more complex, though – the latest one, with Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji as guest stars took me forever to draw, because I hadn’t drawn those two before, and I had to start by going through the last few episodes of the series to screengrab a whole bunch of refs, and then actually draw their faces, decide on which of their outfits I wanted to draw, then find refs for that etc. It took a lot of time and work. 🥲

And yeah, there are absolutely many scenes I would love to see drawn, even though I don’t have the time or energy for it – there’s a reason I so often wish for commission slots for birthdays and Christmas! I love to see others tackle those scenes! Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen meeting on the bridge in Hongqi, the three of them cuddled up together in the ruins of Dushou, the trio walking toward the temple of Yanxia Guan, almost drowning in the river after fighting the catfish yao… I’ve been blessed with so many gorgeous commissioned works!

Not to mention the amazing fanart some people have given me! It takes my breath away every time someone decides to draw something from the story just because they felt inspired to, absolute pure magic! The best feeling in the whole world! 😍

As for specific scenes I would love to see drawn, either scraping my own spoons together or commissioning others to… 🤔

Song Lan possessed by the mist spirits and fighting Xue Yang is such a striking visual in my mind, with his white eyes and mist trailing from nose and mouth!

Song Lan dragging/carrying a crying, drunk Xue Yang up the stairs and into his room in Muaishan, or possibly the following utter breakdown.

Song Lan’s shock when Xue Yang tells him about the death sentence awaiting him in Jinlintai and/or the follow-up shock when Xiao Xingchen is let in on it.

Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang by the little impromptu shrine Xue Yang made for Jin Guangyao

More art of the three of them cuddling in Dushou, tbh, because it’s the first time they allow themselves to snuggle up that way on purpose, all three of them, and I love that for them! 🥰

The smut scenes – I’ve only drawn one of those. Now that we can’t post porn on tumblr anymore, it feels like there’s little point to put in all that work, because I couldn’t share such art in many places. But I still love to see it!

I originally wanted to draw the trio and Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji having dinner and talking together for chapter 57, but was once again defeated by old nemesis - interiors. It was bad enough drawing 5 detailed characters in a single illustration, I would not also have to deal with walls and furniture and stuff. 😒

That's some of the ones that come to mind! So many scenes, so few spoons! (And apparently I'm supposed to be writing the damn thing, too! 😭)

Thank you so much for asking! 💚

[abibliophobiaa]

kiss me

not sure if I love this one or hate this one. but here’s some friends-to-lovers/ tasm!peter x f!reader fluff.

“You’ve been best friends for three years and you’ve never kissed? Never thought about testing the waters? Shaking things up?”

Your head shakes. “No.”

“Not even once? I find that hard to believe.”

“Nope.” The ‘p’ pops loudly as you drop down onto your chair, clacking your thumb against your keyboard. The screen in front of you illuminates, familiar logo of The Daily Bugle greeting you.

So you’ve harbored feelings for Peter for three years? So what. It’s not like you’d ever tell him. There were certain feelings meant to be kept to one’s self. These seemed to be those kinds of feelings. Friendship with Peter was easy and safe. You liked both of those things. Complicating that with feelings wasn’t on your itinerary.

“So you wouldn’t care if I asked him out?” Betty asks at last, plopping down in her desk situated outside of their bosses office.

You bite your lip to keep the hurt from bubbling up and giving away your deepest secret. Begin typing away at an email waiting for you in your currently overflowing inbox. She passes you a knowing smirk, lowering her own gaze to her notebook.

“Absolutely not.”

You regret the words as soon as you utter them.

—

“Weirdest thing happened to me today.”

Peter pulls out a chair across from you at your favorite coffee shop. Bean a Day. It’s a small corner cafe with potted plants dangling in every corner of the room, lit up with fairy lights and rustic furniture as far as the eye can see.

“Lots of weird things happen to you all the time.” You lean forward onto your elbows. Hands come up to cup around your mouth as you whisper out, “Like that spider—”

Peter clasps a hand in front of your mouth dramatically. Tosses his straw wrapper at you next. Your hand comes up to swat it away—to swat him away, really. Exhaling, you lean back in your chair and twirl your straw around and around in your iced coffee. Once the proper color, you sip.

“Betty asked me out…I think?” His voice grows an octave higher at the end. Just like it always does when he’s confused. Your heart sinks within your chest, though this would be a moment where it should, instead, leave you alone.

“Did she now?” You try to act shocked. You are shocked, though. Betty only asked earlier that morning what you thought about her potentially dating him; you hadn’t thought she’d move that quickly with the idea. With a cough, you continue, “What did you…uh…say?”

“I said yeah,” he admits, bringing his cup to his lips and taking a slow sip of his caramel latte. It’s done in a way that draws your eye, led to wonder that, if you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, you would taste those sugary sweet notes.

Instead, you imagine the blonde back at the office giggling brightly. Wonder if it’s her lips he’ll kiss after a night out on the town. Maybe after a movie or a candlelit dinner. You tamper those thoughts and glance down at your watch. Peter catches your wandering attention and leans across the table to curl his index finger and thumb around your wrist. Your pulse leaps at the small gesture.

“Should I have said something else?”

Yes.

You shake your head. “No. That sounds great. I’m happy for you, Petey. Really happy.”

—

Peter looks nice for his date. He told you at the cafe they had set up for Friday after work, but your heart hadn’t been prepared for the sight he makes that day when he comes in wearing a new button up. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows—all veiny forearms and bulging muscles on display. The nerve of him to look that good. His shirt a pretty blue that suits him. Makes your heart do a quick somersault in your chest as he runs his fingers through his forever unkempt hair that would look ridiculous on anyone else but just works on him.

He compliments your dress when he walks in. So maybe you’d also picked something new up at the store? It had been an emotional purchase; one fueled by unrequited feelings. A little black number that made you feel like you could conquer the world.

Eat your heart out, Parker.

“Thanks,” you mutter out, clicking your pen and setting it atop your notebook.

“New?” he asks, stopping to stand in front of your desk.

“Yeah.” You wonder briefly where Betty is. The work day ended fifteen minutes ago. Usually by now the both of you are finishing wrapping things up for the day.

“You look beautiful,” he says, a little breathless. You lift your head at that, smiling softly. “I—I mean you always do. But…yeah. Today. Really…beautiful.”

You’re about to say something when Betty rushes out from Jameson’s office, looking like a blonde dream with her long, flowing hair and pop of red lipstick on her perfect, pouty lips. Your smile drops as she quickly rearranges her desk, offering her apologies for being late.

You don’t expect her next words, however, “I’m so sorry, but something came up and I have to cancel. You two should definitely go on ahead to that restaurant I made reservations for. It’s this new spot. Really romantic. Booked out for weeks.”

Neither of you speaks. Not even as she grips her pocketbook, slings it over her shoulder, and rushes out of the building like she has a train to catch. When reality settles back in, your eyes flicker to Peter, looking just as equally dumbfounded as you’re certain you look right about now.

“What do you say?” Peter muses, extending an arm to you. “Have dinner with me, sweet thing?”

‘Like a date?’ you want to ask. The words cling to your tongue.

“Like a date.” It’s like he can read your mind. Your stomach clenches. “Well, not like a date. A date date. Do you want to go…on a date with me?”

“I would love to.”

—

Betty was right. The restaurant is gorgeous. All vaulted ceilings. Dim chandelier lighting. Candles lit at every table, with a singular rose poised in the center. Perfect date night. For the date…that you’re presently on with Peter.

There’s only one question pressing on your mind, and you voice it to Peter early on into the evening, “Do you think Betty set us up?”

Peter takes a sip of his water, drumming his opposite thumb against the table. His fingers lay mere inches from yours—a fact every inch of your being hones in on.

“One thousand percent. The reservation was under both our names, apparently the owner is actually her Uncle and—”

“A bottle of champagne, especially for you two,” your waiter says, appearing without warning in front of the table. He addresses you both by name, adding, “Your friend Betty has sent her well wishes for your evening. We hope you enjoy.”

“She so set us up,” you hiss half-heartedly, pouring yourself a glass of champagne before moving to fill Peter’s.

“Should we make a toast then?” Peter quips, lifting the flute.

You lift yours before him, beaming in the candlelight. “What are we toasting to?”

“To a beautiful night with an even more beautiful woman.”

He grins, and it sends off thousands of butterflies into flight.

—

You feel giddy and light and it has absolutely nothing to do with the champagne. Instead it’s the man walking beside you on your way back to your apartment, fingers brushing yours every so often as you amble down the snow-slicked streets. Dinner had been filled with light conversation. Teasing remarks and banter you might have made yourself believe could have been flirting. Flirting with Peter Parker. Unheard of.

“Can I make a confession?” Peter asks suddenly, turning down a street that brings you right to your doorstep. You still in front of him, smiling as his hand comes to curl fully around yours, drawing you closer to him.

“Sure.”

You’re breathless. Puffs of cold air burst and mingle in the space between the two of you. It dawns on you that it grows shorter with every passing moment.

“Betty orchestrated this whole thing, but she wasn’t alone in it.” At your wrinkling brows, he continues, “She had a sidekick in on the job with her.”

“An informant?” Your lip quirks at the corner.

He smiles. Takes another step closer. “I, uh, only got the idea after she mentioned you got a little jealous when she teased you about how we’ve never kissed or anything in all the years we’ve been friends.”

“She acted like it was this foreign thing. For a guy and a girl to be platonic all this time.”

“But we’re not. Not fully, at least, right? Unless I’ve read tonight all wrong.” Peter toys with the sleeve of your jacket nervously, his dark eyes meeting yours in the lamplight emanating from your front door window. “Or really read the past few years all wrong.”

You think to all the late movie nights. The way the two of you were overtly touchy for people who claimed friendship. How you texted all hours of the day, despite the fact you worked together and hung out most weekends. How you told him everything and he reciprocated all the same.

“I mean…I don’t know, you tell me,” you whisper, aware that you’re trembling is no longer from the cold.

He steps closer still. Chest brushing yours on that front step as his hands come to hover near your hips, his eyes asking you a question without ever speaking a word. Your head dips and his hands find purchase on either side of you, drawing you near to him. It’s a weird, thrilling, and wonderful feeling to have him so close. To feel his warmth at your hips. Your chest. To feel his breath dancing along your face. His heart hammering swiftly against your own.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t dreamed about this a time or two,” he says softly, forehead dropping against your own.

You run your nose along his. Slide a palm up and over his chest. Settle it there over his heart. “Only a time or two?”

“Maybe three times…tops.” He chuckles lowly.

You smirk. “What exactly happens in this dream?”

He exhales and presses his index finger to your chin. Tips it up ever so slightly until your eyes meet his. You feel every inch of you spark under his stare.

“I tell you that the moment I met you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. But that I was so nervous, I dropped my coffee all over myself.” He had. You can recall the moment clearly. His horrified face all widened in terror as everyone paused mid conversation to look his way. “I shelved us right into the friend zone. Because how could I ever redeem myself after that stunning display?”

You hum when his hand comes up to slide across your cheek, fingers just reaching around the back of your neck. “I ask you if you have this overwhelming feeling whenever we’re together. Like this sense of right that just feels wrong with anyone else.”

“What do I say in this dream?” You ask.

“Let me finish,” he chuckles lightly, tucking his other arm around your waist. Cradling you against the heat of him.

“Testy, testy,” you joke, the tip of your nose bumping against his. Your mouth lingers just centimeters from his. The heat of his breath dances along your lower lip. If you tip your head up just so, you would be kissing him.

You want to kiss him.

“I hold you just like I am right now,” he whispers, and your arms come to wind around his neck. Toes leaning up ever so slightly to get closer to him. “And then I ask if I can kiss you finally.”

“What happens next?” you ask, exhaling slowly.

“Usually, this is right around where I wake up,” he says, tipping his mouth downward ever so slightly. “So it’s really whatever we decide.”

“Kiss me.”

It’s a whisper. A plea. A mantra. You’re not even sure, but as soon as it sounds from your lips he’s leaning down and capturing your mouth with his own. Silencing any further questions as to whether or not he’s felt the same as you. Feels the same as you.

He’s warm and his kisses are sweet. The taste of lingering champagne clings to his tongue as it meets yours, weaving new secrets meant only for the two of you. A silent exchange of ‘are we really doing this’ and ‘we absolutely are.’ As he leans back, you find you already miss him. Lean forward to press another kiss into his skin. Another secret.

“Since we’re making up our own story from here on out…come inside?”

He pauses. “Yeah?”

“I’ll make you hot chocolate and you can tell me more about this plan you concocted with Betty. I still can’t believe the two of you did this.”

But, as he clasps his hand in your own and kisses you just before the two of you step into your apartment, you find yourself grateful they did.

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Healing Touch

Dabi x Fem!Reader fan fiction

Synopsis: You encounter an injured Shigaraki and offer your healing quirk to his aid. Little did you know, healers were hard to come by in the underground and Shigaraki takes a liking to your skills. To further his cause, he kidnaps you and holds you captive under the watch of the LOV. You play the role of the LOV's little healer while you think of a way to escape. Unbeknownst to you, the pyromaniac with a cold heart begins to melt in your presence. Your compassion and wit draw him in, all the while he swears it's only curiosity he feels toward you. But when your touch heals his burns and your personality soothes his anguish, Dabi begins to wonder, what exactly is he feeling for you? And why the hell does he feel so torn up when you slip away?

Author's Note: I have no idea what the full layout of the original LOV bar/base was, but the Bakugo kidnapping episode showed that they keep the Nomu somewhere in the base. The AFO and All Might fight makes the building seem bigger as well. Idk, if I was a villain, I’d keep my monsters and dying mentor (AFO) behind a security door, so that nobody can snoop around. So that’s what I’m going with (also no windows because plot).

Warnings/Tags: Stockholm syndrome, eventual smut, kidnapping, female/afab reader, healing quirk

Abbreviation Guide: Y/N (your name), E/C (eye color), H/L (hair length), F/C (favorite color), S/T (skin tone or color)

Word Count: 2K

Chapter Two: Normalcy

It’s been two weeks since your arrival at the LOV base. You hate to admit that you’re acclimating, as the rebellious and angered side of you sees this as giving up. To quell that rage in you, you remind yourself that you haven’t fully accepted the role thrust upon you. You’re just playing along. Somehow, you know you’ll escape. They can’t watch you forever, one of these days they’ll slip up. 

You’ve been taking this time to observe your surroundings and familiarize yourself with everyone’s patterns. If you’re lucky, maybe your watchful eyes will catch a slip in the chain. You’ve observed that some of the members stay at the base full-time, while others trickle in as need be. Toga, Tomura, Twice, and Dabi stay on site, except for missions and personal errands. Kurogiri is practically a piece of furniture in the base, seldom leaving and always attending to either Shigaraki or the bar.

Everyone keeps a close eye on you, particularly Toga and Twice. Toga is much more “hands-on” with her approach, choosing to follow you and pester you, with either affection or questions, wherever you wander.  She frequently asks you about crushes, relationships, and blood. You want to think of her as a little sister given her age and her adoration for you, but the danger and bloodlust that lurks in her eyes make you wary of letting your guard down. Toga’s persistence is a significant roadblock in fabricating an escape plan for you. 

What you have noticed while under Toga’s gaze is that there’s an entire wing of the building you have not seen. Sometimes, you’ll see Tomura disappear through a set of doors guarded by a passcode. You think you’ve seen glimpses of light coming through a window when Tomura goes through and the doors are briefly open before shutting once more. It’s hard to know for sure, it’s not like you could get through without a code anyways. Something tells you that you don’t want to know what’s through those doors, though. The wing has a strange smell, reminiscent of a hospital. 

Trying to break into the unknown wing seems like a bad idea, but there’s nowhere else you can escape from. You haven’t been able to locate a window that isn’t inaccessible or barred, nor have you been able to find an exit that is unlocked. However, even if you did find either of those things, the constant surveillance by the others makes it nearly impossible to escape. You reason your best bet is still to bide your time. Thankfully, it’s not too tortuous to go along with everything. You mostly find yourself bored or annoyed. 

You’ve been occupying most of your mind lately by observing everyone. You need to predict the villains if you still hope to escape. Of course, that’s easier said than done for some members. Toga, Twice, Shigaraki, and Kurogiri speak their minds freely, so it’s easier to understand them. Mr.Compress is slightly on the reserved side and seems to be a bit of a strategist, but what makes him easier to analyze is his lack of impulses and instability. Dabi, on the other hand, is a complete wild card to you. He’s somewhat quiet, but when he does decide to speak, his words are ladened with sarcasm or insults. Dabi is by far the most frequently injured out of all of them, yet he barely shows any signs of pain. It surprised you that despite his wounds, he hadn’t approached you yet. He just regarded you with lazy eyes, gazing at you silently. He seemed distant from the other members, often choosing to wander the streets in search of new recruits instead. You guess that he is neither very convincing nor friendly given the state of his body after his outings. He smelled of ash each time. Regardless of his quirk’s effects on him, Dabi continued to use it anyways. You reason that continuously burning yourself takes a considerable amount of dedication and tolerance to pain. He’s driven, for sure, but to what?

It’s an interesting question, but you’re pulled out of your thoughts before you can mull it over. The bar door clicks, the telltale sound of the lock turning. Through the door comes Dabi, and along with him is the smell of ash. He’s quiet, but so is the bar. Wait, how long has it been quiet? You realize that it’s just you and him in the bar. You would silently curse yourself for letting the opportunity escape you, but you’re thankful you were distracted. Nothing good would come to you, had you seized the moment and attempted to bolt. With Dabi being just outside the door, you were saved by your thoughts. 

He seems to sense your staring, as his eyes meet yours. You try to suppress the way you feel when his intense gaze bores into you. There’s a glint of surprise in his eyes. “‘M surprised they left you down here alone. Unless… were you cooking up an escape plan?” He interrogates. 

“I guess even wardens need breaks. Not like I could go anywhere though, the doors are locked,” you admit. You rest your face in your palm and entertain yourself by tracing your fingers around the rim of a glass left on the bar top. “Besides, you’re here now. Your quirk has range over me.”

Your words take him a bit by surprise. You’re smarter than he initially gave you credit for, not that he thought you were stupid before. It’s just that he only really saw the feistier side of you. With how you barked back at Tomura, he thought you’d be the type to make rash choices. Instead, he’s having a hard time predicting you. The things you say and do surprise him. While Toga and Twice crowd around you, he observes you from a distance. He convinces himself it’s necessary to figure you out. 

You feel him staring at you again. He seems lost in thought. His staring makes you uneasy and the silence feels strange. You decide to joke around with him, to see if it lightens up the mood or if it creates more tension. Seeing his reactions could lead you to predict him more accurately in the future. “I know it’s called head-hunting but something tells me you’re taking that expression too literally,” you comment, referencing his habit of coming back with burned hands.

“Oh yeah? What’s got you thinking that?” He banters back. 

You shoot him a sly smile, “Just noticed your recruitment process involves a lot of fresh burns, is all.” Usually, Dabi would have killed people for less, joke or not. For some reason, it’s different with you. Perhaps it’s because even with your situation as a captive, you still don’t seem fearful of him. He wants to test that.

“Hazards of the job I guess,” he shrugs. You only hum in acknowledgment. “Mind taking care of them for me?” Your eyebrows shoot up a bit at his question. The tables have turned and now it’s your turn to be surprised. 

“Yeah, I can do that,” you comply. You slide off the barstool and approach him. “Do you have any other injuries besides the burns?”

“Might be a staple or two loose,” he mentioned. 

“Tomura gave me a first aid kit and medical supplies, I think there are medical staples too. They’re in my room. Do you want me to lug all that down here or…” You say, trailing off at the end in a question. 

“There’s no point, it’ll be quick,” he declines. He gestures to you and the stairs. “Lead the way.”

You nod. His thick boots make distinctive footfalls while walking behind you. You try to memorize the way they sound, in case it becomes important later. Your attention is focused on his steps, so the two of you arrive at your door in silence. You open the door and cross the threshold of the doorway. He hovers at the entrance. He realizes this is the first time he’s really been in a girl’s room before, but he’s totally not the slightest bit antsy about it. He didn’t even enter your room when he first questioned you about your quirk. Now that all of your things are unpacked, it just feels so much more… Intimate? 

“I don’t have much in the seating department so just sit on the bed or something,” you instruct. Your back is to him as you gather the supplies together. He tentatively enters and sits on the made bed. The mattress creaks, the sound partially muffled under the thick comforter. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, so he makes himself look busy by fiddling with the staples. You must have found everything you needed as he notices you setting down a box of first aid supplies next to him. You stand in front of him and reach for his hands. Your touch is soft and gentle as you observe his injuries. It throws him off, honestly. You’re aware of his disastrous quirk and you have an idea of what he does, yet your touch makes him feel like he’s made of glass. He expected you to be rough with him, taking out your anger at your circumstances onto him. After all, you’d still be getting the job done, just in a spiteful way. What’s stopping you from doing so? Is it fear that’s making you gentle on him?

You start cleaning his burns and his loose staples, carefully gliding a wet cotton ball over the area. For good measure, you wipe down the skin of your hands with an alcohol swab. Your quirk doesn’t do much against infection after all. Finding out how Tomura would react, should something like that happen on your watch, doesn’t sound appealing either. You whisper out a ‘sorry’ after you fix the loose staples. It looks like it should hurt, but Dabi doesn’t react much. You figure he must have a high pain tolerance.

You clasp your hands around one of his. Your skin glows and becomes icy once you activate your quirk. The coolness of your skin should be relieving, but he can’t seem to enjoy it. The question is nagging him. Fuck it, he decides he can just ask you directly. “Are you afraid of me?” You tear your attention away from his hands. Your e/c eyes meet his. There’s a look of confusion in them, as to you, this question comes from nowhere. 

“No..?” You answer. Your voice is a bit wobbly with suspicion. “Why? Are you going to give me a reason to be?”

He’s dumbfounded by you. If you weren’t afraid of him, you had to be either stupid or crazy. It has to be the latter, because why else would you be treating him gently? “Did Tomura pick you up at an insane asylum?”

“Did I look like I was wearing a straight jacket when he brought me here? What gives with these questions anyways?” 

“You’ve gotta be crazy or stupid to not be afraid of villains like us.” 

“So that’s what this is about? You’re upset that I’m not scared of you?” 

“I’m not upset. It’s just weird.” 

“Okay look, Tomura wants my quirk and my compliance, I want to live. The way I see it, no harm’s gonna come to me so long as I heal you guys. That’s why I’m not wallowing in fear,” you defend. “Is thinking that really so crazy?”

He contemplates your words and you switch off to heal his other hand. “One look is all it takes for normal people to fear me,” he says. You can’t tell if he’s hurt by this, or proud of it.

“Well, your appearance doesn’t scare me,” you admit. There’s a faraway look in his eyes. 

“That’s why you aren’t normal.”

[gretel-moonlit]

Mundane and Random Headcanons That I'm Inexplicably Really Attached To: Celery Edition

Because I miss headcanon posts and I wish more people would make them

You will not catch Celeste out of bed before 11am or asleep before 3am of her own free will. Because of that, she barely gets any sleep while she's in school and always ends up falling asleep the minute she gets back from class for at least a few hours

Kyoko will sometimes put her hair in a braid if it's really getting in the way, but other than that, she hates putting it up, so it's usually down unless Celeste styles it for her

Neither of them has legible handwriting. Celeste can write in a fancy style for her whole image, which she tells people is her actual handwriting, but it takes her forever, and Kyoko types everything she possibly can in order to avoid anyone finding out because she thinks it's unprofessional

Their apartment/house full of fancy furniture and antiques because Celeste likes to collect them. Technically a lot of it doesn't exactly match, but it all looks good together, even if it is alot of stuff.

Additionally, Celeste really likes to collect furnace and antiques and any interesting items she wins in tournaments, so her dorm room/apartment/ anywhere she lives always ends up looking like an overly decorated antique store. Nicely decorated, but kind of cluttered at the same time

Celeste loves sweet things while Kyoko thinks anything even remotely sweet is too sweet. She does like salty snacks though

also Celeste hates admiting it, but she has the taste of a child when it comes to food. She hates most vegetables and would much rather eat random snack foods than an actual meal. She probably also puts way too much sugar in her tea, royal milk tea is already sweet and she probably adds more sugar after she makes it

Kyoko gets insists on driving whenever they go anywhere because Celeste is a terrible driver. She never does anything super dangerous (not regularly at least) but her driving is bad enough that no one believes she actually passed her driver's test

Celeste really likes to talk, and if given the opportunity by she will go on and on telling various stories (real or fake depending on how comfortable she is with the other person) or talking about stuff she's interested in. She also has a tendency to over explain things, especially when she's nervous

Kyoko always insists on putting any bugs outside and not killing them or just leaving them alone, but Celeste will smash them with no remorse

Celeste draws semi regularly but refuses to let anyone know she can because all she draws edgy anime art (think like 2013 emo nightcore thumbnails) because got into drawing from reading manga as a kid

When they go to the grocery store, Celeste is always the one to make the grocery list and plan meals and stuff but they always go in the evening right before they close because neither of them like being in crowded stores

Also they always end up coming home with snacks they didn't plan to get because they both like them but are kinda too embarrassed to admit it to each other, at least for awhile

Celeste gets cold easily, but she still likes to sleep under a bunch of blankets in a really cold room. Kyoko thinks she's being ridiculous, but she can sleep pretty much anywhere, so she kinda just accepts it

Celeste likes to daydream and spends alot of time staring into space thinking about something unrelated when she's in class or group conversations or anytime she gets board, but she's really good at tricking people into thinking she's paying attention

Also she gets board easily so she ends up picking up alot of weird and random hobbies, especially after she graduates school and only has her gambling matches to go to

Celeste had a edgy vocaloid phase that she's still definitely in but she will deny it until the day she dies. She was definitely the kid in middle school that was super into Daughter of Evil and her favorite vocaloid would totally be Rin just because of that I don't make the rules

[buckyownsmylife]

Follow you - Chris Evans smut

The one where Chris becomes your roomate and finds out he has a domesticity kink... and more

Warnings: Smut, breeding kink, domesticity kink, friends to lovers, rommates au, pandemic mention, hair-pulling kink, daddy kink, cockwarming, kind of allusion to an age gap, but can be read as reader being into teasing chris

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: Thanks to @mollygetssherlockcoffee​ for reading this over and helping me make it better! You’re the sweetest person ever!  this is for my own birthday celebration challenge! Like I explained here, I’m going to try to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and since the deadline if May 27, these fics will be posted randomly, as I finish them. Hope you guys like it!

Chris’ P.O.V.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” I’d been trying to convince her to close her laptop for the last two hours, unfortunately without any luck. She just glanced at me before returning to her document, and I groaned as I left the living room in search of what I knew we needed.

“Close the laptop and I’ll give you a sip.” This time when she looked up, she found me holding a bottle of my most expensive whiskey, the one she’d been dying to try ever since she first got invited to my place.

It was a tense moment of evaluation while she took in my offer and her workload, her head turning from her computer to me and then back to the device again, and I found himself growing anxious because of how desperately I wanted her company that night.

“Please?” I tried to convince her, even going so far as to pout - which at least earned me a giggle. I considered it a win, especially with the way it made my chest warm up. “C’mon, we deserve it! After the week we had?”

She frowned when she thought back on the stresses we had confided in each other for the last couple of days, and I watched with glee when she slowly closed her laptop, prompting me to wave my arms around in victory. “We?” She teased, getting up to stand before me with her arms crossed in front of her body, making me laugh.

“Alright, so maybe just you.” I couldn’t really deny that my work “problems” paled in comparison to hers. “Listen, I’m only trying to help.” She narrowed her eyes at me, reaching out for the bottle and unscrewing it before taking the sip I’d promised.

“Shit, this really is good.” A smug smile took over my face as I wrapped my arms around her, walking us back to the couch before making us fall over it.

“Only the best for you, babe.” I watched her roll her eyes at the pet name, snickering at how it affected her. I knew it made her giddy and she hated it, it’s why I insisted on doing it - or so I told myself.

Something deep inside of me whispered differently, though. I tried to ignore it. She was my best friend and we were going to be living together for the foreseeable future. No one knew when this pandemic would let up.

And lord knows that nothing positive had ever come out of my investments in romantic relationships. So every rational thought in my mind was begging me not to overcomplicate this. I couldn’t stand to lose her friendship, anyway. That’s why I had invited her to spend lockdown with me - my need to know she was okay, and be able to have her around whenever I needed to vent.

She was the only one outside my family who got my anxiety well enough to help me work through it when I was feeling bad, and she had even been able to prevent me from having panic attacks more than once.

I just couldn’t imagine going through this with anyone other than her. I simply hadn’t anticipated how fucking horny this period of forced sexual privation would make me, and I never expected her to become a willing victim to my needs.

But boy, once the liquor hit and she ended up over my lap, shivering as she rode my thigh without a care in the world, was I glad that she did.

“Is this what you like?” I asked, looking up at her with my mouth hanging open, unbelieving of how fucking sexy she looked as she used my body for her pleasure. I didn’t even care that my cock was straining against my jeans, begging me to move her on top of it. As long as I could keep enjoying the show, being a part of it, I was satisfied.

“I wanna learn it,” I pressed, moving my hands to hold her ass, squeezing it the way I’d always wanted to do but never allowed myself to dream about. “I wanna learn how to please you.” She made me feel something I hadn’t felt before, in any of my past relationships. There was attraction, of course, but there was also this deep, familiar feeling that made me feel at home. It made me feel safe, and with the help of alcohol, I was desperate to explore it.

“Ugh,” she groaned, letting her head fall back, drawing my attention to her breasts, the way they bounced in front of my eyes, unfortunately still covered. My mouth watered at the sight of it, wanting nothing much than to strip her bare and wrap my lips around one of her nipples.

“Don’t say stuff like that, Evans.” The comment threw me off, making me frown as I took a hold of the hair on the back of her head and yanked her to me, devouring her lips. They were soft - so much softer than I’d ever allowed myself to imagine.

“Why not?” I panted against her mouth once I was forced to separate from her taste of whiskey to search for some oxygen. She kept moving, her eyes hazy and glossed over, and it sent a pang of lust straight down my body when I realized it wasn’t completely due to the drinks we shared. There was also desire in there.

“You want to learn?” She asked, hands bunching up my shirt as she used her hold to grind against me faster. “Then fuck me, Chris.” She molded her body to mine, engulfing my lips once more as I laid her down on the couch, excited to have her underneath me - excited to see her naked body, explore it, get to know every little thing that made her tick.

I knew it would be a moment I’d forever remember, regardless of the amount of bourbon in my blood. I just never expected it to become something I was so eager to relive over and over and over again.

It was supposed to be a one time thing. When I woke up in the morning, I was ready to go back to being roommates. We were good at that. She was a morning person, by the time I woke up every morning, she already had breakfast ready for me, and then we’d go out to the backyard to let Dodger out together.

We’d sit and talk and then I’d go for a run - she’d have done her yoga already, while I was still asleep - I’d answer some e-mails, she’d work on her laptop by my side and the silence was just as comfortable as all of our late night conversations.

She’d sneak out to the kitchen and come back with a few sandwiches for our lunch, and then the rest of the day would go by with us doing whatever mundane task we had in mind, together even if we were doing separate things, and I didn’t feel suffocated.

I didn’t even run out of things to say. By the time dinner rolled around and I followed her back to the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes while she fixed us dinner - I wasn’t allowed to cook in my own stove, mostly because she was terrified of my food but hid it under the excuse of that one time when I started a fire - then we’d eat together, watch a movie together, talk until we fell asleep - always together.

I was shocked. It’d never been this way in any of my previous relationships. In fact, I was certain it was the reason why they had never worked. I’d given up on any realistic expectation of settling down precisely because of this: I just never expected to find anyone with whom a day-to-day life wouldn’t eventually grow boring.

It’d been three months and I still loved to wake up to her coffee. We still fell asleep every night side by side, too tired to move into different beds because we had laughed our asses off after skyping Scott.

And now that sex came into play in our relationship? I just knew there was no way I’d ever go back to being nothing but friends - or living in a place where she wasn’t the first person I saw when I woke up.

It sucked that it took a pandemic and a night of alcohol to make me realize that, but damn, was I grateful that I decided to open a bottle of whiskey that evening.

I kept waiting for the catch, the moment it would all go to shit, but it never came. Our lives resumed to how they used to be, only now I had this ongoing inner battle to not just bend her over the nearest piece of furniture when we were busy, and the ability to do exactly that whenever there was nothing else to do.

And for a while it was bliss. There wasn’t a nagging voice inside my head questioning this arrangement because it was theoretically perfect. I had a best friend, a roommate and a fuck buddy, all wrapped into one single person that I adored.

Life couldn’t possibly get better - until I realized that I wanted more. Talks of lockdown being over started and she had plans of going back to her place, of course, but I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from her.

I wanted to see my family too, but I wanted to take her with me. Introduce her to my mom, see her get along with my sisters. Witness how she’d be with my nephews and nieces - I knew how much she loved kids. And that’s when it hit me.

I’d given my heart to her. Somewhere between the morning coffees and afternoon runs, the nights where I’d rant about all of my silly problems and she actually listened to them - really listened, never making me feel bad about what could only be described as rich people problems.

All the innocent little gestures, and the not so innocent ones - when I discovered she was exactly the nasty slut I’d always dreamed of, the way she would randomly drop to her knees and suck me off, even while I was on the phone. Most times she didn’t even let me repay the favor. She just genuinely liked to blow me.

She also liked to play with me randomly, like when we were watching a movie and she mindlessly reached for my crotch, rubbing me until I got hard. It almost always ended in sex, and I just loved it.

I loved it, and I loved her, and the idea of her ever sharing this idyllic lifestyle with anyone else made me irrationally jealous.

And that’s how I knew it. I didn’t want to mess it up. But how could I not fuck this up?

Xxx

“Chris…” Her sweet voice called out to me, reaching my ears while I was hiding in my office, trying to get my thoughts in order so I wouldn’t just randomly blurt out what I was feeling for my best friend to my best friend.

To her credit, she didn’t try to force me to keep her company - but that only made me fall even deeper for her, leaving me a complete and utter mess while she went about her day as if nothing was wrong in the world.

“Yes?” I looked up to see her by the threshold, clearly reticent about invading my privacy. It made me smile, thinking back on all of the times my exes hadn’t been as understanding, even after I let them clearly know what I was needing.

“I made cupcakes, do you want me to bring you one?” The thought of her in the kitchen, baking a sweet treat just for me had my cock twitching in my pants. Biting my lips, I pushed away from my desk to finally get up and stretch my legs, taking advantage of the monitor to hide my hard-on.

“No, I’ll come eat them downstairs with you.” She smiled before leaving, and I soon trailed after her, walking into the kitchen to find the most delicious-looking little treats, just waiting to be devoured.

Much like her, I supposed.

I was reaching for one of them, already licking my lips in anticipation when something caught my eye, prompting me to raise my gaze and look at her again, but really look at her this time.

She was wearing an apron.

There was nothing inherently sexual about the damn thing, but the way she looked with it, going about her business in my kitchen like she owned the place… It just felt right, seeing her there.

And suddenly I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Y/N…” I started, leaving the cupcake back on the counter and brushing off the crumbs as I circled the kitchen island to go stand in front of her. She hummed before turning to meet me, smiling slightly to signal that she was listening to what I had to say.

But I didn’t know how to say it. So we just stood there, staring at each other until eventually her smile became a frown. “Chris, what’s going on?” I still couldn’t speak. Much to my absolute surprise though, she just sighed, wiping her hands on the apron while shaking her head, a knowing smile on her face.

“You’re stressed, aren’t you? You’ve been working so much, that’s why I thought the cupcakes would be a good idea,” she explained nodding towards the tray where her sweet treats laid. “They’re a reward and a break all wrapped in one delicious cake.”

The comment was like a punch to the stomach - or a scalding wave of desire rushing through my body, straight to my groin. The idea of her thinking about my needs and catering (quite literally) to them just did something to me, and I didn’t know how to explain it - I don’t think I understood it myself.

“But since they didn’t work…” she continued, blissfully unaware of the conundrum she had put me into. “I know something else that will definitely work.” And just like that, the woman dropped to her knees in front of me, reaching for my sweatpants before I could find a way to close the mouth that was hanging open.

“I guess I’ll grab a sweet treat for myself.” She looked so devious, small hand encircling my already pathetically engorged member, that all I could do was whisper an, “Oh, shit,” when she immediately wrapped her lips around it,  starting to suck me off without any preamble.

My fingers were white as I held onto the counter behind me to keep myself up. She looked so good, staring up at me with her lips wrapped around my dick, I felt like I was about to blow already.

Why did she have to be such a fucking tease?

“Oh, God,” I moaned when she managed to engulf the entirety of my member inside her throat, the choking noises getting to my head. My hand instinctively laced with her hair, first to hold her lips close to my navel, then to pry her completely off of my member.

“What’s wrong?” She questioned once she was able to speak, surprise written all over her features while I was still staring down at her slightly teary face and trying to find my voice.

“I-I have a problem.” There. I said it. I had finally made some progress in my goal to let her know what was going through my head. Only instead of curiosity, what I got was a confused expression from the woman still holding my dick, her eyes darting from my own to the member throbbing between her fingers.

“No, you don’t!” It would have been funny if I wasn’t so fucking frustrated. Yanking her by the hair, I complained, “Not that kind of problem!” pulling her to the living room so I could throw her on the couch, trying to ignore her moans of pleasure in the process.

I’d figured out pretty early on that she had a pretty serious hair-pulling kink, and if my plans of sitting down and having a level-headed conversation were ever in motion, they surely went out of the window the second she pulled my body down to cover hers and adjusted my cock so it would easily fill her.

“Son of a…” I groaned, letting my head fall down against her chest as the little vixen gleefully giggled underneath me, legs wrapped around my torso as she tried to thrust up and tempt me to move.

“Just wait a second,” I managed to reason, but she just shook her head.

“Fuck away your problem, Chris. Use me. I want you to.” Motherfucker. I really couldn’t catch a break with her. Just as she started to make me move again, my hand instinctively wrapped around her neck, lightly squeezing it just enough to get her to shut up.

“I wanna start a family with you,” I finally spilled, looking deep into her eyes as I tried to ignore that I was still balls deep inside of her. Her eyes widened, and now her mouth was the one hanging open.

I couldn’t really relish in it because she looked absolutely delicious and she felt stupidly heavenly to my throbbing dick.

A few seconds went by without as much of a reaction from her and I was about to pull out - despite still being achingly hard - but her legs held me tighter, stopping my plans of leaving her tight haven.

“You know…” She started to speak, a little out of breath, catching my attention as I finally gathered the courage to look her in the eye again. “When I first met you, I thought you were the epitome of a fuckboy.”

The unexpected sentence had me snorting, and then I just couldn’t stop laughing. Finally pulling away from her, she fixed her hair when she sat up and I did the same, shaking my head slightly as I rubbed my eyes.

Our own relative nakedness - well… mine, she was wearing her usual dress with no underwear under the damn apron - didn’t affect anything when I pondered over her words, until I decided to break the silence.

“I mean… I think I was?” She chewed on her bottom lip as she took in my response, analyzing it, weighing its validity in that gorgeous head of hers. I was nervous, but she hadn’t blew me off yet. And quite honestly? I’d do anything for that little hope that was growing inside of me.

“What changed?” Was her question, so unexpected I couldn’t help but question, “Huh?”

“What made you change?” It wasn’t an unwelcome inquiry, especially when the response became clear to me, lighting up my brain and warming my chest, spreading all over my body until I had no choice but to voice it.

“I realized I could have a future with you.” My smile was vulnerable but honest, and in her eyes, I could see that she knew that. When she threw one leg over my lap, straddling my hips, I allowed myself to breathe deeply again, leaning on the soft cushion while taking a hold of her ass.

“So, how are we gonna do this?” She non-nonchalantly asked, slowly rubbing herself against my still half-hard member. I groaned when I realized the implication of her words, knowing that the meaning paired with the feeling of her wet lips dragging along my cock would get it back up in no time at all. “You wanna do me right now?”

The brashness of the question made my eyes light up, as weird as it may sound. In that moment, it became clear just how perfect for me she really was, giving me what I needed exactly in the way I didn’t know how to ask for it.

“See? This is why I’m in love with you.” She rolled her eyes at that, making me laugh. I’d anticipated the gesture, I knew it’d take her longer to say it, but it was alright. The fact that she was willing me to give me a child was more than enough proof of her feelings for me, if her entire behavior ever since she moved in wasn’t already.

“Shut up and fuck me, Evans.” Throwing her back against the couch, she yelped in surprise when I took off my shirt and slapped the inside of her thigh, assuming my usual position of hovering over her smaller frame.

“Spread your fucking legs, darling. I’m gonna fuck you real good.” The way she bit her lip as I slowly penetrated her again showed me just how excited the prospect got her, and as I started to make good on my promise, her moans told me just as much.

“Holy fuck,” she commented as I pounded her ruthlessly, weeks of frustration and the rush of anticipation getting the best of me, and I was glad for the feeling of her nails biting into my skin because otherwise, I’d probably run over the edge of not even caring about her own pleasure as I chased mine.

“You gonna cum inside of me, honey? Make me a mom? Finally fulfill your dream of becoming a daddy?” Her words detracted me from my task of sucking bruises on the skin that was now mine to bruise, mine. I threw my head back, yelling a, “fuck yes,” as my hips sped up, desperate to fill her up, but I was determined to get her to cum before me.

“Say it,” she ordered, small hand circling my throat as best as she could, a throwback to what I’d done only moments prior. It wasn’t enough to choke me, but it did catch my attention. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Tears escaped the corners of my eyes as I blinked, the intensity of the moment overwhelming in the best of ways. “God, you are such a fucking tease…” She chuckled underneath me, giving my throat a squeeze before she raised up on her elbows to kiss my jaw.

“Better get used to it… daddy.” And just like that, I realized that I had yet another kink I hadn’t known about before her. Or maybe it was just her, and I was obsessed with the damn woman, painfully turned on by every little thing that she did.

“I’m gonna cum deep inside your little pussy, sweetheart,” I finally gathered myself enough to do as she asked me to. “You’re gonna belong to me forever now. Give me kids, make me happy. How do you like that?”

The mischievous grin she gave me told me everything. “I love it.” I knew this was her way of saying what she couldn’t yet voice, and I’d take it. I’d take anything she gave me, any chance I got to love this wonderful woman.

We came together, both riding our highs in deep ecstasy. I moaned when I felt myself empty all of my seed inside of her, incredibly excited about the prospect of starting our future together right then.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” I cradled her face in my hands as I struggled to catch my breath, but she turned it to the side and pressed a kiss to my palm and I was breathless all over again. It was such a simple action, why did it get to me so much?

“You’re not too bad yourself, Chris.” I didn’t want to part with her warmth, so I just adjusted us on the sofa in a way that kept me inside of her, sighing contently as I realized I’d never have to sleep away from her again.

“I’m gonna stay right here all night.” I adjusted myself so I was resting my face on her boobs, perfectly happy to do just so, but by the tone of her voice, I knew she had a teasing smile when she called me an, “Old man.”

“And here I was, thinking you’d be able to go again.” Warmth filled my chest at the realization of just how badly she wanted me - just as much as I wanted her too. I was so damn ecstatic. Not even her pokes at my age would be able to affect me.

“Oh, darling… better get ready,” I warned as I adjusted myself to hover over her again, taking notice of the excited glint in her eyes, the way she bit her lip as she stared back at me. “I’m never gonna get enough of you.”

The next morning, I added a new kink to the list of random bits of information that were driving me slowly insane as I felt the overwhelming need to bend the woman that I now got to call ‘mine’ over the nearest piece of furniture and rail her until I had cummed deep inside her pussy: seeing her in my shirt while cooking breakfast.

Yeah, I was going to live a happy life by her side.

[losingherface]

I have the moon

Warnings: Quick ish Smut, 18+

Info : It’s Ellie and readers first night at their new house, that used to be Joel’s.

A/n: srry if it’s terrible, i’ve been busy and just not in the mood to write if i’m being honest but yeahhh also I would love to have requests that obviously fit within the story line because I’m getting a bit dry :))

•

The boxes were full and ready to go. It took about a month to pack up and completely move into Joel’s farmhouse.

It was strange seeing your apartment empty. You had lived here on your own for so many years before Ellie came along. The furniture had changed over the years, and pretty much everything did due to Ellie moving in, having dogs, they suddenly die, having cats, and they suddenly died as well. But this time, it was finally empty, it looked like it did when you had first bought it. It looked like you kept it the same all these years.

You handed the key to your landlord, Britt, she was always fun and kept you company before Ellie, when you were depressed about your job, or anything really. It was hard seeing you go and you felt the same of course. She held you in the tightest hug and it felt like a stab in your heart. But you wanted this, so you weren’t really worried about how you’d feel in a few days.

Ellie waited for you in the car. When you got inside, you immediately noticed the constant smile on her face, she would try hiding it but you could tell, and god that made you feel so good.

It was a long month. From the wedding, to Joel dying, and now this, moving five hours from the city into a rural town where you two would be basically separated from everything, it was a lot. Now you were ready to get to your new home and nap it all off.

•

Jesse, Dina, Tommy, and Maria had all helped move us in throughout the week, and make things comfortable for us. Dina couldn’t get over the countryside and Jesse was irritated by her constantly whining to move closer to us as their baby, JJ, spilled his juice everywhere and made a mess. You were ready for them to leave. Reaching over to pull JJ away, from potentially making another huge mess, Dina calls you to the kitchen.

You were close to losing your temper but instead just ignored it, maybe Ellie will do something.

“Yea?”

“I love these counters, I have a friend if you guys ever need a renovator.” Dina told you as she took out something from the oven, your attention immediately going there.

“Yea I know, What’s that in the oven?”

“My special banana bread, so you can think of me when we leave.”

It was literally all you wanted right now.

“Thanks Dina. I’m going to miss you. And that baby of yours.”

•

As for Ellie, she had been fine, for the most part. She hadn’t completely opened up about how she was feeling but you knew it was passing by. Passing by as in, she was accepting that she’ll never talk to Joel again, not that she’s getting over it and forgetting about him- she’ll never forget him, it was her dad. There was a glow that sat beautifully on her face and it was the same glow she had when you two got married, when you two would be in each other’s presence. It seemed that was her way of telling you but not telling you either that she was content and you loved it.

Your head peaked out of the kitchen once again to look at Ellie, JJ and Jesse in the living room. Ellie had been playing with JJ and you couldn’t help but lose your train of thought. It was so cute when she did that.

•

Dina, Jesse, and JJ were finally leaving. You were going to miss your best friend as she wasn’t just down the street anymore, she was five hours away. Her baby was getting older, and soon it was time she would have to start paying full attention to him so the chances of regular communication were getting lower.

You couldn’t help but feel a little heartbroken.

•

After everyone left, you devoured the banana bread with a large cup of milk, leaning over the counter, nitpicking everything in your head about this house.

You remembered Ellie had been setting up her art room, it was a nice size and way better than the balcony at the apartment. You cleaned yourself up and walked to the room.

The door was slightly open and the room had been quiet, only Ellie’s humming being heard.

You knocked on the door.

“Come in.” Ellie said softly and you walked in. Shutting the door behind you, trying to not disturb the peacefulness.

“It’s late, do you want to come to bed?” You asked as you watched her draw yet another portrait of Joel.

She yawned and put down her pencil. She didn’t answer your question and instead walked over to you and hugged your waist while kissing down your soft neck. She pulled away, “Let’s go.” She stretched her long arm out for you as she opened the door, leading you to your new bedroom.

The bedroom was large, with a walk in closet, a bathroom and a beautiful large window that wasn’t covered with curtains for the purpose of the countryside view.

The room was obviously empty only with a bed that had pastel yellow sheets Maria had bought. You sat down on the bed as Ellie followed. She sat and watched you take off your pants leaving you only in your underwear and a slightly large shirt, Ellie had done the same only her top half was completely bare.

•

It was the middle of the night in the new house, the first night you two had slept there. It had a creepy feel to it. It was quiet and dark, the only light coming from the large window you had been facing. From the window where you had been lying down, you got a nice view of the farm and the night sky, and also an occasional few cars that would pass by.

It was so hot that you had been fighting with the blankets all night, whether they should be on or off. Looking over at Ellie, she had seemed to be sleeping like a baby. You continue to look at the window while laying down, eyes wandering all over the place. The time was 2:00 a.m. It was going to be a long night.

Sweat begins forming on your back, causing you to pull your shirt off, now only in your undergarments.

“I’m going to go look for a fan. I think he had one in the attic.” Ellie just randomly blurs out causing you to look at her, startled.

“Please, baby it’s so hot.” You say as you lean over to the small chair beside the bed and grab the water bottle, desperately chugging it again. As you did that, Ellie leaves to look for a fan.

•

What had felt like forever, Ellie finally arrives with a fan. It was a decent size and was perfect. As Ellie plugs it in, you unclip your bra and let all of the cool air hit you before lying back in the bed, covering yourself with the blanket.

You hear Ellie rumbling into bed, a lot closer than before, wrapping her arm around your body, pulling you closer. It felt so nice to have her this close, as she really hadn’t been willing to for a few months. Also with the heat, you’d just hate being that close.

Ellie takes her warm and soft lips, and presses it on your neck. Kissing you up and down, you closed your eyes hoping she wasn’t just giving you a goodnights kiss but wanted more.

You pull your blanket down from your face to show her your exposed breasts, ready to be caressed and sucked on (lmfao idk how else to say it).

She looks at you with a slight smile before kissing your temple. “Please..” You whisper, grabbing her head with both of your hands, she knew exactly what you wanted. You adjusted your position, lying on your back, waiting for Ellie to slip under the sheet.

Ellie and you hadn’t been together like this in a while, considering everything she’s been through and the missed honeymoon. You can see it on Ellie’s face, she felt so good at this moment. Her face was lit up and the light coming from the night sky reflected on her face.

Ellie kissing down your neck, you move your hand over to caress her soft, slightly greasy hair. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, you whisper, “I love you.” She breaks the kiss, whispering the same back to you before continuing to kiss, getting lower with each one.

At this point, you both knew exactly where this was going, it was one of Ellie’s favorite ways to make you smile. You spread your legs a bit further, allowing Ellie to have some space. You desperately throw the blanket off of the both of you to be able to see her. Her strong hands hold down both of your legs, her eyes lock with yours as she begins licking you right where you wanted her to. Your eyes begin to look drowsy as Ellie begins to pick up the pace. As you moan loudly, you notice Ellie smiling at you making your sounds every once and a while. Seeing her do that made you want more, you loved seeing her that way. You throw your head back into the fluffy, white pillow, grabbing onto anything that was in your region as Ellie relentlessly pleased you with her wet, warm tongue.

you were a mess and by the time you were able to let it all out over Ellie’s sweaty face, you were covered in your own sweat, sitting up on elbows, looking at Ellie get up and move towards you.

Ellie grabbed the blanket nearby and covered you and herself up. You immediately wrap your body around hers, pressing light kisses to her face.

“I forgot how much I love doing that.” Ellie says as you slowly begin to open your eyes.

You propped your head up on your elbow, leaning into Ellie more, caressing your hard, short nails up and down her back. “It looked like you really needed that.”

“Yeah, I think us moving into this house, and getting to do that, makes me feel better.” Ellie struggled to say but it was genuine and you knew she’d be back on her feet again in about another week.

You didn’t know what to say, Ellie’s smile forming on her face effortlessly put you in awe and it left you there once again, staring at her because sometimes that’s all you could do. She appreciated it either way.

.

A/N: I suck at comforting ppl irl and it rlly shows in these stories, and this took me long cuz I can’t bring myself to write smut correctly so i was a little insecure but whatevererrr