#and we already know the ending to the movie.

[postracehair]

fracture

max verstappen x reader | 3.5k

max breaks his wrist during the first week of the off-season.

cw: max breaks his arm, r is a bit rattled, some blood, a naked shower, intimacy, mentions of sex

a/n: c'mon. you know he'd be so annoying. good thing we love him. [i wrote this before the season ended and then...never posted it. so, here, have it before we start all this shit over again in a few weeks.]

__

You are not there when it happens.

You're asleep, actually, curled up on Max's couch with the cats while he enjoys the first week of the off-season. The celebrations have ended and there is a great deal of work to be done in the next few months, but everyone gets a little bit of respite.

Vacation will come after the holidays. That's the plan, anyway. The last few days have seen you in Monaco, mostly inside Max's place. Just spending time together, relaxing, watching movies, rumpling his sheets. Today, though, he and Danny decided to go on a world-class-athlete-level bike ride.

Which is why you're on the couch. They've been gone all day and you don't expect Max to get home until later. You ran errands, cleaned a little, and then took an afternoon nap.

As you rouse from it, you fumble for your phone to check the time. The screen lights up and you're greeted with --

35 texts. 4 missed calls.

"What the hell?" you mutter, sitting up and opening everything.

DR: sorry for the three calls don't freak out but i think max broke his arm

DR: he says you're probably napping but i'm going to document this for when you wake up

DR: he's fine but yeah that shit is fucked

DR: he says not to tell you he fell off his bike but he fell off his bike

DR: he braked for some animal in the road and went over his handlebars

DR: oh he also scraped his face but he's still pretty, don't worry

DR: his palms are fucked though which is why he's not texting you

DR: we're on the way to the hospital, btw

DR: you're gonna be so pissed when you wake up

It goes on like that. Daniel, to his credit, has given you a play-by-play of the whole situation. You've only been asleep for about an hour and based on the time stamps this started right after you fell asleep.

You get up as you read, grabbing your things and trying to find your shoes as you read. You need to -- you need to go and be wherever they are. You need to help. Heart racing, chest tight, you need to be near Max as soon as possible, even though Danny said he's okay. If this was you, Max would already be there. God, why did you take a nap?

According to the texts, they got to the hospital and he was seen immedietly, x-rayed, and bandaged up. Broken right wrist, Danny had said. He's pissed more than anything.

You're about to call him back when your phone rings in your hands.

"Danny," you say as soon as you accept it.

"Oh, thank fuck," Daniel exclaims. "I thought I was going to have to surprise you in person with the whole thing."

"I'm about to leave, just give me 15 minutes to get there--"

"No, no, no," he interrupts you. "He just got discharged. I'm bringing him home."

You stop in your tracks, one foot shoved halfway into your sneaker. "Really?"

"Yeah, we'll be there in like, 20 minutes?" You can hear Max saying something in the background. "He wants to talk to you," Danny sighs. "Mate, you'll see her soon--"

He's cut off and there's some muffled noises and then Max is saying your name.

"I'm fine," he says. "I only made him tell you so it wasn't a surprise when I came home."

"Max," you sigh, shoulders creeping away from your ears at the sound of his voice. "I'm so sorry, I was asleep!"

He laughs. You feel a bit weepy, which is both an overreaction and cathartic. "Good," he says. "The whole experience has been a pain in the ass."

"You're coming home now? Are you in pain?"

"Eh," he says, dragging out the sound. "They gave me something while they set it so I don't feel it much. Daniel says we'll be home soon. Oh, hold on --" There is some muttering, Danny's voice in the background. "Okay, I'm going to give you back. See you soon, liefje."

"Okay," you say softly.

"Be there in a flash!" Danny says brightly. "Seriously, don't worry."

You hang up and just stand in the hallway, at a loss. Something bad happened to Max and you weren't there. It feels wrong. Not that he's in poor hands with Danny -- quite the opposite. He's probably the only person aside from yourself that you'd want there for Max in a crisis. But, god. You wish you had been there.

The cats weave around your ankles as you pace, waiting for Danny to call or for the door to open or, anything at all to happen. Your mind is running a million miles a minute. Objectively, it's the best time for Max to break something. There isn't even a car for him to test right now and he had at least another week of time off before needing to go back to Milton Keynes. This might throw a wrench in your holiday plans but you couldn't care less about that. How long will he be in a cast? You assume he's in a cast. What kind of help will he need? Will you be enough to provide it? What if he --

Noises in the hall make you freeze and then you hear Danny's voice. You bolt to the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open. You're greeted with the sight of the two of them -- Danny looking down at Max's keys in his hands, both of their backpacks on his back. They've both changed out of whatever ridiculous bike outfit they must have been wearing for the ride, but you devote your attention to your boyfriend.

You can see the bandages on Max's knees and forearms where he must have scraped himself up on the road. His wrist -- it's in a black cast that runs the length of his forearm. He cradles it to his chest in a sling they must have given him and then you make your way to his face. A few scratches along one cheek, hair a mess, mouth drawn into a frown. A frown that relaxes slightly when you meet his gaze. Your eyes well with tears.

"Max," you breathe. He steps in front of Danny and meets you in the doorway, his cast-free hand cupping your face through the bandages on his palm.

"I'm fine," he says. "You're looking at me like I'm in a coma."

"Sorry," you whisper. "I just --"

He tugs you to him gently, pressing your face into his neck and rubbing your back. You try to be careful of his arm as you breathe deep and will yourself not to actually lose it.

"Guys, can we at least go inside?" Danny asks.

Max huffs and you pull away. He drags his thumb under both of your eyes but doesn't comment on the dampness he finds there. "Inside, liefje."

Danny drops Max's stuff and passes along the documents from the hospital. He's quite the personality but he's all business when he needs to be. "Pain killers in his bag. Call me if you need anything, guys."

You step away from Max long enough to throw your arms around Danny. "Thank you," you whisper. "For looking after him." For calling. For bringing him back to me. For doing what I should have been there for.

He chuckles. "Alright," he says. "Max should break something more often."

Once Danny leaves, it's just the two of you. Max has settled on the couch, head leaning back into the cushions.

"Come sit with me," Max calls. "God, I forgot how much I hate hospitals."

His eyes are closed and he holds his arm gingerly. It's not the first time you've seen him injured -- you've been at his side in the medical tent before after watching him careen into a wall at 190mph. And yet, right now, you're still so upset.

You settle into the cushions on his left side and just watch him.

"I'm sorry," you say again. Max's eyes open. "I can't believe I was asleep when Danny called."

Max shakes his head. "What would you have done?"

"I could have come to get you and take you to the hospital, or just met you there, or--"

He puts his hand on your knee. "Come on," he says. "Don't be silly."

How do you explain it to him? How do you tell him that something happening to him feels like it happened to you? That not being there feels like a personal failing?

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He sighs and you pull his palm from your leg to hold it in your hands.

"It's stupid," he grimaces. "You don't need the details."

"Max."

He folds. Other people in his life have called this your superpower -- Max's will is iron clad. It is very difficult to get him to do something he does not want to do. But one word from you, one soft look, one gentle touch, and he often relents. It's like you can peel back that layer of him that has hardened out of necessity. To protect himself and his heart, to make sure he's taken seriously, to stop things from hurting.

It's like you remind him that it's okay to feel, even when it's hard.

"Daniel summed it up," he grumbles. "We were biking down a hill outside the city and something ran out into the road in front of me. I stopped. Or tried to, at least." He mimes squeezing the breaks, fingers curling in towards his bandaged palms. You stroke his unbroken wrist with your thumb.

"And you went over," you finish.

"And I went over. Got my knees, my forearms, my hands. My wrist, obviously. Just landed badly."

You reach for his face ever so gently, dragging the pad of your thumb over the shallow scrapes on his chin, his cheek. He allows it, knowing that you need to touch him to be sure he's okay. Whenever he has a crash on track you have trouble letting him out of your sight for hours. You just need to look at him, feel him warm and alive under your hands.

"I'm going to write a letter to your helmet manufacturer," you say, not entirely kidding. You slide your hand over his temple and into his hair. It's dirty, you can feel it, but you cradle his skull all the same. "Thank them."

He laughs once, amused with your sincerity. "I need to shower," he says. "But I can't get this wet." You finally direct your attention to his broken wrist, the entirety of his forearm and hand encased in the cast under the sling.

"Does it hurt?" you ask again. Max would tell anyone else off for badgering him so, but he keeps his face soft and reassures you.

"It's strange," he says. "I'm sure I'll feel it later."

"Did it hurt?" you whisper. "When you broke it?"

You know that Max has felt a great deal of pain in his life. His day job requires it -- physical, mental, emotional. He knows how to handle it and get over it. But he's also honest with you, always.

He wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't nice," he confesses. "I knew right away."

You grimace. In the silence, you match your breaths to his and just sit together for a little while.

And then Max's stomach growls.

"Whoops," he says, grinning crookedly. Still an athlete, still a boy with a fast metabolism. You can't help but laugh.

"How about this," you begin, unfolding yourself from the couch and standing in front of him, hands on your hips. Max looks up at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen. "I order some food and then we get you showered while we wait for it. Let the scrapes breathe and keep your cast dry, then we eat and watch a movie and go to bed. Okay?"

"We get me showered?" He sounds skeptical.

"You think you can wash your hair on your own?"

He smirks. "I can do a lot with one hand."

You roll your eyes. "So you're turning down an opportunity to shower with me, is what I'm hearing."

Max gets himself off the couch and rests his palm on your hip. "No," he says softly. "I'm not that stupid."

He kisses you lightly and heads for the bathroom.

"I guess we can wrap it in a plastic bag, or something?" you call after him. It takes a few minutes of opening and closing cabinets for you to find one. You put in a delivery order and make your way to the bathroom. Max has already turned on the shower and you find him shirtless and peeling off his bandages in in front of the mirror.

"Let me do that." He doesn't put up much of a fight, not even wincing when the tape pull at his skin. You see the gashes on his forearm, the raw skin of his palms. "Arm, please." The plastic bag goes around his cast and you tie it at his elbow.

"You planning to wash my hair while wearing your clothes?" Max asks with a straight face.

You stare at him, trying to seem unimpressed. He breaks first, mouth pulling up at one corner before he shucks off his soft shorts and briefs in one go. He pecks you on the cheek and gets in the shower, still smirking at you through the glass door.

"Alright, alright," you mutter. "So dramatic."

You feel Max's eyes on you as you undress, leaving your clothes on a pile on the floor.

The shower is unnecessarily big but Max does not give you much space. The hot spray is at his back and he keeps his plastic bag-clad arm mostly out of the way.

"Feel good?" you ask. Max sighs but nods. You'll bet he's aching but hasn't admitted it. He turns to the side so you can catch some of the spray, too, fighting off the chill outside the warm water.

"I might fall asleep in here," he mutters.

"That'll be the painkillers, darling," you tell him. "C'mon, get your hair wet."

Max tips his head back. You readjust so that you can card your hands through it. You shampoo him gently, taking your time and massaging his scalp. It's a miracle he stays on his feet, but he does. You hum as you work and Max's breaths get deeper, slower.

"Head back," you say softly. He obeys. You do the same with some of your conditioner because you know he likes how it smells.

This shower feels more intimate than the countless hours you've spend in his bed, tangled up in one another. He's been inside you and yet this feels more vulnerable. He's totally ceding control, trusting you to take care of him. You're naked, slick bodies brushing, always touching whether it's your hands in his hair or Max's own fingers reaching for your skin just to feel.

One time, when you were sick, you couldn't muster the energy to take a shower. Max ran you a bath and washed your hair for you, talking all the while because you asked to hear his voice. It's obvious that you'd do the same for him, as you're doing now. It's just how you love each other -- all the way, all the time. When it's easy and when it's hard.

"Danny was right," Max says, words slurring half from bliss and half the fatigue of the day catching up to him. "I should break bones more often."

You finish rinsing him and just stand there in the spray for a few moments.

"Please, no," you groan, brushing wet strands back from his forehead. "If you want me to wash your hair I will, Max. You don't need to break anything."

His eyes flutter open and find yours. He smiles lazily and you turn off the shower.

"If you say so," he says. "Can we take this off, now?"

Bag removed, skin patted dry, comifes on. The food comes when you're settling Max on the couch with a pillow for his arm. In all likelihood he'll manage a few bites of take out and fall asleep 15 minutes into the movie. But he needs the rest, you think. And besides, he'll have you to watch over him.

__

It becomes clear remarkably quickly that Max is an awful patient. You sort of knew this -- he's been sick a few times when you're around, but you figured that was just man-disease. Whining, refusing to sit still. This is 10x worse. He won't let you do anything for him until he's proven that he can't do it himself. You consider locking him in your bedroom to keep him from trying to do things he shouldn't do.

Max just wasn't made to sit still.

But you can empathize -- it's frustrating to not be able to do any of the things he really likes to do. Drive, use his sim, even play regular video games. It's a lot of movies and long walks and leg days with his trainer.

And then there's the way he just won't ask for help. That's a Max Verstappen original and you know it gets worse when he's frustrated. You do it too -- everyone does. But Max wants to do everything himself, wants to prove that he can.

You try to sit back and let him work it out. About a week after he comes home with his arm in a cast, he calls your name. You're in the kitchen, staring into the open fridge and wondering if you should order more groceries or just go to the shops yourself.

"You okay?" you call back. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom,"he shouts.

Ah, you think. Here we go.

He hasn't shaved yet. You've always loved when he keeps his facial hair a little longer. You love the feel of it on your skin and how it lightens along with his hair when you're on holiday somewhere nice. It's more likely that he keep it long in the off-season. Hot races are a nightmare with a beard, he's said. It itches like mad.

"Coming," you call.

Sure enough, you find him in front of the sink, razor in hand and frown firmly in place. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror and even though you can feel his annoyance from here, the set of his jaw softens.

"Do you think you could help me shave?" he asks. No lead up, no hem and haw.

"Of course, Max."

You quickly work out that sitting on the counter next to the sink while he stands between your knees works best. His broken wrist hangs at his side, the other hand resting on the counter next to your leg.

You lather him up, carefully applying the white foam of his shaving cream on his cheeks, his chin, his neck. He's got a fancy razor, one that will probably make it hard to cut him. Still, you feel the way he's basically handed you a blade and asked you to use it on him. In so many ways it's one of the most intimate things you've ever done. Even more than the showers you've had this week, just chatting and washing his hair.

"I'll be careful," you say softly.

"I know." He tilts his chin up, showing you his neck. "Go on, then."

It's quiet work. You're focusing hard and Max seems content to allow you. Stroke after stroke, rinsing the razor in the sink. You keep one hand at the base of this throat as the other works, gliding it over his skin. Cheeks, jaw, upper lip. Chin, neck.

"I like your beard, you know," you say when you're almost done. He waits until you're rinsing the razor again to reply.

"I do," he says, smirking. "You aren't quiet about it."

The last patch comes off as easily as the rest and you grab a damp towel to clean the rest of the shaving cream. Max appears to have relaxed enough to become pliant, leaning into your touch as you finish. He lets you rub moisturizer into his cheeks, eyes fluttering closed. His hand ends up on your leg, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thigh.

"Cheeky," you mutter. He smiles, boyish and easy. You take your time, pleased that he's letting you, but also because you could touch him forever. "Schatje," you whisper, trying to make it sound like it does from his lips. "All done."

Max doesn't move. You frame his face with your hands and lean in until your lips touch. You feel his smile against yours, but he dutifully tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His freshly shaved skin is so soft. You've kissed thousands of times by now, but you can never get enough of him. The way he responds to your every move, meeting your pressure with some of his own. Your tongue with his, swallowing your moans and giving you his own like a gift.

It's Max who pulls away, dragging his lips over your cheek.

"Dankje," he whispers. It means more than that, you know. From Max, it means thank you for dealing with me, for taking care of me, for loving me.

He doesn't think any of that is easy for you. But he's wrong. It's the easiest thing in the world.

[whitecompri]

Daddy Daycare

Pairing: Sonic x Reader; Shadow x Reader; Silver x Reader; Scourge x Reader.

Genre: Comedy

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Mentions of robbering.

Synopsis: You had to go out to resolve some issues outside the home, leaving your daughter in the care of her father. Will he be able to deal with a mini version of himself?

Sonic

When you mentioned that you had to go out for a few hours to pay the bills and stop by the market, he promptly offered to stay with your daughter and let you roam freely around the city. Sonic thought it would be easy, he’d take her for a walk in the park, get some ice cream, and then they’d head home, maybe watching cartoons until you arrived.

It was going to be a breeze. After all, she was just like him—he could totally handle the situation.

That’s what he thought.

"Alright, kiddo, you can run around the park for a bit, then we’ll grab some ice cream and sit on a bench." He crouched in front of the small, blue-furred child. Her green eyes were locked onto him in deep concentration.

When Sonic stood up, he blinked, looking around the park. When he turned his gaze back to where his daughter was, his eyes widened slightly.

She had disappeared in mere seconds, leaving behind only a dust trail where she had run.

"Kiddo?" He called, looking around, searching for any sign of the little blue quills he could spot in the distance.

Sonic dashed through the park, leaving his own blue streak behind, until he finally saw her, at the playground, near some other kids. Relieved, he approached.

"Hey, don’t run off on your dad like that." He looked at her, now calmer.

The little hedgehog just smiled as a group of other Mobian children gathered around her.

"Dad, I’m going to race them!"

Distracted by the relief of having found her, Sonic didn’t even think twice.

"Oh, that’s cool." Then, his eyes widened in shock. "Wait—No, kid, hold on—"

He didn’t even finish speaking before his daughter bolted off again, zooming in circles around the playground, leaving the other kids far behind and kicking up a thick cloud of dust.

Sonic shielded his eyes with his hand to avoid getting dust or debris in them.

When the little one finally stopped running, she had left a deep groove in the dirt where she had passed. The other children, now huddled together, looked at her in awe—and maybe a little fear.

"Dad, they’re so slow..." The little one looked indignant.

"I never would’ve guessed..." Sonic scratched the back of his head, looking at his daughter. "Okay, kiddo, I think we’ve terrorized the park enough for today. How about a movie at home?"

He reached out to take her hand, but before he could, she grinned mischievously.

"Race you home!"

"Wait, what?" Before he could react, the child had already taken off at full speed back home, forcing him to activate his super speed to catch up before she caused any destruction in the city.

On the way, a hot dog cart ended up in the middle of the street, a billboard wobbled and nearly fell, and the local police probably received a few emergency calls asking for an explanation.

Minutes later, when he finally caught up, the little girl was already waiting at the doorstep. Incredibly, Sonic was panting, his quills covered in dirt from the chase. Behind them, the chaotic sounds of a city that had just witnessed a tiny hedgehog speeding at the speed of sound echoed.

"Kiddo..." He took a deep breath, catching his breath. "You know, we heroes need to keep the city intact so we can save it later, right? Let’s ease up on the destruction?"

"But Dad, I thought you were the fastest in the world. Or are you getting old?" She crossed her arms, giving him a teasing smirk.

"This has to be karma..."

---*---

When you finally arrived home and opened the door, you were startled to see Sonic sprawled on the couch, looking completely exhausted. Meanwhile, the little one was now calmly coloring in a notebook on the floor. When she saw you, she immediately ran toward you.

"Mom! I beat Dad in a race across the city!" She exclaimed happily, hugging your leg.

Your eyes shifted back to Sonic, who now had a look of pure horror.

"I’m guessing I shouldn’t even ask if everything went well, huh?" You joked, chuckling.

Sonic sat up on the couch, and now it was obvious how dirty his fur was, covered in dust and dirt.

"She... she’s faster than me..."

You could only burst out laughing at the situation, covering your mouth and closing your eyes as you laughed.

"I thought you said everything would be fine."

"Have you ever tried convincing a mini version of yourself that accidentally destroying a city isn’t cool? I tried, and it didn’t work!" His face still showed complete disbelief.

And you could only keep laughing at how hilarious it was. You’d definitely have to teach him some techniques for handling a child who was always at full speed.

Shadow

Taking care of his daughter for a day? Easy. He had already dealt with dangerous missions and battles against formidable enemies. A child couldn’t be that difficult. She always behaved and followed orders when you were around—without you, it shouldn’t be a problem.

At least, that’s what he thought.

He had planned everything for the day, how he would take care of her, what he would feed her, the exact time for her bath. With everything planned, nothing could go wrong.

Big mistake.

It was still morning, and you had just left when Shadow decided to give her a bath to start the day fresh and clean. The small, black-furred girl stood in front of the bathtub, narrowing her eyes at her father while he kept his usual impassive expression.

"I don’t want to take a bath."

Shadow raised an eyebrow, confused by her response.

"You need to take a bath to start the day clean."

"A waste of time..." She turned around and started walking away.

Shadow followed her, picking her up in his arms. She pouted as he placed her in the bathtub.

"I have more important things to do than taking a bath," the little hedgehog said, annoyed.

"I bet you do," he replied, turning around to grab a bar of soap. When he looked back at the bathtub, she was already gone, walking out of the bathroom and leaving wet footprints behind.

"Hey, young lady, you're taking that bath!"

The little one bolted through the house, and Shadow grabbed a towel, chasing after her.

"Stop running and come take your bath!" He rounded a corner in the hallway, watching her black quills disappear into his bedroom.

"You’ll never catch me, old man!"

Shadow froze mid-step, his ears twitching in irritation.

"Who taught you to talk like that?!"

He resumed his chase.

Throwing open his bedroom door, he found her standing in front of his dresser, hiding something behind her back. She had no escape this time.

But then, she revealed what she was hiding.

Shadow's eyes widened as he saw the yellow glow of the Chaos Emerald.

"Wait—!"

In the next instant, his daughter vanished in a flash of light. He stood there, stunned for a second, before hearing the teleportation sound in the next room.

Dashing inside, Shadow found the little hedgehog giggling, having the time of her life.

"Stay right there, young lady!" He took a step toward her, but she lifted the emerald again. Shadow managed to grab her wrist, but not before being teleported along with her.

Now, they were on the rooftop, while she laughed in amusement.

"Give Daddy the emerald, and then you go back and take your bath." He stepped forward cautiously.

She looked at him mischievously, already preparing to use the emerald again.

"Dad, this is fun..."

She lifted the emerald once more.

Shadow lunged for her, only to be teleported again.

--*--

By the end of the day, when you opened the door, you expected Shadow and your daughter to have had a fun time together. But then, you raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Sitting on the floor, curled up, looking absolutely exhausted, was Shadow. His quills were messy and disheveled. In front of him, the little girl sat calmly, watching cartoons on the TV.

"Long day?" You asked, laughing.

"Don’t even get me started..." Shadow looked at you, drained.

Meanwhile, the little one ran up to you, and you picked her up in your arms.

"Mom, we had so much fun!" she said, giggling.

"Oh, I can see that. I hope you didn’t give your dad too much trouble."

Shadow raised an eyebrow at you before standing up, running a hand through his quills in a failed attempt to fix them.

"If I told you... that she took my Chaos Emerald... and teleported me into the middle of the ocean, would you believe me?"

You let out an amused laugh.

"Oh, I absolutely would. I don’t doubt it one bit."

You chuckled, gently running your hand through his quills, fixing a few that were still out of place.

He still had a lot to learn about handling his own daughter’s stubbornness.

Silver

When he found out he would be spending an entire day alone with his daughter, Silver couldn’t have been happier. After all, the little white-furred girl was cute and obedient. And he was determined to be the best father possible, taking perfect care of her to impress you when you returned.

That’s why he planned a series of fun father-daughter activities and set aside some healthy food for lunch.

Sitting next to her on the rug, he opened an encyclopedia filled with landscapes and explanations about nature.

"Look, sweetheart, this type of forest is called tundra. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? And this one is a tropical rainforest."

The little girl looked at the pictures with interest.

"Dad, can we draw this forest?" Her golden eyes turned to his, filling him with affection.

"Of course!" He glanced at the table, using his psychokinesis to bring the sketchbook and colored pencils to the floor. Her eyes sparkled as she watched her father use his powers.

"Dad, I want to use my powers too!" she said excitedly.

He chuckled at the idea. "Alright, let’s see… Try moving that eraser on the table."

The little girl focused, and soon, the eraser slowly lifted, gradually floating toward them with her psychokinesis. Silver caught it midair and placed it near the colored pencils.

"Great job! I'm so proud of you." He ruffled her hair affectionately. What he didn’t expect was just how out of hand things would get as the day went on.

During lunch, while preparing a healthy salad, he turned around to grab some seasoning from the cabinet, only to realize that the jar of candy, which had been hidden high up, was now empty. Silver narrowed his eyes. That’s when he was startled by the sound of something being dragged in the living room.

He rushed over and froze at the sight. Wrappers from the candy were scattered all over the floor, and his daughter stood with her hands raised, making the couch levitate.

His first reaction was to smile slightly, proud of how much her power was developing.

But then, as he looked up, his breath caught in his throat, and his smile vanished. The coffee table, a plant vase, and the rug were all stuck to the ceiling due to her psychokinesis.

"Sweetheart, be careful with your powers. It’s too early for you to be using them like this. Let’s practice putting things back on the floor, okay? That’s important!"

He took a cautious step forward, worried about her safety, using his own powers to bring the furniture down. However, before he could act, she turned to him, and suddenly, he was caught in her telekinesis.

Silver started floating helplessly, unable to grab onto anything, only stopping when he reached the ceiling.

He was not prepared for this.

"Please, sweetheart, put Daddy back on the floor!" he pleaded, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Dad, I don’t know how to bring things back down once I lift them."

His eyes widened in terror.

"I wasn’t prepared for this..." he muttered.

--*--

When you arrived in the afternoon, you stepped inside, hearing movement in the living room. As you entered, you were met with an unexpected sight.

"Mom, look what I can do!" The little girl ran up to you, turning toward the armchair and using her powers to make it levitate.

That’s when your eyes landed on Silver—floating midair, struggling to move as he clung to whatever furniture he could reach.

"Silver? You okay up there?"

He flinched at your voice, looking at you with wide eyes.

"Yep! Everything’s totally under control, nothing to worry about!" he tried to play it off, attempting to use his own powers to float down to you. But his daughter's telekinesis was still keeping him trapped.

Then, her power failed.

With a loud crash, the furniture dropped to the ground, and so did Silver, luckily, landing on a pile of cushions.

"I was gone for five hours… How did this even happen?" you asked, looking at the mess around you.

"Don’t even ask..." Silver groaned as he sat up, watching his daughter happily flipping through the encyclopedia in the kitchen. "I just wanted to be a good dad..."

Sighing, you walked over and cupped his cheek gently.

"You are a good dad, Silver. You just need to learn how to say no to her… and teach her that she can’t cause chaos inside the house."

He nodded quietly. "Leave it to me." He placed his hand over yours.

Your adorable white hedgehog still had a lot to learn about handling his daughter’s impulsive nature.

Scourge

Spending a day with his little brat would be easy—he liked the girl a lot, and her energy matched his perfectly. So, of course, he’d be able to handle everything and keep the little green-furred hedgehog under control until you got back.

That’s why he decided a trip to the city and a visit to the toy store would be enough to keep the little one distracted and happy. However, things started getting complicated right away when he was looking for his jacket to wear.

Scourge searched through every closet, the laundry basket, under the bed. He sighed, scratching his head, wondering where he might have left it. That’s when, in his peripheral vision, he spotted a familiar fabric. Turning around, he saw his daughter wearing his jacket, which was way too big for her.

"Hey, kid, you swiped ya dad's jacket? Hand it ovah, we gotta go."

"No, I like it. It’s stylish. It’s mine now," she retorted, crossing her arms. Scourge narrowed his eyes.

"It don’t even fit ya, kid. C’mon, give it back ta ya pops." He took a step toward her, but she stepped back, a mischievous smirk on her face.

Realizing this wouldn’t end well, Scourge sighed and gave up.

"Awright, fine, keep it for today. But when ya ma gets home, I want my damn jacket back."

"Not happening."

Scourge stared at her in disbelief but let it slide. What he didn’t expect was how things would escalate out of his control.

At the toy store, he was checking the prices of some things she liked while letting her play in the store’s playground after she insisted a lot. His ears twitched slightly, picking up the noise of some commotion.

Following the sound, he spotted his daughter standing on a kid’s bench, surrounded by a bunch of small Mobians. She raised a fist, giving what sounded like a speech. The kids cheered, leaving Scourge confused—until he realized she had formed a little gang of brats, all led by his daughter.

'Sheesh… I really am a terrible influence, ain't I?,' he muttered, frowning.

As he approached, she noticed him and focused her blue eyes on her father.

"Dad, I have a gang now, just like you!" she announced loudly, drawing the attention of other adults in the store. Scourge’s ears flattened against his head instinctively.

"Nah, kid, I ain't got no gang… not no more…" he murmured the last part quietly, not wanting to cause a scene.

That’s when his daughter turned to her crew, rallying them again.

"Alright, gang, we’re gonna take over this store!"

Scourge’s eyes widened in horror.

"Kid, that ain't how a real gang works," he muttered, crossing his arms.

"Oh yeah? And you would know, Dad?"

He gritted his teeth as she challenged him. Without another word, he picked her up and carried her straight to the register to pay for the toy he had picked.

"You can play wit’ ya little crew some other time. Right now, we’re headin’ home."

Walking down the street, holding her hand while carrying the shopping bag, he was still trying to process everything, thinking that the saying like father, like daughter had never been more accurate.

That’s when she suddenly stopped in front of a popcorn stand. Scourge noticed her interest, so he reached for his wallet to grab some cash.

"Mister, can I get free popcorn? My dad’s broke and can’t afford one," she said.

Scourge’s eyes widened in shock, a bead of sweat running down his quills.

This kid had audacity. He had to admit that.

The popcorn vendor handed her the snack while Scourge stood there, mouth open. Then, the little girl grabbed his hand and led him back home.

"See, Dad? Now you don’t have to waste money on this."

At first, he was speechless, but then he laughed at how cunning she was, even at such a young age.

"And Dad, I stole this from the store."

She pulled out an expensive toy from inside his jacket.

"That’s my girl—Wait, WHAT?!"

He stared at the toy in her hand.

"If ya ma finds out ‘bout this, she’s gonna kill me!"

"We can’t return it now, Dad. No one saw me, not even the cameras."

Scourge scratched his head. Returning the item now would only make him look suspicious.

‘This kid’s gonna get me locked up, I swear…’ was all he could think.

So, he decided to let it slide just this once and give her a serious talk about following society’s rules later.

"Aight, but not a word o’ this ta ya mother, ya hear me?"

The little one nodded quickly, following him home.

--*--

When you walked in the door, you found Scourge sprawled out on the couch, looking completely defeated. On the floor, the little troublemaker was happily playing with her new toys—still wearing his jacket.

Smiling warmly, you sat beside him, and the little one immediately got up to hug you.

"Mom, today I tricked some adults and made a gang!"

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Scourge.

"Sounds like a very eventful day," you teased, laughing.

"I gotta admit… I think this lil' brat just outdid me." Scourge huffed, thinking back on the chaotic day.

"I can definitely imagine that," you laughed again. "She really takes after you."

"Yeah, but ya never told me ya kid was some kinda criminal mastermind in trainin’!"

He sat up, crossing his arms.

"And ya gotta convince her ta gimme my damn jacket back..."

You could only laugh as you kissed his cheek.

"Mom, Dad let me stea—"

Scourge quickly placed a hand over her mouth gently.

"I bought that for her! Yeah, that’s right! Bought it!"

Sweat dripped down his forehead while the little troublemaker giggled at his reaction.

You arched an eyebrow.

He slumped back on the couch, sighing.

"This kid is trouble, I tell ya..."

Then, as she went back to playing, he smirked at you.

"I think I earned myself a lil’ reward for puttin’ up wit’ her all day…"

You punched his shoulder, making him grunt in pain—before he chuckled.

Yeah... he still needed time to figure out how to deal with a mini version of himself.

[wbbpls]

Platonic Plus One

Chapter 4: Paige's POV

Pacing back and forth in their room, Paige is trying to wrap her head around how they ended up here. Azzi is taking a shower, so she texted KK, explaining the recent events. 

KK: man...are you even gonna survive this week 

P boogers: IM FREAKIN TF OUT MAN

KK: nah bro you got this just act like y’all normally do

y’all already seem like you’re dating anyway

P boogers: why did i even text you

KK: bc you a simp in love

Paige throws her phone and flops onto the bed. She must have done something wrong in a past life to deserve this punishment. Maybe it's because she argued with that ref too much last week. 

Azzi walks out in just a towel and water dripping off her skin and holy shit. It was definitely the ref coming back to torture her. 

“Hey P, what drawer did you put my PJs in?”

“Top right.” Paige sighs and covers her eyes with her arm. 

“You sure you’re okay with this, Paige? I really don’t want you to be uncomfortable or anything.” Azzi fidgets with the end of her towel. Why does everything she does need to be so cute?

“No, Az, it’s fine, really. I just don’t wanna mess nothing up. Like maybe we need a timeline? Your parents on gonna be on my ass on why we didn’t tell them.”

“Easy, you asked me out like 2 months ago, and we were just say we figured they knew,” Azzi says so nonchalantly as if she’s had this ready her whole life. 

“Woah, pause. Maybe you asked me out!”

“Who would actually believe that, Paige?” 

“Okay, first, rude. Secondly, this was your whole idea to fake date, so you shoulda been the one to ask me out.”

“Okay, fine, I asked you out. No one would believe you made the first move anyway.”

“Bro relaaaaaax. I can make a move!” Says the girl who has never tried to make a move on her best friend she’s been in love with for years. 

“Sure you can, P. Rizz em up.” 

“Whatever, dude.”

“Also, stop calling me dude. It’s weird to call your girlfriend dude or bro.”

“But I call like everyone that it’s not weird!” 

Azzi glared at Paige hard. “If I was your girlfriend and you kept calling me dude, you’d be sleeping on the couch.” 

Paige put her hands up in defense, “Damn okay. What you wanna be called then?”

“Just like the normal gooey in love stuff like baby. Keep it normal.”

“Aight, Princess, as you wish.”

“See, you’re already being such a good girlfriend! My lil simp.” Paige throws a pillow at Azzi as they laugh. They both get ready for bed before Paige finally finds the courage to ask a question she’s been dying to know. 

“So, uh, like what did you do for our first date?”

Azzi didn’t seem caught off guard, just thoughtful. “Hmm, I’d probably bring you to a drive-in theater because you’re weirdly in love with your car and talk too much during movies. Plus you love anything that isn't healthy, so endless popcorn and candy for my girl, of course.”

Paige’s heart just stopped. My girl. They haven’t even had to really pretend they’re dating yet, and her heart is already stopping. “Insults aside, that actually sounds pretty fun. We should do that when we get back.”

“You asking me on a date already, Bueckers?” Azzi smirks as she slips into bed. 

Paige follows after her, rolling her eyes. “You wish.” They sit in a comfortable silence after turning off the lights. “Uh, you know people might think it's weird if there's no PDA. Like, as friends, we are pretty touchy, so I feel like some of your family might expect us to be a little more affectionate.” 

“Hmm, good point. What are you comfortable with?”

Nothing and everything. “Down for whatever, Az. Like I said, we touch all the time already.”

“Hm, okay. So you’re fine holding my hand all the time?” Azzi slips her fingers into Paige’s hands. 

“Already do.” 

“Okay,” Azzi smirks in a way Paige knows means trouble. She has to be scheming. Azzi will take any opportunity to mess with Paige. Everyone else sees a confident and put together basketball player, but Azzi sees every side of Paige. Azzi moves her hands around Paige’s waist, looking down at her. “How about all the hugging?”

Did this room suddenly get really warm? Thankfully, the lights are off, maybe hiding Paige’s red cheeks. 

“I uh m-mean we, yeah we hug a lot.” They’re so close at this point that Azzi can probably feel Paige’s rapid heartbeat. 

“How about kissing?” Azzi says softly as she leaned in towards Paige, moving her hands to grasp the hair on the back of her neck. Paige is paralyzed, staring up at Azzi’s eyes. Paige tightens her grip on Azzi’s waist under her sleep shirt. No sounds can be heard but their soft breathing.

Azzi’s smirk grows, knowing she has all the power over Paige. “Careful, Bueckers, you might fall in love with me.” Too late. 

Paige’s eyes flicker down to Azzi’s lips, and now Azzi was the one to freeze. They’re so close, and all Paige needs to do is inch forward the slightest bit. She’s imagined kissing Azzi a million times. Imagined what it would feel like and what she would taste like. 

Azzi audibly gulps when Paige looks back into her eyes. Paige has never seen Azzi like this before, but she likes it. 

Before either of them thinks it through, they close the gap. They were already so close, it's hard to tell who made the final move. It was soft and hesitant at first. They began to relax into each other, and their lips move fluidly against each other. Azzi sighs into the kiss and moves her hand to Paige’s cheek. 

Something about the movement brought Paige back to reality, reminding her that this was her best friend. That she can’t fall deeper in love with her. That this is all fake. Paige gently removes her lips, but Azzi looks down at her with hooded eyes. It feels too real. Paige hears Kk in her mind telling her to protect herself. Paige could feel the walls building around her, needing to remove the moment's intensity. Needing to bring them back to their usual teasing. 

“Seems like you might be the one who falls in love with me, Fudd.” Paige smirks as best as she can to lighten the moment. 

Azzi still tries to catch her breath as she removes herself slightly from Paige. “Oh yeah? Sounds like yet another challenge you’ll lose to.”

Paige could finally release a full breath without Azzi on top of her. “That tends to be what you say right before you lose to me.”

“Alright, Madison, simmer the confidence now. We need to be up early tomorrow, so save some of that for tomorrow.” 

Right, tomorrow. A day filled with lingering touches, kisses, and affection. A day that Paige can totally handle. Well, maybe.

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

Azzi’s alarm goes off, signaling them to start their day. Azzi shoves herself into Paige, trying to hide from the intrusive noise. Paige only knows this because she hasn’t slept. How was she supposed to casually fall asleep after kissing the love of her life?

How the fuck did she get herself in this mess? Oh right, she never learned how to say no to Azzi. The girl who smiles at her, and the world slows down. The problem with this whole plan won’t be needing to fake it. The issue will be needing to fake being just friends afterward.

“Mhmm, Paigey, turn it off.” 

“Sorry, Az, but we gotta make it in time for breakfast. Mrs. Miller is kinda intense with this whole schedule.”

“You’re telling me.” Azzi smiles up at Paige and then shifts to slide off the bed and get ready for the day as if nothing out of the ordinary ever happened.

“Is the breakfast casual?” 

“Yeah, wear a bathing suit underneath it because it looks like we are spending the morning at the pool.”

“Sweet, we can play mermaids!” And avoid thinking about Azzi in a bathing suit. 

Azzi looks pointedly at Paige and laughs, “Just get ready, you guppy.”

“Here’s some orange juice and Fruit Loops as requested,” Azzi says lightheartedly with an eye roll. 

“Fuck yeah, thanks Az.” Paige immediately attacks her cereal as if she’s never eaten before. In her defense, all the food last night was stupidly fancy, so can you blame a girl for being desperate?

“Baby, slow down. You’re going to aspirate on a Fruit Loop, and that's not a cute look.” Baby. Now, that might be what kills her.

Paige smiles up at her with a colorful mouth full of cereal. “Sorry, I’m just really hungry.”

Tim jumps in, “Bueckers, you always eat like that when sugar is involved.”

“Don’t cap! I just really like my cereal, damn...”

Azzi seems to be looking at Paige, processing something until it clicks and rubs Paige’s back affectionately. “Shit, Paige, I’m sorry I didn’t even think about the food last night not being your vibe.” 

“Nah, I’m good forreal. These Fruit Loops are bomb.” As Paige finishes her sentence, Azzi’s aunt and grandmother walk up to say good morning. Azzi never moves her hand, but she does seem to have the slightest shift in her demeanor as her shoulders stiffen. 

“Morning, Grandma! How’d you sleep?”

“Oh, just fine! Thank you for asking, sweetheart. How about you, ladies?”

Before Azzi could answer, Jon scoffed, “I’m sure no sleep was had in that room if you know what I mean.”

Paige chokes on a Fruit Loop in shock. Azzi glares at her brother and rubs Paige’s back as she coughs it out. “You okay, baby?” Jon and Jose snicker in their corner, enjoying how red they made Paige. Grandma Fudd’s face flickers in confusion at the term of endearment for a moment. 

“Can’t believe I almost died because of a Fruit Loop.” 

Azzi’s aunt smiles lovingly at them. “You two are just so cute together! I ship it.” 

Jose is the one to step in this time. “Aunt Chrissy, where did you even learn to say that?”

“Oh, to ship them? I am cool and hip, you know.”

“Well, your old grandma isn’t, so someone fill me in.” 

“When you ship two people, it means you love them as a couple.” Paige could see the wheels turning in the older woman’s head. She’s bracing herself for the awkwardness that might come next. 

“Oh dear, I think I missed something. Are you two in a relationship?”

Azzi grabs Paige’s hand and smiles, “Yeah, grandma Paige is my girlfriend.” God, she wished that she could hear that on repeat. 

Jose mumbles, “Took them long enough.”

Azzi whips her head towards her brothers, “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Dude, you guys have been in love for like ever.” Azzi’s face is one of pure shock, and Paige is pretty sure even a sunburn couldn't make her this red. 

To make matters worse, Grandma Fudd steps back in, “I must say I have to agree with your brother. I thought maybe there was something there, but Katie just kept telling me you girls are just close.” 

Azzi sighs and puts her face in her hands. “Okay, can we stop analyzing our relationship and just eat breakfast, please?” 

“Yes, yes, sorry, sweetie. It just all makes so much more sense why you never dated any boys. Oh, and poor Jonathan!”

“Oh, who cares! We want to hear all about how this all finally came to fruition!” Wow, Aunt Chrissy really does ship us.

“Azzi Fudd over here asked me on a date!” Paige smiles triumphantly, enjoying the side eye from Azzi. ”She made me a Tru Fru bouquet and brought me to a drive-in movie where she asked me to be her girlfriend.” 

Azzi laughs at the mention of a Tru Fru bouquet. “Yeah, well someone had to have the balls to make the move.” Okay, ouch.

“Aight, chill, dude. I was nervous.” Azzi glares at Paige and shoves her knee when she calls her dude.

“Sorry, baby, you right.” 

“Simp,” Jose mumbled under his breath while Azzi looked way too proud at the power she held in this moment. 

“Bro, why does everyone keep callin me a simp today?” 

Katie chimed in with a shrug, “You’ve been a simp since day one, Paige. It’s just more fun to say it now that it's official.” Azzi snickers and high-fived her brothers. 

The rest of the breakfast continued easily. Paige always felt the most at home with Azzi and her family. They had been done eating for a while, and Paige put her arm around Azzi’s chair. Honestly, Paige does that all the time, so it’s nothing new. What’s new is how much Azzi leaned into Paige and her hand placement on Paige’s upper thigh. 

People keep talking, and Paige genuinely tries to listen, but she can’t focus on anything but Azzi’s hand. Paige shifts uncomfortably, trying to deal with her inappropriate thoughts, which leads Azzi to move her hand up slightly higher when she turns just enough to look up at Paige. When Paige looks down, her breath hitches at how close their faces are, and she sees Azzi’s eyes flicker down to her lips before coughing and returning to the normal conversation. How can she be so nonchalant? Since when has Azzi been a world-renowned fake girlfriend actor?

Mrs. Miller enters the breakfast room with a mimosa on her way outside. Now Paige’s brain has shifted to finding where she got that mimosa. She’ll need some liquid courage to deal with the touching for an entire day. “Good morning, Fudd family! Please take your time and join us out by the pool.”

Paige stands up rather abruptly at the invitation. If she doesn’t have some space soon, she might pass out. “Uh, sorry, I love swimming.”

Everyone laughs at Paige endearingly, and Azzi moves to stand, catching Paige’s hand like it’s second nature and making their way outside. 

Once they settle, Azzi removes her sundress, exposing her pink bikini, abs, and that damn belly button piercing. That piercing might be semi-responsible for Paige’s sexual awakening. In high school, it was easier to push feelings off and make excuses for their touchiness. But when Azzi showed her the new piercing, the way Paige’s body reacted was definitely not one for a best friend. Now, all these years later, it’s still that damn piercing catching her off guard like she got it yesterday. 

Azzi grabs sunscreen, successfully removing Paige from her daydream. “Alright Bueckers, get over here so that pretty face of yours doesn’t burn.” Azzi straddles the tanning chair in front of Paige, without a care in the world that it’s just a tiny bikini bottom covering her. “Hmm, looks like you’re already getting red, Paigey. Let’s get this on fast.” 

Well fuck.

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Peeping on your neighbor DILF!Getou Suguru [prev]

[cw: voyeurism & implied daddy kink(?) idk tbh you decide]

Irises speckled with shimmering sapphires, deep as amethyst, swirling in pools of lilac. A fringe of onyx, long tendrils dipping over a horizon of golden bronze.

“Hey, so I was wondering…”

A taut abdomen rippling with each breath—muscles carved sharp, the dip of his waist a lighter beige contrasted by a dark trail of hair leading down his navel. Broad, firm pecs teasing a softness despite the solid planes beneath.

“When are ya gonna confess to peeping on the guy?”

Deltoids flexing, obliques framing a trim waist. Triceps bulging, a testament to strenuous lifting, cardio, or something far more sinful.

“Gotta drop the bomb at some point, hm?”

Lustrous black hair cascading elegantly along a sculpted back, adorned with a splattering of moles. The glint of black titanium gauges, a thin silver chain, and the gleam of a barbell piercing at his chest catching the dim light.

“Hey, don’t just leave me hanging.”

Sometimes, the precise linework of seaweed-green ink peeks from beneath tight boxer briefs—a twisting dragon wrapping around thick quads. Quads that curve into a plump, cushioned—

“Hey!”

“Huh—what?” You blink, reality snapping back into focus. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“Yes! Where’d you go just now? Don’t tell me you were daydreaming again.”

“No…”

Yu hums in faux consideration before pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “I’ve never seen a case this severe before in my entire career. You’re showing all the symptoms of OGD.”

You shoot him a confused look. His expression turns grave, lips pulling tight. “Obsessive Getou Disorder. And I’m afraid… it might be incurable.”

You laugh nervously, already grasping for a distraction. But Yu anticipates your escape route like a seasoned chess player, moving faster than you can react.

He snaps his fingers, three sharp cracks in quick succession. Twisting his wrist, he waves his hands dramatically as if casting a spell. “Compelling you back to reality. Return to our realm.”

Yu’s big brown eyes blink up at you expectantly, ever sparkling with mischief. His brow quirks, and you can’t resist ruffling his crop of messy hair.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening.” You pat the cushion beside you, inviting him to sit. Yu, ever the enthusiastic puppy, eagerly flops down.

Every time you finish a shift together, he chases you out of work like an excitable dog, hyping up elaborate plans—outfits, venues, guest lists—only for the night to inevitably end curled up in your apartment, eating pizza, watching movies, and gossiping. Not that you mind. It’s an outlet for your… fixation.

You grab the remote, scrolling aimlessly through endless shows and movies. Beside you, crinkling sounds announce Yu unearthing the snacks from earlier. The sweet scent of cinnamon wafts into the air.

“You up for anything in particular? Feels like we’ve watched pretty much everything at this point.”

“Mmfh, y’know wha’? We’re no’ fish again. Les’ do somethin’ bold.” Yu’s words are nearly swallowed by the honey bun he’s chewing, muffled and garbled between bites.

“Come again? And this time, without the sugar-coated mumbling.”

Yu dramatically swallows, throat protruding as he gulps too fast. Wiping the crumbs from the corners of his mouth, he tries again. “Let’s be bold tonight. Instead of stuffing our faces, we should both text our y’know…” He trails off, making exaggerated kissy noises.

Your stomach flips. “Okay…”

Yu lights up, snatching both your phones from the coffee table. Before he can act, you raise a hand. “Hold up.”

You retrieve two plastic shot glasses, a pitcher of juice, and a bottle of tequila. “Some liquid courage might be helpful, yes?”

Yu pouts but is already pouring generous shots, the tequila teetering at the brim. You know he’s just as nervous as you are.

“Three, two, one—bottoms up!”

Your throat burns, the juice barely easing the sting. Staring blankly at the open text thread with Getou, you hesitate.

“How’s this?” Yu tilts his phone for you to see.

Haibara Yu: Hey, Ken! Hope I’m not bothering you. I remember you were baking bread today, and I’m free—need a hand?

“Perfect. A casual excuse to see him while being forward. Now send.”

Yu wavers, his finger hovering over the button. A split-second of doubt, then—

“Can’t! You do it, quick!” He shoves the phone at you like it’s a ticking time bomb.

Laughing, you press send. Yu gulps down another shot in retaliation.

“What do you have typed out? Don’t make me suffer alone—”

Three loud dings cut him off. Yu’s phone vibrates. You both freeze.

“No way,” Yu whispers.

You flip his phone over and huddle together, shoulder to shoulder, to read the messages:

Nanami Kento:  Haha, nice to hear from you, Haibara. Perfect timing—I just started proofing the yeast. I’d love for you to join me, might help this go smoother. Would you like me to send my address?”

Your jaw drops. “Yu. This man is whipped for you. Barely a minute and he’s already inviting you over.”

Yu can’t contain his grin, quickly typing back:

Haibara Yu: I don’t know what proofing yeast means, but I’m sure you’ll teach me!

Yes, send it now—I’ll head over ASAP :))

You groan theatrically. “Great, now you’re abandoning me.”

Yu snatches your phone, eyes scanning your screen. “You haven’t even drafted a text yet?”

“No…”

His fingers fly across his screen, typing something out—until, suddenly, his expression shifts. The look of concentration melts away, replaced by a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Actually, you don’t have to.”

He tilts your phone toward you, revealing the reason for his sudden change in demeanor.

One new message.

Getou Suguru: Hello, neighbor! Just wondering if you’d like to come over and help me cook for the girls since you proved yourself capable in the kitchen (thank you again).

They’ve been asking about you—they’d love to see you.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

Yu grins wickedly, typing furiously.

You: I’d love to! I can be over in a few.

I’d love to see the girls, although I hope they’re not the only ones excited to see me…

You lunge for your phone, but Yu holds it out of reach, laughing.

“Just give it a second—just watch. One more sec—okay, here!”

Getou Suguru: Sounds good. And of course, I’m excited to see you as well, if not more.

Be sure to text me before you head over.

In a span of minutes, you and Yu go from lazily sprawled on the couch to full-blown panic mode, securing dates with the men you’d been fawning over for what feels like an eternity. The realization sends a surge of adrenaline through you, a buzz that has you both scrambling through the apartment—showering at record speed, yanking outfits from hangers, fixing your hair with practiced precision, and spritzing on just the right amount of fragrance.

The chaos leaves your bedroom and bathroom looking like a war zone. Clothes are tossed haphazardly across the bed and floor, makeup products lie toppled on the vanity, and an army of skincare bottles clutters the bathroom counter. But none of that matters—that’s tomorrow’s problem. Right now, the only thing on your mind is making sure you both look impeccable.

Before heading out, you give each other a final once-over. Yu has swapped his usual casual wear for sleek black straight-leg pants and a fitted white shirt, the fabric hugging his frame just enough to be noticeable. At your insistence, he’s kept it simple, and you know you made the right call. With his messy brown hair adding a carefree touch, the outfit is the perfect blend of boy-next-door charm and just the right edge, thanks to the black leather zip-up jacket left open.

“You’re giving bad-boy-next-door,” you tease, stepping back to admire your handiwork.

Yu, predictably, flushes a deep shade of red. You smirk, knowing full well that Nanami is going to have a field day with that reaction later. Kudos to you.

“We’re in this together,” Yu says, raising a determined thumbs-up.

You chuckle, sending your final message.

You: Heading over!

𓂃۶ৎ

Getou’s apartment door cracks open just as you lift your fist to knock. Your grin falters, lips curving downward in a sudden frown.

“What’s wrong? Something on my shirt? Or are you just disappointed to see me?”

Your heart lurches at the genuine confusion laced in his soft voice. His dark brows knit together, a small pout forming on his lips as he glances down at himself, smoothing out his black turtleneck and shifting his weight in his brown corduroy trousers.

You reach out instinctively, your hand brushing against his forearm, stilling his restless fingers as they pick at his sweater.

“Aw, no, Suguru. You look great,” you reassure him. “I just thought I’d get to see you in that cute frilly apron again.”

His brows shoot up in surprise before his violet eyes glimmer with amusement.

“Ah, so that’s what had you looking so forlorn.” He steps back, gesturing for you to come inside. “How about you say more about how great I look?”

“Don’t get cocky now.” You huff, perching yourself on a stool at the kitchen island.

Getou strolls over, leaning against the counter with his elbows propped up, his face resting in his palms. You glance around, noticing the eerie quiet that has settled over the apartment. It’s spotless—almost suspiciously so. Usually, there’s a telltale trail of toys left behind by his daughters, but today? Not a single one in sight.

“Where are the girls? Are they here?”

“Mhm,” he hums, retrieving a clean glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. He places it in front of you, setting it atop a coaster before wiping down the space in front of you with practiced precision. “Bribed them with new dolls so I could clean.”

You snort. “I don’t know what to call out more—your obsessive cleaning or your blatant bribery of your own children.”

He ducks into a drawer, rummaging for something. “I never claimed to be a good man.”

When he straightens, he turns around slowly, revealing the infamous pink frilly ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron draped around his neck. He blinks down at you, lashes fluttering flirtatiously.

“Tie me up?”

“Come here, dork.”

Getou feigns offense but turns obediently, sweeping his long hair over one shoulder. A few loose strands remain, and you gently trail your fingers along the nape of his neck, smoothing them over. His hair is softer than you expect, and when your fingers brush his skin, he shivers.

Your hands move to his waist, tying the apron strings into a neat bow. You pat his shoulder lightly.

“And don’t undersell yourself,” you murmur. “Somehow finding the time to keep an orderly home and spoiling your daughters? Sounds like a good man to me.”

He turns, his long hair cascading elegantly down one side of his face. He smiles at you, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling shut, and you silently thank the divine forces that allowed you to be so well acquainted with such a beautiful man.

“And now, you’re not only a good man,” you tease, “but the perfect housewife.”

His brow arches. “Oh, really?” A smirk tugs at his lips before he bends down, retrieving another pink frilly apron. He unfolds it, revealing the embroidered words: ‘The Kisser.’

“Oh—I—” You stumble over your words.

“Did I forget to mention? It came in a set.” He steps forward, slipping the apron over your head. “This one’s for you.”

Wordlessly, you turn so he can tie you up. The moment he finishes, he leans in, voice dropping to a hushed murmur.

“Now, one could argue that you are now my perfect housewife.”

“Mhm.” You wag your finger at him, beckoning him closer. “Come here, and I’ll tell you what I think about that.”

He leans in, hovering just above you, his face mere inches away. Up close, you can see the soft crinkles by his eyes, the slow curve of his lips.

“I think I quite like my new role, Suguru,” you whisper. “Let me fulfill my duty.”

Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging him forward. You press a soft kiss to his lips, allowing him to deepen it. He licks over your bottom lip before biting at it, making you sigh into his mouth. Before you can pull away completely, he captures your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. The affectionate look in his eyes nearly brings you to your knees.

You clear your throat, trying to rein in the conversation.

“So, what’s on the menu tonight?”

“Chicken alfredo pasta,” he says, straightening your apron. “The girls love it, but I don’t make it often because it’s practically a heart attack on a plate.”

“So, a special night?”

“The special-est.”

You bring a large pot of salted water to a rolling boil as Getou collects the ingredients. He works efficiently, rinsing the chicken cutlets before slicing and seasoning them with practiced ease. You fall into an easy rhythm—while you heat the frying pan, he drizzles olive oil; you melt butter, he finely slices garlic; you pour in cream, he grates parmesan. The pasta cooks as the chicken sizzles, and the sauce thickens to a velvety consistency.

While the meal comes together, you wipe off the chopping board, ready to cut the parsley garnish. But the leafy pieces refuse to separate, sticking stubbornly to your blade. Frustration wells up, and you hunch over, applying more pressure in an attempt to force the pieces apart.

A warm weight presses against your shoulder, accompanied by the scent of coconut. Getou’s arms encircle yours, his rough palms resting over your hands.

“Looks like you need a little guidance,” he murmurs, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.

You scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh yes, please, help me. I’m just a helpless damsel in distress.”

He chuckles, guiding your hand over the knife’s handle, steady and deliberate. With his touch, the blade moves effortlessly through the parsley, slicing with precision.

“Just like this,” he instructs, voice low and smooth. “A diagonal angle makes all the difference—now you try.”

You mimic his movements, finding the rhythm, the process suddenly easier. His hum of approval sends a shiver down your spine.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice a little too indulgent, a little too intimate. “Just like that—keep going.”

Your composure wavers. Something shifts in the air—his proximity, his tone, the subtle dominance in his words. It leaves you feeling cornered, like prey beneath the gaze of an apex predator. His breath warms the side of your neck, his scent lingers sweet and intoxicating. Heat coils in your stomach.

There are… other things you wouldn’t mind him teaching you.

Before your thoughts can spiral further, his voice breaks through the moment.

“Look at that, pasta and chicken are done.”

By the time the girls peek in, drawn by the rich, creamy scent wafting through the apartment, you’ve mixed and plated the alfredo while Getou sets the table—placemats, utensils, drinks, napkins, everything in place.

“YAY, PASTA!”

Mimiko barrels into Getou’s leg, clinging enthusiastically.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!”

Nanako isn’t far behind, latching onto his opposite leg. “Yay! We love you, Daddy!”

He ruffles their hair, cradling their faces with unmistakable affection. “Aw, my beautiful girls. I love you too—but I couldn’t have done this alone.” His gaze flicks to you, warm and teasing. “Go say thank you to my sous chef.”

The twins twist their heads toward you, beaming. Before you can brace yourself, they launch forward, nearly knocking you over.

“Thank you, Suit Check!”

Nanako’s golden ringlets brush your arms as you wrap them in a hug.

Getou clicks his tongue. “No, girls—sous chef,” he corrects, exaggerating the pronunciation. “It means she was my helper in the kitchen, and she was the best helper! The pasta is extra delicious because of her.”

Satisfied with the explanation, he lifts the girls into their seats. With the help of stacked cushions, they’re just high enough to reach their plates. The moment their forks touch the pasta, the room falls silent, save for the sounds of clinking silverware and exaggerated chewing.

Getou chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s good, huh? Seems like a fan favorite.”

“S’good, Daddy—so cheesy!” Nanako exclaims, her cheeks full, her chin streaked with sauce. She wipes her fingers on the table, completely unbothered.

“So messy, honey.” Getou sighs, grabbing a napkin to clean her up despite her weak attempts to squirm away.

You lift your fork, twirling a bite expertly to catch the dangling cheese. “Watch this,” you say, demonstrating. “Wrap the cheese around your fork like this, so you can enjoy every bite without getting scolded by your dad.”

The girls gasp like you’ve unveiled some grand magic trick. They attempt to copy you, their enthusiasm infectious.

Getou takes a sip of his white wine, smirking. “Preventing messes like that isn’t exactly helping you escape the housewife allegations.” His voice dips just enough to keep the words between the two of you.

You giggle, swirling your fork aimlessly around your plate, suddenly feeling like a giggly schoolgirl.

Then, an idea strikes. “Hey, if you need an outlet for those messy tendencies, my job is hosting a family event on Monday. Finger painting—they can go wild. I’m working it, so you should bring the girls. It’ll be fun.”

Getou raises a brow, turning to the twins. “What do you think, girls? Want to go? Do some painting?”

He coughs, muttering under his breath, “That’s not on our walls.”

You swat his arm playfully, but the girls don’t notice. They’re already buzzing with excitement.

“We wanna go!” “Yeah, we love to paint! Daddy never lets us!”

You grin, throwing up two thumbs. “See? I’ll let you paint all you want on Monday. I’ll sign you all up—it’ll be a blast!”

𓂃۶ৎ

You can’t help but wonder if Getou regrets agreeing to come to ‘Family Finger-painting’ as you watch Nanako, ever the ball of energy, streak cobalt blue finger paint across the front of his crisp button-up. The deep navy smudges stand out starkly against the fabric, flecks of red in her dark umber hair only adding to the chaotic artistry. Her small, paint-covered hands leave damning evidence all over his sleeves and the hem of what was, moments ago, a pristine Ralph Lauren Oxford.

You cringe, anticipating a reaction—a sigh, a flash of disappointment. But Getou only leans down, furrowing his brows, his sharp eyes honing in on the tiny perpetrator with exaggerated accusation.

“Nanako…”

His large hands wrap around her waist, and in one swift motion, he hoists her up, lifting her high above his head as if she were soaring like an eagle. “Such a messy one, aren’t you? Look what you did to Daddy! I’ve got you now, Nana.”

Nanako kicks her little feet, writhing in his grasp as peals of laughter burst from her lungs, the sound rich and warm like music.

“D-Daddy, stop! Let me go! Sorry, sorry!”

Finally, he relents, setting her back down with an affectionate pat to her head. His shirt, however, has taken even more damage—blue smears blending with the red, swirling into purple, with specks of pink now dotting his arms and pants like an abstract masterpiece.

“Daddy, me too! Wanna fly!” Mimiko tugs at his pant leg, her small hands leaving more marks in their wake.

Obliging, Getou lifts her with the same ease, holding her up until she nearly brushes the ceiling. You make your way over, watching them with quiet amusement.

“Careful with her head, Suguru.”

Getou lowers Mimiko to rest against his hip, turning to greet you with a smile. “Ah, thank you. I do tend to get carried away.” He gestures toward the three canvases spread across the floor, protected by layers of newspaper—a rare stroke of genius on Yu’s part. “How’s the progress?”

You kneel to inspect their work: a peacock, a flower, and three handprints.

“Let me guess—the peacock is Nanako’s, and the flower is Mimiko’s?”

Nanako beams, nodding vigorously as she tugs at your smock, eager for praise. The bird she painted is surprisingly elegant, its neck curved gracefully, head tucked bashfully. The feathers—done in sweeping strokes of yellow, blue, and green—are intricate for a child her age.

“Nanako, this is beautiful! You did such a great job.”

Her cheeks flush pink, her smile widening with pride. Mimiko, not to be outdone, smushes her face against her father’s side, peeking up at you. “Wuh ‘bout mie?”

You turn to her painting—green stems drawn with a careful forefinger, flowers crafted from colorful thumbprints. It’s simpler than Nanako’s, but no less charming.

“These flowers are so pretty! I love all the colors, Mimiko.”

“Danks.”

Getou chuckles, shooting you a knowing look—one that clearly says, I know you’re just being nice, but I appreciate it.

Then, he dips his fingers into the paint and smears a thick layer of violet onto your open palm.

“Why don’t you be the finishing touch to my piece?”

You glance at his canvas—sky blue with a large purple handprint on one side, two smaller ones beneath it, one lime green, the other bright pink.

He nods toward the empty space. “Go on. Left room for you.”

With a small smile, you press your palm against the canvas, feeling the sticky paint mold to the lines of your skin. A warmth settles in your stomach as the girls erupt into applause.

Getou hums, scratching his chin as he inspects the final product, his voice dipping into a teasing lilt. “Now it’s perfect. My idea to have you complete the piece was a true stroke of genius.”

You groan. “Not a dad joke, Suguru. How stereotypical.”

He pouts, scrunching his nose in exaggerated offense. Beside him, Mimiko mimics the expression perfectly, her chubby cheeks puffed out in what might be the most adorable sight you’ve ever seen.

Before you can comment on it, a frantic voice cuts through the room.

“Just a sec, you drama queens—I’ll be right back.”

You jog toward Yu, weaving between families painting peacefully. When you finally reach him, your stomach drops at the scene in front of you. A toppled canvas lies face-down, irreparably smeared. Paint has dripped from the palette, bleeding past the newspaper barrier onto the floor.

Shit.

A wail erupts, high and heartbroken. Yuji, eyes brimming with tears, sniffles as he clings to Nanami, whose face is twisted in regret.

You scoop Yuji into your arms, rubbing his back as he hiccups between sobs.

“Yu-Yu, honey, it’s okay. We’ll get another canvas. We can make something even cooler.”

His sniffles continue, tiny fists wiping at his tear-streaked face.

“See? Nanami’s not mad at you.” You nudge Nanami’s leg.

Nanami, who’s been furiously cleaning to prevent Yu from getting written up, straightens at once. With practiced ease, he runs a hand through Yuji’s pink curls before cupping his cheek.

“Oh, Yuji, of course I’m not mad. I just had to clean up. We can still paint whatever you want, okay?”

Yuji sniffs, lower lip trembling, but the tears finally slow. You grab a tissue, holding it up to his face.

“Blow.”

He obeys, filling the tissue. You clean him up and pat his head.

Nanami bows slightly. “Thank you.”

You wave him off. “No need for thanks, Yu won’t get in trouble tonight thanks to you.”

Yu joins Nanami, curling around his arm like a content cat, while the two men share a look—soft smiles, red-tipped ears, and a warmth that’s almost too much to witness.

You groan, turning back toward the Getous. As your gaze sweeps the room, Getou towers over the families, effortlessly catching your eye. He raises a bronzed hand, beckoning you back over.

And without hesitation, you go.

𓂃۶ৎ

Turns out, washing dried paint out of hair is harder than you’d expect. Not that it ever seemed easy, but it's a lot like trying to remove gum from thick locks—frustrating and nearly impossible without the right tools.

You hold Mimiko’s head steady over the sink, your fingers working diligently to scrape out stubborn streaks of red paint from her bangs. How she managed to get it there in the first place is beyond you. Speckles of color circle the drain as you slowly restore her hair to its natural brown.

“Suguru, please,” you mouth over to Getou, careful not to let Mimiko catch on to your frustration. He peeks around the side of the tub, where he has Nanako perched on the edge, her head tilted back as he rinses out her own mess. At least he seems to be making progress—her dirty blonde strands darken to caramel under the stream of water.

Your gaze flickers to Getou himself, and concern stirs in your chest. His loose black hair, usually immaculate, is now streaked with vibrant splashes of paint. He notices your stare and offers you a small, tight-lipped smile, but his furrowed brows betray his worry.

Reaching into the cabinet, he pulls out a jar of coconut oil and hands Nanako a wide-toothed comb. “Here, sweetheart, detangle your hair for me so I can help your sister.”

He joins you at the sink, twisting the cap off the oil. “This should help. If it moisturizes the hair, it’ll loosen the paint’s grip.”

You hum in agreement, stepping onto the twins’ footstool so you can hover over Getou’s head. He glances up at you, incredulous. “Pour some for me. Someone has to do yours, too.”

He flicks your forehead in response, a teasing gesture before tipping the bottle generously into your outstretched palm. Warming the oil between your hands, you begin raking your fingers through his dark locks, careful but thorough. The silver strands peppered throughout catch the light, gleaming softly under the bathroom bulb. The oil works wonders, and soon enough, the paint starts to dissolve.

“Mm, careful back there,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something almost indulgent. “Feels nice—I might just drift off.”

Smirking, you wind the ends of his hair around your fingers and give a light tug.

What you don’t expect is the breathy gasp that slips past his lips, followed by a low, gravelly, “Watch it.”

Does he like that? You file the information away for later—time and place, after all.

The faucet shuts off, and Getou lifts Mimiko upright, wrapping a fluffy towel around her shoulders and drying her hair. You do the same for Nanako before helping Getou finish up with them both. The twins announce their plans to change into clean clothes and scamper off, promising to dump their messy outfits straight into the washing machine.

Meanwhile, Getou scrubs his forearms with the remaining coconut oil as you towel off his hair to prevent it from dripping down his back. Out of everyone, he’s easily the most covered in paint—the sink now tinted a muddy brown from the mixture of colors.

“You know, we should get changed too,” he says, wringing out a section of his hair. “You can borrow something of mine if you’re okay with that. No pressure.”

“Honestly, I’d do anything to get out of these sticky clothes,” you sigh. “Something soft sounds like a dream right now.”

He grins, booping your nose. “Your wish is my command.”

A few minutes later, you pull on the clothes he’s left for you on the hamper—a large, oversized olive green graphic tee that’s so faded you can barely make out the text, ‘Girl Dad’ (which is sickeningly adorable), and a pair of simple black sweatpants with a drawstring. The fabric pools around your feet, the sleeves gaping at your elbows, but it’s comfortable. More importantly, it smells like him—rustic sandalwood and sweet coconut.

You step out of the bathroom just as Getou emerges from his bedroom, his gaze sweeping over you unabashedly. He looks thoroughly pleased, his own outfit a mirror of yours, except his shirt is a solid white. His hair is now twisted up and secured with a claw clip.

Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His nose is cold as it nudges against your pulse point, pressing a light, lingering kiss there.

“Soft enough?” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

You hum in response, though it comes out more like a contented purr. Your arms loop around his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He lingers for a moment before pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, then pulls back with a sigh.

“C’mon,” he says, lacing his fingers through yours. “The girls are waiting.”

In the living room, the twins are sprawled out on the couch, whispering conspiratorially over a small crate filled with hair accessories. As soon as they spot Getou, they light up.

“Daddy makeover! Daddy makeover!”

A faint flush spreads down Getou’s neck. “No, girls, d—what?”

“We want to do your hair too!”

“Pleeeeaaaseee.”

They bat their lashes, their tiny hands clutching at his shirt, and oh, they’re good. Getou looks at you for backup, but you only grin and join in on the pleading.

“Pleeeeaaaseee.”

He sighs, defeated, and slides onto the floor, his back against the couch. “Fine. But be gentle.”

The twins cheer, shoving the crate toward you so you can join in. Inside, you find butterfly clips, neon barrettes, pink bows, satin scrunchies, and rainbow elastics. The three of you claim your sections of his hair and get to work—messy buns, neat braids, tiny pigtails. By the end, his head looks like a walking arts-and-crafts project.

Getou's phone blares an absurdly loud, obnoxious ringtone, shattering the quiet hum of the evening. He fumbles with it, brow furrowing as he tries to navigate answering—his age is showing. Finally, after an unnecessary struggle, he swipes to accept, and the screen flickers to life.

Gojo’s face appears far too close to the camera, wide blue eyes blinking unnervingly. The glow of the screen illuminates the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the faint shadows beneath his eyes, casting his features in an eerie fog of azure.

“What the fuck am I looking at?”

Getou lets out a loud, pointed cough and lowers the volume, shooting Gojo a disapproving look. With a shift of his wrist, he adjusts the angle so the girls—and inevitably, you—come into frame.

“Hi, Satoru!!”

Gojo winks, flashing a toothy grin. “How’re my favorite goddaughters?”

“Good!!”

“That’s what I like to hear. Your incredibly, generous godfather is calling to persuade your stuffy dad to take you somewhere awesome! Put him back on the phone, okay?”

“Okay!!”

Getou scowls and holds up an obscured middle finger to the camera. Gojo only cackles.

“I see you’re being pampered like the princess that you are by those sweet girls and your… friend.”

“Yes,” Getou replies dryly. “What about it?

Gojo somehow flips himself upside down in the frame, his hand dangling as he snorts.

“Nothing, just making an observation. Anyway, I called to invite you on a trip this weekend. I booked an Airbnb in the city so the kids can see that new superhero movie premiere. The city screenings are being introduced by actual cast members. Megumi and Tsumiki will be inconsolable if their cousins can’t come. So… you in?”

Getou shrugs, arching a well-groomed brow. “How can I refuse? The only one who spoils their kids more than you is me.”

“I dunno, the jury’s still out on that. Why don’t we ask your friend this weekend? If she comes, she’ll be the perfect tiebreaker.”

Oh, he’s slick. You suppress a smile but lean forward over Getou’s shoulder, tapping his cheek.

“Suguru’s friend likes that idea very much. I’m in—and I’ll be sure to make an unbiased decision.”

Getou turns to you, his expression shifting, concern softening the sharp elegance of his features. There’s a slight crease between his brows, and for a brief moment, you want to smooth it away, to press a kiss over the corners of his lips that have dipped into a hesitant frown.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice lower now, meant just for you. “Don’t feel pressured by this idiot.”

“Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t. I have no qualms about rejecting cocky men.”

Gojo snaps his fingers, amused. “Testy. I like it. Give me your number, and I’ll send you the details. I need to record everyone staying in the house for the homeowner.”

You recite it, then settle back into your spot. Your fingers thread through Getou’s dark hair absentmindedly, mirroring the girls’ movements as they weave an impressively tight Dutch braid along the side of his head.

Getou and Gojo continue chatting, their voices fading into the background as your phone lights up on the arm of the couch. You stretch forward to grab it, expecting a message from Yu with an update—he had also gone home with his beau.

But when you unlock the screen, an unfamiliar number stares back at you.

717-904-3856: Hey! It’s Gojo Satoru AKA your wingman, and I won’t rest until I successfully hook you up with my best friend. 

God knows he needs it.

𓂃۶ৎ

“This Airbnb is fu—uh, I mean, freaking huge. How’d Gojo afford this?!”

Getou chuckles under his breath as he steers the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror before backing into the long driveway. The house looms in front of you—massive, especially for something in the heart of the city. Beige bricks stack into sleek, modern walls, and the tall, black roof contrasts against the setting sun. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a lofty foyer inside, warm light spilling onto the neatly trimmed bushes lining the entryway. The double doors arch into a perfect half-circle, framed by lush greenery rooted in pristine, manicured grass.

He shifts the car into park, turning off the engine with an effortless press of his fingers. “Ah, did I forget to mention? Gojo’s family owns an upscale hotel franchise. You might’ve heard of it—Living Limitless?”

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. “No way. Of course, I’ve heard of them. They were in the news last year after acquiring that media conglomerate for a ridiculous amount of money. They’re loaded!”

Getou hums in response, slipping off his seatbelt. The silver frames of his glasses catch the light as he glances at you, the soft twill of his black short-sleeve set draping over his frame. His hair is neatly tied into a bun, the stray strands framing his face in a way that makes him look devastatingly good. The delicate glint of his rings and bracelets only adds to the effect.

“Mm. Money doesn’t buy manners, though. His family isn’t exactly warm and welcoming, so he doesn’t see them often. But he still has access to his shares, which is why he can afford to act like a snob.”

You chuckle, pushing open the passenger door before reaching into the backseat to unbuckle Nanako from her booster seat. “I mean, he can’t be that bad. He does a lot for the girls, doesn’t he?”

“Welcome to my humble abode!”

Your head snaps up just in time to see Gojo—not walking—but rolling toward you down the cobblestone driveway on a hoverboard, tilted forward like he’s the main act in some grand performance.

You inhale sharply. “Spoke too soon.”

Getou sighs, dragging a hand down his face before taking both girls by the hands, guiding them toward Gojo. Unlike you, the twins are completely mesmerized by his dramatic entrance. You, however, can’t help but see a man in his thirties, draped in designer from head to toe—Gucci sunglasses, Gucci joggers, Gucci slides—riding a Segway like a rich kid who never outgrew his phase.

To his credit, Gojo is absurdly friendly. He sweeps all of you into a round of enthusiastic hugs, exchanging pleasantries before immediately launching into an animated info-dump about the upcoming movie. His voice brims with excitement—maybe even more so than the kids’.

“—and the actor that plays Cursebreaker? Absolute machine. Does all his own stunts. Megumi could tell you more, he follows him on TikTok. He and his sister have been asking about you two all day.”

Right on cue, a small head peeks out from the front door. Tsumiki beams brightly. “Hi Nana! Hi Mimi!”

From behind her, little Megumi appears—his tousled black hair falling over his forehead, his lips drawn into a scowl.

The interior of the house is even more elegant than the exterior—sleek and modern, a symphony of whites, grays, and blacks. The minimalist design is softened by the presence of large, leafy plants, and a high-end television camouflages as an expensive painting on the wall.

As soon as you step inside, the girls scatter, immediately engrossed in an impromptu game of tag, their laughter echoing through the open space. Getou settles himself into the plush white couch, casually grabbing a controller as Megumi boots up his Switch beside him. That leaves you with Gojo, who is carefully slipping into his Cursebreaker cosplay for later that evening.

“Zip this up for me?” he asks, turning his back to you.

The suit is absurdly tight, a second skin molded to every inch of his form. You struggle with the zipper, nearly yanking Gojo backward in the process. The sleek, black material stretches over his body, covering him from head to toe—built-in shoes and all. The design spirals with glowing icy blue accents that converge at his sternum, forming a swirling curse energy emblem.

Gojo’s usual vibrant eyes are further exaggerated by unnervingly bright blue contacts, the pupils swallowed entirely, leaving only a ghostly glow.

As you help spike his already gravity-defying hair, you can’t help but ask, “Where the hell did you even get this costume?”

Gojo smirks, fluffing a single strand just right. “Oh, you know… I just reached out to the actual designer from the movie, commissioned an exact replica. Had to expedite it, though.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “Oh. So you’re rich-rich.”

Gojo actually has the nerve to look a little bashful, kicking at the floor like a kid caught sneaking an extra dessert. “It’s not like that! I don’t splurge on just anything. I’ve been obsessed with this franchise since I was a kid.”

From the couch, Getou’s smooth voice interjects lazily, “Born to be a nerd, forced to be an heir. Tragic.”

Megumi, ever eager to roast Gojo, jumps in with a smirk. “NERD.”

What follows is a predictable bout of bickering, it lasts until Gojo’s phone vibrates, signaling that their Uber will be arriving in an hour. He claps his hands together and directs the kids to get into their costumes.

Then he turns to you and Getou with an expression that makes you wary. “So,” he drawls, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain, “fun fact—there are only five cinema tickets. Totally sold out. Couldn’t get extras.”

Getou frowns, about to protest, but Gojo cuts him off with a raised finger. “Ah, ah, ah. This actually works out perfectly, because let’s be honest—I’m the only one who actually cares about seeing this movie. So, instead of sitting through something you don’t care about, you two should have a night out. I even have recommendations.”

You glance at Getou with amusement. “So, Suguru, when’s the last time you went out socially?”

Silence. Getou’s lips press into a thin line.

Gojo beams in triumph. “Yay! You’ll do it! Get back out there, Grandma!” He whips out his phone and texts you both the name of a bar. It looks lively—plenty of drinks, an arcade, even a dance floor.

“Oh, and FYI,” he adds, “I already called an Uber for you. So, chop chop, go get ready.”

The sudden realization that you’re about to go on what is essentially a date with Getou sends you scrambling for an outfit. After giving your goodbyes to the twins, who latch onto you for hugs, you rush off to get ready.

A steaming shower melts away any tension as you exfoliate, shave, and lather yourself in fragrant lotion and body oil. When you step out, your reflection grins back at you, brimming with anticipation.

You settle on an all-black ensemble: knee-high boots, a mini skirt, and a textured, long-sleeved button-up, strategically fastened at your midriff to reveal just the right amount of skin. A small black bag completes the look. You’re banking on Getou wearing black—his wardrobe rarely deviates from it.

Descending the stairs, your hunch proves correct. Getou stands by the mirror near the front door, adjusting his watch and straightening his jewelry. He’s still in his earlier outfit but has thrown on a wool-lined button-up denim jacket and swapped his shoes for chunky-sole ankle boots. His glasses remain, framing his face as a few strands of hair escape his bun.

You creep up behind him, aligning yourself in the reflection. “Hey.”

His gaze lifts to meet yours in the mirror, and a faint flush rises to his cheeks. “Hey.”

You let out a low whistle. “Damn, you clean up well.”

He turns, draping an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in. Your palm finds his chest, and in the mirror’s reflection, you can’t deny—you two look good together.

“You make me look even better,” he murmurs, his arm snaking around your waist. “You look beautiful.”

A car horn honks outside, breaking the moment. Getou steps back, extending a hand, and you take it. He even opens the door for you, effortlessly slipping into the role of a gentleman.

During the ride, he chats idly, reminiscing about growing up on the outskirts of the city. He tells you about the sprawling fields that once existed before modernization, where he and the local kids played streetball. You tease him for having firsthand historical knowledge of the ‘90s, earning an eye roll in return.

At the bar, the crowd is thick, the air electric. Getou’s firm hand guides you through, settling at the small of your back. At the bar, he orders your drinks.

“So handsome…,” you say, swirling your glass before taking a sip, “what brings you out tonight?”

Getou smirks, playing along. “Finally got a night away from the kids. I’m a father, by the way.”

“Oh?” You eye him appreciatively, slow and deliberate. “You ever heard of the term DILF before?”

He chuckles, amusement glinting in his eyes as he downs half his drink. “Oh, how forward of you. Would you personally apply that term to me, or…?”

You grin, raising your glass. “Let’s save the pillow talk for later. Tell me more about yourself—steady job, good income, solid principles, family values?”

Getou swirls his drink lazily before topping it off with a fresh pour. The gleam of his silver watch catches the light. “I sit on the board of a local non-profit, invest in my 401K, indulge in questionable activities in moderation, and put family above all else.”

Your eyebrows lift, surprised by the thorough answer. He clinks his glass against yours, eyes flickering with curiosity. “And you?”

You down the rest of your drink, holding his gaze. Then, licking your lips, you lean in slightly.

“Oh, me?” You twirl a strand of hair around your finger. “I’m a daycare teacher and tutor, planning to start grad school after I get my promotion. I splurge irresponsibly with my best friend on weekends, but I’m generally kind-hearted. I want a family of my own someday.”

Getou hums appreciatively. “Sounds like you’re exactly what I’m looking for in a partner—smart, nurturing, ambitious, outgoing, and devoted.” He flags down the bartender, already ordering another round before turning back to you with a smirk. “I imagine we’ll get along well.”

Two drinks deep, and you’re debating your go-to orders—his, a neat Scotch, yours, a lemon drop martini.

Three drinks in, and you’re bickering about how absolutely repulsive the other’s choice is.

Four drinks in, and the embarrassing stories spill out like the liquor in your glasses. He’s telling you about the time he pranked Gojo so convincingly at a KFC that it led to an all-out meltdown, ultimately getting them banned from every location nationwide. You counter with a tale of your early days at work, when a particularly unruly kid kicked you in the crotch and bolted, leaving you to chase him around the parking lot in a frenzy.

Five drinks in, and you’re both breathless with laughter, wheezing about how absurd Gojo looked in that ridiculous costume—how he is probably chafing from its unnatural tightness.

Six drinks in, and you’re tugging Getou onto the dance floor, the bass rattling through the floorboards as you pull him close, fingers trailing down his torso before turning to grind back against him. His hands find your hips, strong and steady, guiding you in rhythm, his hot breath fanning across your ear.

Six drinks and two shots of D’Usse in, and you’re clawing at his jacket, trying to shrug it off his shoulders while he palms your ass through your skirt, drawing the ire of surrounding patrons.

“Say, we get outta here,” he murmurs, voice husky.

“Mmm, yeah, but where?”

He pulls back just enough to glance around, trying to shake the intoxicating pull of your scent. Then, his gaze lands on the neon sign above the exit.

“Oh, shit.” He chuckles, already tugging you toward the door. “This bar’s connected to a hotel… Limitless Hotel.”

The realization dawns sluggishly, but in sync. “Gojo.”

You both scoff, but Getou doesn’t dwell. He’s already handing his black card to the receptionist, sliding across a generous tip before guiding you to the elevator. The doors shut, and just as you sneak a hand beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin, he stills, regaining his composure. Instead of pulling you closer, he just looks down, offering you that saccharine smile—sweet, soft, disarming.

The most contact he allows is the gentle squeeze of your hand as he leads you down the hallway. The key card beeps, the door unlocks, and the moment you step inside, Getou turns to you, effortlessly lifting you by your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as he walks backward into the room, lips finding the damp skin of your neck. He licks, sucks, nips his way down to your collarbone, groaning like he’s savoring something divine.

He stumbles near the closet, and you tumble onto the mattress with a breathless yelp, your hair catching uncomfortably beneath you. You cling to his neck, trying to ease the tension, and he gazes down at you, his violet eyes suddenly sharp despite the haze of alcohol.

“You okay, baby?”

“Mhm.” You cradle his face, his cheeks flushed, lips tinged red, pupils blown wide. You sigh, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “S’pretty Sugu… kiss?”

Getou gets the message, dipping down to capture your lips in a slow, consuming kiss. His strong arms cage you in as his tongue teases yours, urging your mouth open further. You moan into it, gripping his shoulders as he presses closer, the heat between you mounting with every stolen breath.

Your shirt is barely clinging to your frame, skirt bunched high around your hips, and Getou takes full advantage, trailing kisses down your chest, tugging your bra aside to flick his tongue over a peaked nipple. The sensation sends sparks through your body, and he groans, biting gently as his eyes flick up to gauge your reaction.

You arch beneath him, desperate for more, hands fisting in his hair. The loose bun unravels, his dark strands cascading around you like a curtain, his scent enveloping you completely.

You whimper, shifting beneath him, seeking friction. “Su-gu-ru…”

He bites at your earlobe, his voice a breathy whisper, “Tell me what you need, baby. Talk to me.”

“Need you,” you gasp, hips canting up in frustration. “More—please.”

His weight presses against you, his clothed length dragging over your damp panties, and you keen at the friction.

“Like this?” he teases, grinding slow, deliberate.

You moan, rolling your hips to meet his. “Yes—yes, Sugu. Feels so good.”

The taste of alcohol lingers on your tongue, but it’s overshadowed by Getou, his kisses devouring, claiming. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, and he groans, shuddering against you.

His hands roam, tracing down your torso, teasing over your navel. Your fingers wander in turn, slipping beneath his shirt, nails dragging over the taut muscles of his back, feeling them ripple as he moves.

Your hands drift lower, mapping the firm planes of his chest until your fingers catch on the cold metal of his barbell piercings. You flick them, drawing a sharp inhale from him. And then you see it—the tattoo you’ve admired from afar, the coiled tail of a dragon peeking from the jut of his hip.

He chuckles, low and rough, nuzzling into your neck. “What do you want, baby? Tell me.”

You swallow hard, heart hammering. “Need you—now.”

His smirk is sinful. “Yeah? Here, you’ve been so good for me.”

He shoves his pants lower, and you shiver as his hands skim your thighs, pushing your skirt down and off entirely.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs, kissing you slow, teasing. “Take me out of my boxers.”

Getou straightens up, towering over you like a Greek god—sculpted physique gleaming under the dim light, skin slick with perspiration and arousal. Your breath hitches as you curl your fingertips around the waistband of his black boxers, carefully pulling them down, revealing the end of his happy trail and the thick, pulsing length of his cock straining beneath the fabric.

You free him from the confines, wrapping your fingers around his girth. He twitches in your grasp, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth.

“Just like that, baby,” Getou murmurs, leaning over to flick his tongue over a sensitive nipple. Your mewl is music to his ears.

He lets you stroke him a few times, a bead of precum glistening at his tip as you lick your lips. But before you can indulge further, he captures your wrist, his other hand slipping beneath the damp fabric of your panties, pressing a teasing stroke over your clit.

A violent jolt racks your body. Your hips twitch, desperate for more, but all you can manage is an incoherent plea, breathy and urgent.

Getou chuckles, the sound dark, almost cruel. “Shh, shh. I got you. Daddy’s got you.”

He slips a finger inside you, and the moan you release is downright filthy. The slick glide allows him to press a second digit in beside the first with ease, stretching you open with deliberate, lazy pumps. His knuckles brush against you, curling upward with intent, watching your every reaction.

Your eyes flutter back, mouth parted, and you think you might be drooling. Getou licks at your chin, smirking. “Hey. Eyes up here.”

You barely manage to meet his gaze, his irises eclipsed by lust-darkened pupils. He leans in, your panting breaths mingling, and you press your lips to his, tasting him, losing yourself in the heat of his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice like gravel and honey. “You just tightened up—mmh, you like it when I look at you?”

“Yes, Sugu,” you gasp, teetering on the edge of madness. “Please, I’m gonna die if you don’t fuck me soon.”

The words are only half-teasing; the ache inside you is unbearable, the need to be filled leaving your eyes pricking with unshed tears. Getou’s expression softens for only a moment before he kisses the corner of your eyes, his thumbs swiping tenderly over your cheekbones.

Then, without warning, he hikes your legs over his shoulders, dragging your panties aside. The swollen head of his cock nudges against your slick clit, the slight friction sending a white-hot surge through your nerves. He watches the way you shudder beneath him, reveling in your sensitivity.

“You want it?” he asks, lining himself up, teasing your entrance.

You whimper, wiggling your hips, desperate to catch him inside. The wetness pooling between your thighs makes it effortless, yet he stills his movements, smirking down at you.

“Go ahead, baby,” he urges, voice thick. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

He pushes in just enough for his tip to breach your entrance, the stretch immediate, electric. You sink down onto him, trying to take more, but it’s too much—too thick, not deep enough. Your walls clench greedily, but you can’t fit him in entirely on your own.

You look up at Getou, his lip caught between his teeth, veins prominent along his throat and forearms. A single tear escapes the corner of your eye, sliding down your cheek as you whisper, broken and pleading:

“Fuck me.”

Getou exhales sharply, dragging your panties off, your slick stretching between the fabric and your core. He balls them up, stuffing them into his pocket. You open your mouth to question it, but before you can, he grabs your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

With one deliberate thrust, he buries himself to the hilt.

A choked cry escapes your lips, his name mangled on your tongue. He sets a ruthless pace, each stroke angled perfectly to find the spot inside you that has you keening.

Your head falls back, eyes glassy, body trembling as pleasure builds in your core. Getou watches you come undone beneath him, kissing and biting at your thighs as he keeps driving into you.

“Gripping me so tight, baby,” he groans, voice raw with need. “So fucking wet—do you want to cum for me?”

You nod frantically, words failing you.

Getou chuckles darkly. “Can’t understand you, sweetheart. Try again.”

You suck in a shaky breath, but he thrusts particularly deep, stealing it away before you can respond. Your body quivers violently, pleasure teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Yes, Sugu—yes! Please, I need—”

“Better,” he huffs. He withdraws, just long enough to shift his position, slotting himself between your legs, guiding your hands behind his neck. You instinctively wrap yourself around him, pulling him deeper as he fills you completely.

The pressure is dizzying. His hand presses against your lower stomach, and you keen, feeling him so impossibly deep inside you.

“S-so big—fuck—so deep, Sugu, s’good.”

He kisses your cheek, resuming his brutal pace, the wet sounds of your coupling only adding to the sinful bliss. He reaches between you, circling your clit with practiced precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You choke on a sob, pleasure consuming you. “Sugu—c-coming—”

His nose brushes against yours, his lips hovering just over your own as he coaxes you further. He licks along your cupid’s bow, voice a whispered command:

“Come for me.”

The dam bursts.

A violent wave of ecstasy crashes over you, leaving you gasping, body convulsing around him. Your walls flutter and squeeze, a gush of arousal soaking his cock, dripping down to his balls.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, fucking you through the aftershocks. “Just like that.”

He doesn’t stop, dragging out your pleasure until it’s unbearable. Another orgasm crashes over you before you even have time to recover, leaving you sobbing his name.

Getou groans, his body tensing. “Fuck—‘m close—”

You know what will push him over the edge.

“Come inside me,” you beg, voice wrecked. “Fill me up—Su-gu-ru.”

A broken moan falls from your lips as Getou thrusts deep, his release spilling into you, hot and thick. His pace stutters, but he doesn’t stop, fucking his cum into you, his hips rolling lazily as your walls pulse. The slick, creamy mess coats his base, dripping from your swollen cunt.

You tug him closer, pulling him into a messy, breathless kiss—your tongues sliding together, lips slotting against each other with desperate need. It’s intoxicating, dizzying, and you only pull away when the edges of your vision blur, the threat of passing out looming.

You blink up at him, mind hazy, body wrecked and thrumming with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your voice comes out shaky, barely more than a whisper.

“Fuck.”

Getou chuckles, the sound low and breathless, his chest rising and falling against yours. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck, disappearing into the dip of his collarbone.

“Fuck is right,” he murmurs, voice tinged with amusement.

His gaze softens when you nuzzle against him, your cheek pressing against his damp skin. The fatigue creeps in—drunken, drowsy, and thoroughly ruined, your limbs feel too heavy to move.

His lips brush your temple. “You okay, baby? Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head against him, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Nah, you’re perfect.”

He hums, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your back. Then, he shifts, trying to sit up—but the moment he moves, you tighten your arms around his neck, pulling him back down with a stubborn whine.

“Need to clean us up,” he says, voice gentle. “Won’t take long.”

You pout, clinging to him like a lifeline, your fingers wringing around his nape, refusing to let go.

He exhales, surrendering. “Alright, alright. Later?”

Your smile presses into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his touch soothing as his hand glides along your spine, up to scratch at your scalp in slow, languid motions.

“Later.”

𓂃۶ৎ

One thing you hate about your job is how it conditions your body to wake up at ungodly hours. In theory, it’s practical—what responsible adult wouldn’t want an early start to their day? But when you’re still reeling from a brutal hangover, desperately craving more sleep, and your body betrays you by jolting awake at the crack of dawn, it feels like pure, unadulterated torture.

You groan, rolling over in an attempt to force yourself back under, but sleep refuses to claim you again. After tossing and turning until frustration wins out, you surrender and drag yourself toward the kitchen, deciding a glass of water might help reset your system.

Hydration is key, after all, and judging by the desert-dry state of your throat, it’s safe to say you neglected it for the last forty-eight hours. Understandable, given how you’d spent the night before last.

The memory hits you out of nowhere—Getou Suguru, your devastatingly attractive neighbor, buried deep inside you, his face tight with concentration, his lips parted, breathless, still so effortlessly beautiful.

Your thighs squeeze together instinctively. It’s been happening often, these flashes of him in the most compromising positions. You just hope it isn’t obvious.

The cool air from the fridge is a relief against your overheated skin. For a fleeting moment, you consider drinking straight from the jug but decide to cling to the last shred of your dignity and pour it into a glass instead. Still groggy, you make your way to the couch, your sleep shorts riding up with every sluggish step, the strap of your bralette twisted uncomfortably.

Then—movement.

From the corner of your eye, just outside your window, something shifts. Old habits die hard, and before you can think better of it, you tiptoe closer, peeking through the curtain just enough to get a view. You expect to see the usual—Getou up early, like always. You recently learned that he wakes at the crack of dawn to make breakfast for the girls every day—a habit formed from years of going without, back when his family couldn’t afford the luxury of a morning meal.

You do see Getou.

He’s on his bed, legs stretched out, and he’s touching himself.

Your breath stutters in your throat.

His cock is flushed and straining in his hand, thick fingers wrapped around the length as he pumps himself at a lazy pace. You can almost hear the sounds he’s making—the quiet, low groans that would rumble deep in his chest, the sharp inhales as he works himself over. His lips move, forming words you can’t quite make out, but what catches your attention most is the fabric curled around his shaft, moving in time with every stroke.

You squint, trying to get a better look. Then your stomach drops.

Your panties.

Your used panties from the other night. The ones you’d worn throughout the evening, growing wetter and needier with every stolen glance at him, every lingering touch. The lacy pair with the pale pink bow at the center.

Now, they’re tangled along his cock, the waistband stretching with every movement, sticky with precum as he grinds himself against the delicate fabric.

You’re mesmerized. Completely, utterly entranced. You don’t even realize you’ve moved the curtain further, no longer just peeking but openly watching. And then—it happens.

Getou’s dark eyes lock onto yours.

Your stomach flips, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he slows down, dragging it out, making a show of it. His hips thrust up to meet his tight grip, his jaw tightening as he bites back another moan. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away. He just keeps watching you watch him.

Then, still stroking himself, he picks up his phone, tapping the screen a few times before bringing it to his ear.

Your phone vibrates from where you left it on the couch.

A heavy silence stretches between you as you hesitate. Then, slowly, almost mechanically, you reach for it, pressing it to your ear.

The first thing you hear is his moan—gravelly, drawn out, punctuated by a sharp breath. 

Across the way, Getou smirks. He stands, his cock bobbing against his stomach, your panties still tangled around the tip. He lifts a single finger, curling it in a slow beckon.

You swallow hard, pulse hammering in your ears.

And then, his voice, deep and smooth, curling around the words like a promise.

“Come over, pretty girl.”

[My beloved taglist: @mentallyillcore @ourfinalisation @nanasukii28 @tokyolittledelulu @reveursetcrieurs @c0ckdrunkk @inthedarkshadows000 @exelyox @inoluvrr]

+ A/N: Experimenting with my writing style ! Ngl I had to pause multiple times while writing this because DILFtou is just too damn fine !! Also, realized I have daddy issues while writing this smh

[adverbally]

More Than Words

Written for the @stmarchmm prompt “love confession” | wc: 660 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: Steddie, Steve POV character study, omega Steve, alpha Eddie, early relationship, falling in love, domesticity

———

Steve falls fast, as he always has. It’s different with Eddie, though– less like plunging off a cliff and more like sinking into a warm bath that he never wants to leave. More importantly, he thinks Eddie is right there with him.

There have been signs, subtle but there. Eddie can’t seem to keep his eyes off Steve, whether they’re driving home from the movies or wrangling the Party on D&D nights or making out on Steve’s couch. Then there are the constant touches– Eddie’s hand at the small of his back, linking their fingers, playing with Steve’s hair, tipping his chin up for a kiss.

Eddie listens, opens doors for him, calls him on the days they don’t see each other, gets him a fresh scent token for his nest every few days, tells the kids to knock it off when their teasing gets a little too harsh. He doesn’t complain when Steve has to cancel plans, whether it’s for a migraine or an unexpected double shift. He surprises Steve with flowers when he’s having a rough week. Eddie doesn’t expect more from him or say he’s too much. He seems to like Steve just as he is.

Which is great. Really. For most people, it would be a total non-problem. But Steve…

It’s never been like this before, is the thing. Dating has always been a performance for him, a way to show what a good Omega he could be. He could be pretty and sweet, and he could laugh at an Alpha’s jokes and compliment them and let them buy his dinner in exchange for a kiss goodnight. With Eddie, though, it doesn’t feel like a mask or a role to play; it’s real and vulnerable, it’s walking a tightrope without a safety net, and the scariest thing about it is that it doesn’t scare Steve at all. Not if Eddie’s there.

Steve doesn’t tell anyone, especially not Eddie, but he thinks about it for weeks. The words linger on the tip of his tongue any time he does anything with Eddie– wrestling for the bowl of popcorn on movie night or picking up the kids from their latest campaign session or saying goodnight at the end of their phone calls. A few times, Steve musters up the courage to test it out after he hangs the receiver back on the wall, whispering I love you into the silence of his empty house. It comes naturally, easily, and that’s how Steve knows it’s time to say it for real.

He had toyed with the idea of making some grand romantic gesture but in the end, it’s just the two of them, snuggled together under three layers of blankets in Eddie’s bed, laughing about something Dustin said earlier that day. The sheets and Steve’s borrowed pajamas smell like Eddie, sweet herbs and sharp citrus, and Eddie’s arms are secure around his waist as he curls around Steve from behind. Steve can’t stifle the purr of contentment that rumbles through him but he wouldn’t want to, not when he can let Eddie know just how happy he makes him.

“Comfy?” Eddie asks before stifling a yawn in the warm skin at the nape of Steve’s neck.

Steve hums in reply and nuzzles his cheek into Eddie’s pillow. He’s half-asleep already, his blinks growing longer and longer as he fights to keep his eyes open.

When Eddie snorts in amusement, Steve feels it more than hears it. “Okay, sleepyhead. Goodnight.”

The words stick in Steve’s throat for just a second before he sighs, “I love you.”

Eddie tucks his chin over Steve's shoulder and noses at his scent gland, inhaling deeply. “I love you, too, Stevie. But we can talk about it tomorrow.” He kisses the spot once, twice, three times, like he’s already thinking about how his bite would look there among Steve’s freckles. “Sweet dreams, baby.”

Steve falls asleep with the ghost of a smile still on his lips.

[mrs-kmikaelson]

apollo

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x sunshine!reader Summary: Aaron thinks you're just about the most radiant person he's ever met. But then you fly too close to the sun, and all your light disappears. Warnings: grumpy x sunshine turned not sunshine, references to greek myth of icarus and the sun god helios, apollo lore, violence, mentions of reaper arc, heartbreak, complicated relationships, avoidance, unresolved trauma, feelings, hopeful ending Words: 4.8K

Masterlist | icarus (part 1) | helios (part 2)

a/n: this is the end! thank u for all the love! i love this series sm, and i'll prolly end up writing lil blurbs for it (esp at ur request). there's sm feelings in this one. enjoy!

"I need to leave, Y/N."

"Wait— wait, we can talk about this, can't we?" You stepped closer to her, distraught colouring your face. "We can get you help."

She shook her head, a sad smile crossing her face as if she was saying she knew you wouldn't understand. Poor, sweet Y/N, her eyes said. Too good for this world. Too naïve. Too hopeful. What she ended up saying was, "No, Y/N. I can't."

"I— I don't understand." Tears welled up in your eyes. Her words didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

The smile on her face never fell. Only a single tear did, racing down her cheek. It occurred to you then that you'd never seen her cry.

"Oh, Y/N/N." She grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly. "I hope you never have to."

When she let go of your hand, you knew there was nothing more you could say. She was leaving, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

But, deep down, you knew she'd already been long gone.

"Goodbye, Y/N."

And before you knew it, she was out the door, too far away to hear you whisper back.

"Goodbye, Elle."

When Elle left, you didn't understand it. As the only female profilers, you stuck together like glue. You both came from units where you were at the top of your game, just to be shuffled back down to the bottom, having to learn an entirely new competence.

You didn't get it. The work tore her away. The job took too much away from her, took too much out of her. But that was the job. But what about you?

She could walk away from the job, fine. But why did she walk away from you?

You didn't get it then. Too young. Too naïve. Too hopeful.

But now you were older. You knew too much. The hope had been sucked out of you.

You understood now.

You understood what it meant to not be able to take it anymore, to not be able to face the people you loved while knowing you weren't the same. And you wanted to. You desperately wanted things to go back to the way they were. 

You wanted to go back to Rossi ruffling your hair, cracking jokes about your age but always knowing he took you seriously. You wanted to go back to lunch breaks with Penelope, talking about your nails and boys and feeling like a teenager. You wanted to back to laughing in Emily's apartment, her cat crawling across your lap. You wanted to go back to watching sci-fi movies with Reid, too convoluted to grasp. You wanted to go back to when Derek would tease you instead of treating you like you were made of glass. You wanted to go back to watching JJ's son without her wondering if you were in the state of mind to do it.

And Hotch.

Aaron. 

You wanted to hit rewind to before everything happened, if not just to be at his side again. Before you tried to kiss him and before he pulled away. Before a serial killer decided he was God and your life was his to play with.

But you couldn't, and now you understood Elle better than you ever did. Because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't be the same sunshine everyone loved. 

You couldn't stay there anymore.

You submitted your resignation. You didn't know what happened next—you never thought further along than the BAU.

But you had to leave.

You understood now.

You wished you didn't.

— 

The words echoed throughout your head on a loop.

Hotch. Accident. Hospital.

The Reaper.

If it hadn't been for Morgan, you would've jumped into that SUV and driven there immediately. But he stopped you, taking away the keys and regarding you with a soft but firm stance. You both knew it wasn't safe for you to drive.

You didn't talk about the reasons why.

Now, you sat to Aaron's left. He was sleeping. He'd never seemed so peaceful.

How ironic it was that he had to be stabbed before he took a break. Even if you knew it wasn't peaceful, not really.

A U.S. Marshal had just come and retrieved Jack and Haley, taking them to an undisclosed location. Their lives were upended. His life was upended.

Your fearless leader, stony and brave. He approached every challenge with determination, like he knew he could beat it. Aaron Hotchner was a man who won battles. But when you walked into that hospital room, for the first time since you met him, he looked afraid.

He looked like he'd already lost.

Your heart squeezed in your chest. It wasn't fair. 

Suddenly, a mumble broke you out of your thoughts. "I can hear you thinking in my sleep."

You looked down, seeing him slowly open his eyes. You fixed him with a smile, even though it didn't feel right on your lips. Be brave, Y/N, your mind chided. He'd be brave for you. "Really? I can hear you thinking in your sleep."

His face remained blank, unfazed by your attempt to change the subject. He did that often—calling you out. Never maliciously, always with the greater good at heart. But he knew you. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you too well.

You wondered, did you know him as well as he knew you? 

You liked to think so.

Like usual, you crumbled under his gaze, looking away. If you kept looking at him, nothing would stop the onslaught of tears from making their way down your face, and you wouldn't do that to him. You wouldn't cry; it wasn't your right to. You weren't his wife. 

But you were something. Enough of something to feel the need to cry, anyway.

A shaky exhale left your lips. "Why do bad things always happen to good people?"

The room was silent after your question, the only sounds being his heart monitor and the shuffling of the hospital outside. The beeping felt like a taunt, a reminder that Aaron's life hung in the balance, that he could've died.

It made you realize that you weren't specific enough. What you really meant was, why did bad things always happen to him?

Aaron Hotchner. The leader. The father. A good man. The best man you'd ever met.

The man you'd fallen in love with.

When he responded, you could hear the despair in his voice, like he had the same questions.

But for once, he didn't have the answers.

"I don't know."

—

You didn't have to knock on Aaron's door long before he was opening it, having expected you. You grinned, holding up the brown bags in your hands. "I come bearing gifts. Chinese."

"You're a godsend," he praised, undoing his house alarm. You had helped him install it when he got out of the hospital, no questions asked. 

While he did that, you placed the food on the table, going to grab some plates and drinks. This was the rhythm you'd settled into, a routine. You came over every other night under the guise of updating him with your cases, but really, it was a lot more than that for you.

You hoped it was for him, too.

You always brought food. Sometimes, he even cooked (it was edible). It was your way of making sure he ate.

You never talked about what happened. He never talked about Haley or Jack, even though you knew they were the only thing on his mind. You talked about work, and the weather, and what movies you were gonna be watching after dinner, but never anything that mattered.

You didn't need to. This, being here, mattered. You didn't need anything more than that.

You just wanted him to know he wasn't alone. No matter what happened, you'd always be there for him. This was your way of showing that.

After watching a movie you didn't pay much attention to, you stood at the door, shrugging on your coat. You were just about to leave when his hand enveloped your wrist, making you turn around.

Curiously, you stared up at him. "Hotch?" Your voice was soft, the kind of soft that came with fragile things. Fragile. Delicate. Valuable.

Aaron opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking like he knew exactly what he wanted to say without knowing how to say it. He could command a room with quiet confidence, negotiate with the most unstable unsubs and power-hungry police chiefs, and give a profile like no one you'd ever met. But when it came to his own emotions, he was at a loss for words.

You weren't used to seeing that. There was something about it. You didn't like watching him struggle, but some part of you was satisfied that you could make him pause. It made you think that, maybe, he thought about you the same way you thought about him.

Just maybe.

When he seemed to collect his thoughts, he spoke. "Thank you." He didn't take his eyes off you, making sure you knew how earnest he was.

Your breath got caught in your throat. The weight of his gaze told you everything else he wasn't saying. How this wasn't just a thank you for the food or the DVD. This was a thank you for everything.

But, in your eyes, he had nothing to thank you for.

So you smiled and said, "Don't mention it."

And you hoped he knew how earnest you were, too.

—

You awoke to loud pounding on your door.  You remained motionless, hoping the person would get bored and go away, but the knocking persisted.

Glancing at your alarm clock, you groaned. It was far too early for anyone to be visiting you. Today, any time would be too early. But the knocking only continued, so with another groan, you rolled out of bed, throwing on a sweater in a hassle as you yelled, "I'm coming!"

You muttered curses to yourself all the way to the door, hastily unlocking it. When you finally threw it open, you were ready to give someone a piece of your mind, only to bet met with who you were least expecting.

Your mouth fell open slightly, all your curses dying on your tongue. And like you'd been doused in water, you suddenly felt wide awake.

On the other side of the threshold, Derek Morgan gave you a soft smile, his expression light while his eyes carried all the heavy things you thought you left at the BAU.

Now, all those things were at your doorstep.

"Hi, princess." He paused. "We have to talk."

— 

You would've thought that, after all your time in the BAU, you would've gotten used to hospitals.

Apparently not.

As your eyelids fluttered open, you were disoriented, instantly closing them again at the sheer bright lights. The sound of feet shuffling came to your ears, followed by a flicking sound.

When you opened your eyes again, the lights were off, and Derek Morgan stood in front of you. He gave you his classic smile, but for some reason, it looked a little tighter than usual, a little bit harder to conceive.

What had happened? Why did he look so sad? Was he okay?

"D-Derek?" you croaked, interrupted by a cough.

Quick on his feet, he was soon passing you a glass of water, guiding the straw into your mouth. "Easy there, easy. There you go." He was tending to you like you were a sick child. You weren't sick. You weren't a child.

What happened? Why was he taking care of you? Why did you need to be taken care of?

When he removed the straw from your mouth, you repeated your question. "Derek, what's wrong?"

He looked like he didn't want to answer you. Instead, he countered, "Y/N, do you remember what happened?"

As if his question singlehandedly opened pandora's box, pain suddenly radiated from your lower body, aching all over. 

Your brain caught up with your body, and then the pain intensified.

You shakily exhaled. "Yes."

Derek exhaled, too, but his looked more like relief than anything. Relief that he wouldn't have to explain this to you. Relief that he wouldn't have to say the words out loud. 

"You were in surgery for a while," he said. "Yesterday night. The doctors say you'll make a speedy recovery."

You didn't respond.

"Garcia's still flying in. She won't believe anything I say until she sees it with her own eyes," he lightly chuckled. But his tone was heavy. No jokes could erase that. "The others'll be on their way back when they wake up. I told 'em you were in good hands."

You wanted to laugh. You tried. The only thing that left your mouth was a sob.

Derek was immediately at your side, cradling your head into his chest, letting your tears soak his shirt and not saying a single word about any of it. You wanted that to make it feel better, but you just felt empty.

Like there were holes in your body.

—

You sat on your couch, wrapped in a warm blanket as Derek rummaged through your cupboards, looking for something to give that was fit for human consumption. You would've been a good host and offered him tea, but he already had a pot on the stove.

He said you looked like you hadn't eaten. You didn't deny it.

"Everything in your fridge is expired, so I ordered us some breakfast from that place downtown," he informed you, setting down two mugs of tea on the coffee table and taking a seat in the armchair across from you. 

You watched the steam twirl into the air, nodding blankly.

Derek sighed. "Kid, I'm worried about you."

You sighed back in response. "I'm fine." The words came out harsher than intended.

Derek's eyes softened. "You quit your job, Y/N. You love the BAU."

Love. Loved. You shook your head, lightly scoffing through your nose. For the first time in a while, you were honest. "I love the BAU when it isn't taking everything away from me." You could count the things this job had taken from you on two hands too many, turning your reflection into a stranger.

It made you wonder what you'd do without it.

Derek's eyes didn't meet yours, looking down at the floor instead. The room went quiet. You could hear the cars outside, the rest of the world moving on while you stayed right where you were, stagnant.

Right now, you were in your apartment. Your feet were touching your hardwood floor. Your fingers played with a loose string on your blanket. Derek sat across from you. Your body was here.

But in reality, your mind was stuck in that house. Stuck walking into a trap with Morgan right behind you.

"I'm sorry."

At his sudden words, you looked up. His eyes locked with yours. You didn't know how long it'd been that you'd sat in silence, but you certainly didn't expect it to be broken with those words.

You furrowed your brows. "What?"

Despite the long period of quietness that came before, he didn't stay quiet now. He didn't even look like he had to think about what he was saying—almost like he'd thought it all a thousand times before. "Y/N, I'm sorry that you're in pain. And if I could switch places with you, I would— in a heartbeat." He leaned forward in his chair. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about what happened. About how I left you alone." His voice tightened up. "But Y/N, I swear to you, if you come back to the BAU, I won't ever leave you alone like that again."

Strong conviction laced his voice, like he was under oath. For a moment, you were confused by what he was saying. He never left you alone— oh.

Oh.

Tears welled up in your eyes. "Derek—" your voice cracked. Oh, you felt terrible. So, so terrible.

How long had one of your best friends blamed himself for something he had no control over? How long had this slipped past you?

You were supposed to be one of the best profilers in the nation.

But right now, you just felt terrible. 

"Derek, I never blamed you." A tear slid down your cheek against your wishes. "This isn't your fault. It never was."

Your vision was so blurry that you didn't see him crying, but you did see him wipe at his eyes. That made you get up, and he met you in the middle, wrapping his arms around you and engulfing you in his embrace.

In his arms, you cried freely, just like that morning in the hospital. You cried for all the things you pretended not to cry about. For all the things you lost. The things you didn't see. The person you were. The person you could've been.

"I'll never leave you alone again, you hear me, kid?" Derek hugged you tighter through his muffled words, making sure you didn't just hear them but that you felt them. "We're family."

Family.

You hugged him back just as tight. If you lost everything, you still had that. You might have lost yourself, but your family was right there, shining a light in the darkness, looking for you.

You prayed they'd find you.

— 

When Morgan left, it was dark out. He only left after a lot of crying and even more food, but you felt different. Reminded of what you still had.

You weren't okay. Nothing was okay. But you wanted to things to be able to get better. You didn't just want to give up and walk away from it everything. You built a life at the BAU with people you loved. Maybe there was one person you even loved too much.

God, he hurt you. He hurt you in irreversible ways, leaving you out in the cold multiple times, begging for him to see you just for him to turn away. 

And you knew he cared about you. No one acted the way he did without caring. Sometimes, you thought Aaron Hotchner cared too much, masking it behind a wall of indifference. 

Before all this happened, you were allowed behind the wall. He showed you the man he hid from others. You fell in love with that man. You missed him.

You just wanted to go back to those versions of yourself. The Y/N who would make a stupid joke late at night and the Aaron who would be too tired to pretend not to smile.

But Hotch wanted to talk about it. Aaron did, too, but it was mostly Hotch. A different version of him that was too concerned, too focused on drilling the truth out of you.

Could you give it to him? There was a time when you would've given him anything; all he had to do was ask. Now, you weren't so sure. There were certain parts of yourself you couldn't just hand out, certain things you wanted to keep for you and you alone.

You had already given up so much. You already gave your heart to Aaron Hotchner once, and he discarded it. Who was to say this time would be any different?

No. You couldn't give him everything.

But you'd give him something.

—

You found the route to Hotch's apartment the same way you did time and time before, like a dance you still knew the steps to. You knew when to turn right and when to turn left, when to keep going straight and when to stop. Nothing about this was unfamiliar.

Aaron Hotchner was once the most familiar person you'd ever known.

But you knew things were different.

Even though the elevator up to his floor hadn't changed and he still had the same mat outside his door, you knew that you weren't the same. You had changed. You weren't familiar anymore.

And so, when he opened the door and his brows raised up to his hairline, you understood the surprise. You didn't just do this—you didn't just show up at his apartment unannounced, not anymore.

His lips parted. You weren't sure if he was going to speak or if he was just in shock. You spoke first regardless.

"I, um," you wrung your hands together, "I don't have food this time." A nervous smile lit up your face, no less nervous than your first time in his office. Maybe more nervous this time. Maybe you hid it better back then.

And maybe he could hide his emotions better back then, too. The shock on his face didn't clear until after you had spoken. He blinked, then opened his door wider. "Please."

A small thank you left your lips as you walked in, crossing the threshold into a world you knew you wouldn't be able to leave again.

The apartment looked like it hadn't changed at all. The only thing that caught your eye were the toys splayed out on the living room floor.

Your heart spiked, but as if Hotch could read your mind, he said, "Jack is asleep."

Glad you weren't interrupting anything, the tension in your shoulders was released. You wondered if that's what he saw: visual cues that indicated your mental state. Was it mind reading or behaviour?

Was he a profiler, or did he just know you as well as you both thought he did?

You couldn't really tell anymore.

"Would you like something to drink?" he queried.

"No, I uh..." this was small talk. You weren't here for this; you didn't even know what you were here for, but it was for more than this.

Whatever you were here for, you had to figure it out before you lost your nerve.

You turned around, finding him right behind you. You inhaled a sharp breath. The last time he was this close to you— 

"You hurt me, Hotch." The words tumbled out of your mouth before you even had the time to filter them. You watched his face fall. You continued, anyway. "You hurt me when you left me alone that night. And I— I can't fault you for rejection. But you left me all over again when I— when I needed you."

"Y/N." He took a step closer.

You took a step back.

"I needed you. I really, really needed you." Tears built in your eyes. "But you weren't there." You wiped away the tears in your eyes before they could fall, refusing to cry. "And then you have me go on the record to talk about the most horrible experience of my life, and suspend me when you don't get what you want. Like I'm just some rookie agent."

Unlike the previous conversations you'd had, Aaron didn't say anything to his defense. He stood there, unmoving, letting you say what you needed to say. You were equal parts grateful and equal parts angry. Exasperated.

You wanted him to say something. You wanted to know if it was really all in your head, if it really happened or if you imagined it. "Is that—" you faltered, "is that all I am to you, Hotch? Just an agent? Did I ever—" you swallowed, "did I ever mean anything to you?"

"Yes." His response was rapid, his eyes narrowing as if he was insulted by the question. As if he was shocked you could ever think otherwise. He took a step closer to you, and this time, you didn't step back. "If I have ever made you feel like you are 'just an agent,' then I sincerely apologize." He paused, his eyes boring into yours. "Y/N, you are one of the most qualified and accomplished agents I have ever met, let alone had the pleasure of working with. And I can say with absolute certainty that you are one of the best people I have ever known. You are beautiful, inside and out, and full of so much light that you have brightened every room you've walked into." His words reverberated through the quiet room, soaking into your bones and into every fibre of your being. "So, if I've pressured you since your return, it is because I am worried."

Your breath hitched as he took another step closer. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry for leaving you alone that night and every other night afterward. I was—" he took a breath, looking down briefly. When his eyes met yours again, they were just as honest. Brave. Afraid. "I was terrified I'd lose you. That I would ruin what we had. And then I was scared for what happened to you. Too afraid to look you in the eye after I made a decision that almost cost you your life. By the time you got back to the BAU, my fear wasn't just losing you physically. It was losing you. Your heart. Your spirit. All the things I love about you."

Your heart might've stopped then and there. After a few seconds, you echoed, "Love?"

Aaron didn't back down or retract what he said. He nodded, like he was confirming it you and to himself. "Yes."

There were words he wasn't saying; you understood that. There were words you weren't saying, either.

But you knew what it meant for things to go unsaid. People blamed themselves. People crumbled. They said things they didn't mean to compensate for what they weren't saying. They were crushed under the weight of it all.

You didn't want that to happen anymore.

You took a step back, not because you were stepping away from the conversation, but because you were stepping into it. You nodded toward the couch. "Let's have that talk."

Aaron's eyes flooded with relief. You both made your way to his couch and sat down.

And then you talked until the sun came up.

— 

Your talk with Aaron wasn't easy. And despite your best promises to yourself, you still ended up crying, anyway. 

You weren't naïve. That may have been the first conversation you had, but it wouldn't be the last. There was still so much you had to talk about, so much you had to work through, but you had the time to do it.

Your suspension was lifted, but you didn't return to the BAU. At least, not right away. You decided not to throw yourself back into it, to let yourself find your footing first and process everything you tried to shove down.

Every member of the team supported you, and you knew there was a spot waiting for you when you were ready. Garcia had reassured you there were issues with your resignation, anyway (which you knew was undoubtedly her doing). You thanked her for her troubles.

She visited you often while you were home alone, updating you on the team's shenanigans. And Rossi visited you with enough food to feed a shelter, rendering it pointless to go grocery shopping at all. You accused him of spoiling you. He retorted that he could cook for the whole team if he wanted to.

And that's how you ended up where you were, underneath the fairy lights in his backyard as Reid summarized Greek mythology to you.

Gesturing his hands in the air, he explained, "No, actually— although thought to be, Apollo is not the sun god. Helios is. Helios is meant to be a personification of the sun—the sun in human form. But Apollo is god of the sun—an important distinction in categorization. He's not the sun, but he's not supposed to be. He just has sunlike features, and— I'm sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I?"

He looked sheepish, but you were leaning forward in your seat. "No, not at all." You gave him a reassuring smile. "Please, keep going."

Spencer's eyes lit up, and he went on, "Well, Apollo has many more characteristics that make him an interesting god to look at it, like his love of truth, music, poetry, healing, and..."

As he continued, you couldn't help but connect what he was talking about to yourself.

He's not the sun.

But he's not supposed to be.

Inadvertently, you realized what you'd been trying to learn for so long. The answer was right in front of you the whole time, but now, you finally understood it.

You kept trying to be this person that didn't exist. The sun. A work of fiction. But you couldn't be that. The sun wasn't up all the time. It wasn't always bright. It was impossible to be light at every waking moment. The light didn't define Apollo, and it didn't define you.

No, you realized. You weren't the sun.

You were so much more than that.

taglist: @ithinkitzleslie @burrithorr @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @bunchofcells-blog @hotchspearl @famouslywaiting @lailamares @avis-writeshq @zoeyredbird1 @dyslexicreader64 @lolagaming23 @thomasshelbyswife @spct0r @qualitygiantshoepsychic @duruxoxo @idontlikesleeping

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 27

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

---

Christmas flies past you in such a hurry that you feel like you hardly get to hold onto the joy of it at all - and it is joyful, as bright and as happy as the first one you can remember.

There's the morning in your apartment, sipping coffee and scrolling mindlessly on an internet where, for once, you don't see a single word that twists inside your gut when you read it. Then there's the preparation at work, and the livestream, full of lighthearted games and gift exchanges and you laughing at Felix as he drops the packets of chicken in his box all over the ground, disbelief still painted across his face. And then there's dinner, all together as a family, and the more personal gifts that you didn't give on camera, and the lively talk that carries all of you into the evening without anyone noticing.

You've had good days and bad days in Korea. You're relieved to get to the end of the day and realise that this is one of the better ones.

Your gifts are small and few, but meaningful, different groups of boys pooling together to give you something they truly thought you could use. Headphones, an expensive dress you'd eyed once on a shopping trip, hats to hide under in the airport. Small things you needed but hadn't gotten around to buying, things you'd been doing without until you had the money to invest in them. Your gifts to them had been much smaller, just like your budget; your biggest gift was their dinner and the evening you'd spent cooking it alone. The favourite thing you received was their faces after they'd eaten.

Still, it flies by too fast. You blink, and the day is over, and suddenly you're sitting in the corner of their couch paying minimal attention to the movie playing on the TV and waiting for the clock to finish ticking its way down to midnight. In the other corner, Jisung sits enraptured by the plot, soaking in every moment of the dramatic romance, the Christmas disaster and the miracle you already know is coming right at the end. Even with most of your attention on the conversation happening at the table behind you, you can tell what's about to happen; but you're not here to ruin his night. You're just...soaking it in. Enjoying it.

You're happy.

"What are you watching?" a voice asks behind you, hands leaning heavy on the back of the couch despite the flapping and shushing of Han's hands. 

You turn to answer Chan in his stead, finding him leaning there comfortably while he eyes the scene playing out on the TV. "Rom coms," you tell him in a voice that is only just hushed to an acceptable level. "They're supposed to fall in love at some point."

"They are in love," Jisung argues, his eyes leaving the screen only to glare at you. You wonder if he's aware his cheeks puff out with indignation when he does that, completely ruining the effect. "They're just too dumb to realise."

"They're going to get together at the Christmas Ball," you tell Chan, and ignore the way Jisung grumbles about spoilers as he turns back to the movie. "It's so cheesy."

"You didn't want to watch Love Island," Jisung cuts in before Chan can reply.

"I said we should watch Home Alone."

"I told you, I wanted some drama."

"Home Alone is drama."

"Go away then, if you don't want to watch," he huffs in mock exasperation, the laugh that huffs from the back of his throat when you stick out your tongue at him betraying him. 

When he turns back to the screen, Chan's hand taps at your shoulder. "The others are walking home now," he says, leaning down as if to mutter conspiracies between you. "Do you want to come with us?"

"With us?" you repeat, though you're already lifting yourself off the couch, stretching out tight muscles as you stand. "Where are you walking to? You're already home?"

"I'm just walking," he answers. "It's a nice night."

You glance at the heavily curtained window. "It's snowing."

"And?" he says. "Snow's nice. We never see snow."

"You should try winter in Melbourne," you snort, amused by the light dancing in his eyes. "So cold it might as well be snowing. Worse than snow, actually."

"You'll be fine walking in the snow then."

A yawn interrupts your put-upon sigh, and all of the effect it would have had. "I just have to grab a coat on the way down," you acquiesce, watching the other boys pulling their coats on by the door.

"Just borrow one of mine." Without waiting for an answer, Chan turns on his heel and disappears into the hallway. You trai after him slowly, meeting him on the way back out his bedroom door, coat in hand. "Try this," he says, and thrusts in at you.

You don't know where your apprehension comes from. Maybe the intimacy of borrowing clothes from someone - maybe just from coming face-to-face with the abject kindness that drives him to offer it to you without a moment's hesitation. It clogs up in your throat anyway, whatever it is, threatening to turn your face red. 

You have to force yourself to take the jacket, pulling it on with robotic movements. It hangs loose on your frame, the shoulders drooping sadly down your arms, but it is soft and warm and long enough to cover your hands, disguising your lack of gloves.

"This too," Chan says, and pulls a beanie straight down over your head, covering your eyes. You squawk at the sudden blinding, fighting your sleeves. By the time you have it straight on your head, your hair flat again beneath it, he is dressed too - and still laughing at you, his smile too wide to be innocent. You slap his arm hard enough to bruise. He doesn't even do you the mercy of rubbing it.

"Cute,' he says as you walk back down the hall.

Only the chance of public ridicule stops you from hitting him again. "I nearly fell over."

"Never," he insists. "You would have been fine anyway. The jacket goes all the way up to your ears."

"Give me one of Han's next time," you grumble, even as you pull the coat closer around you.

Chan's smile is beatific. "You think Hannie ever does laundry?"

"Disgusting," you say, with a face to match, and then you walk right into the group gathering by the door before he can expand on that thought anymore.

"What's disgusting?" Seungmin asks.

You wave him away. "Han Jisung," you answer. "It's a long story."

He accepts it at face value, nodding it away. "What are you doing here?" he asks instead, head inclined towards your clothes. 

"Walking you home, apparently." You pause, glancing at Chan. "I was bullied."

"Are you saying goodbye to the others, or are you coming back?" Chan asks sweetly, ignoring every word you said. 

"I'm coming back," you sigh. "I have to see the end of the movie."

"But not the middle?" Seungmin snorts.

"It's a bad movie," Chan advises, and then follows him out the door. You walk with them, cramming into the elevator once the rest of them are in. It's snug, with six of you, and too warm for the thick coats you're dressed in - but just as you start to sweat, you step outside into the frigid night and forget all about the elevator and its false summer, instead hudding down into your collar for warmth.

"Do you miss home yet?" Felix asks behind you, watching you grabbing at the warmth still left in your body.

You slow a little to let him catch up, eyes on the backs of the boys walking in front of you. "Just the summers," you answer wryly. "Winter sucks."

Felix laughs, pushing his beanie further down with one hand. "I like it," he admits. "Snow on Christmas? Come on."

"What's the point when it's too cold to go out anyway?" you throw back. "At least in the summer you can go out for Christmas. Go swimming or something."

Felix's mouth twists thoughtfully, his eyes getting that faraway look that says he's thinking of some other place than the wide street you're walking down. "Now I want to go to the beach," he sighs. "Mum said it was so hot in Sydney today, it would have been perfect."

"It rained for a little while in Melbourne," you say, and he laughs. "I think it was nice though. My grandparents flew over for the first time this year."

Felix glances at you in surprise. "You have family in Korea?"

"They live in Busan," you explain. "I don't really know them very well. They came for the In Life concert, didn't you see them?"

"No?" He puts on a show of helplessness, his hands spreading wide. "You didn't come and introduce them?"

"No?" you answer. "They took me out to dinner, and then we had filming or something on the day after, so they went home."

Felix blows out a sigh, shaking his head again. "You could have invited us to dinner. I want to meet your family."

You wave him away. "It's not a big deal," you insist. "Seriously, I hardly talk to them. I saw them for like, the third time ever last Christmas, and they told me to go back to Australia and get a medical degree instead of trying to be an idol."

"I hope Christmas with us was better than that."

"Nearly as good as going home," you say, and grin wildly at the offended look on his face, his mouth curving into a perfect 'O'. "My mum taught me how to cook lamb over the phone in the middle of her day, you know. What did you do for me today?"

"I didn't try to help you with the lamb," Felix throws back, quick as a whip. "And I told you how nice it was, so many times."

"True," you admit, and listened to the sound of his laugh rising in the still air. Your eyes turn upwards, to the shadow of his building towering over you. "Are you saying this was better than going home to Sydney then?"

Felix's mouth twists. "No," he says, very slowly, as you join the others at their door. You try to bite back your smug grin, a thousand retorts springing to mind that you've run out of time to say. Not that Felix looks like he's won anyway, his face wry as he turns to the others' conversation rather than trying to continue this one.

"Lixie," Seungmin says as you complete their circle, saving him from crushing defeat. "Minho wants to go to Jeju in summer."

"Do we have holiday time in summer?" Felix asks.

"We'll just run away," Minho answers, and offers nothing more than a stone-cold poker face to indicate if he is joking or not.

"Or," Seungmin tacks onto the end. "If we're being serious, we'll just ask to film something."

The look Minho gives him would be withering, if you didn't know that it was only an empty threat. "I'm being serious," he insists, and only cracks a smile when Seungmin rolls his eyes and Chan places a hand on his shoulder, barely holding in a laugh.

"I would love to go to Jeju," Felix says wistfully, and then turns to you. "What about Y/N?"

"She doesn't get a choice," Seungmin says. "Forced vacation."

"Why am I being forced?" you ask. "I can choose to go on vacation."

"Vacation to the company doesn't count," I.N puts in, and enough of them snigger that you don't bother arguing with them. 

"Fine, okay," you sigh, ducking your head and waving a hand. "Merry Christmas, goodnight now. Nice to see you."

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," Seungmin says smugly, his hand ruffling your beanie before heading inside. The others follow; Minho with a smile, I.N a small comment where they can't hear. Felix hugs you, and then throws his arm around Chan's shoulders for a moment and gets dragged into hugging him too before he can disappear, I.N closing the door behind him with one last wave.

Suddenly, the street seems very wide and quiet, the night stretching out around you with nothing to break it apart.

"Can I walk you home?" a voice asks by your side, and you turn to see Chan standing beside you still, one hand outstretched in offering.

"Weren't you always walking me home?" you answer; though you take his hand anyway, savouring the close of his fingers around yours even through the sleeve of your jacket. 

"I wouldn't want to assume anything," he says, and bites back a grin. Your hand thumps his shoulder, just hard enough to make a sound. "Don't hit me, it's Christmas. I'm being polite."

"Mhm." You nod, your hand falling back by your side. He squeezes the fingers of your other hand, only enough to make you aware of his grip. "You're always polite, of course. Never making fun of me."

"Never," he agrees readily. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his mouth turning upwards. "What other girls?" he questions, as innocent as anything. In the half-light between street lamps, you think you can see his ears turning red, and you struggle to hold back a laugh.

"What about all the ones you're going to see tomorrow?" you say; and maybe the others were right, when your thoughts turn immediately from Christmas back to work, to the looming performance and the fans that oversee it.

"Oh, them?" Chan looks off high into the distance, as if mulling over the thought. "I can be mean to them. It's totally different. You can be mean to them too, if you want."

"They only just started being nice to me like, this morning," you tell him. "Now isn't the time to start playing games."

"Really?" His eyes light up, the playfulness of his smile vanishing. 

You nod along, unable to stop the wry smile that is plastered to your face. "In the livestream comments," you say. "I mean, there was still the whole awards boycott thing going around, but...I don't know. People were actually acting like I'm a part of the group? It's like, a Christmas miracle or something."

He falls silent for several seconds, his eyes silently studying your face. You can't quite meet the intensity of his gaze, your own eyes dropping to your entwined hands, swinging between you as you walk. He's thinking hard about something; time passes, your footsteps crunching in the snow and the buzz of car engines on a nearby street the only noise that permeates the air between you, and still he doesn't speak. 

"What are you looking at?" you ask when you can't bear it anymore, your gaze creeping up to meet the corner of his and then focusing on the road ahead of you instead.

"Nothing." With a jolt, he suddenly realises he is staring and glances away, searching for anything else to look at. "You seem happy, that's all."

It takes you a moment to answer, carefully considering the emotion that wells up in your gut. "I am, today," you answer. "It...I don't know. The performances this month have been good, the fans were happy today. It feels like something might change now."

"Good," he says, and smiles - small, but more soft and genuine than the amusement that had shone loudly from his face earlier. "I've been worried about you."

A scoff chokes itself in your throat. "I know," you manage to say, around the stone that lodges itself there. "I've been worried about you worrying about me."

His feet stutter in their tracks, his grip tugging on your hand as he saves his balance. "What are you worried about me for? Don't do that."

"Someone has to, don't they?" you say. "I see you spending all that time looking out for me, I feel like I should at least try to give it back."

His head ducks, shy. "You don't have to do that. I like taking care of people."

"Didn't I tell you to stop worrying about me like, six months ago?"

"Something like that. I didn't listen."

"You shouldn't break your promises like that."

Chan squeezes your hand hard, his knuckles bumping against your hip. "You promised to stop practising so much too, you know."

The accusation stirs a memory of a conversation, much clearer than the one you'd been trying to dredge up. It's funny; you remember, just that short time ago, talking about things like debut and the company - and now you can't fathom feeling those same nerves anymore. The fear of being dropped from the company, the pressure from fans, the expectations set upon the group and therefore you as proxy...all of those are fears you're still familiar with, but a fear of Chan himself? When he lends you his jacket and walks hand-in-hand down the street, so slowly that it might take you all night to get home if you continue like this?

Never. Not again, not not that you know him properly. There's no one you would trust more in the world than him.

"I think we should forget about those promises," you announce. "I like my job. And I like you caring about me too."

"Really?" he asks, and you think, from the way that he eyes you, that you need to give the other boys a piece of your mind. Too many jokes about old age, one too many acts of pushing him away. Maybe you need to give him a piece of your mind too - for letting himself believe, even for the moment of doubt that flickers over his face, that you wouldn't really mean it.

"Yes, really," you reply, and try to refrain from the tiraded of emotion that threatens to spill out afterwards, all in the wrong tone of voice. "It's been really hard lately, you know, with everything - I mean, it's fine, but still. You're always there. I like that. The others are there too, but - even in the middle of the night, you're always there. It's nice."

As if on cue, your building appears in front of you as you finish speaking, looking out from between its neighbours. "How are we ever going to go to bed on time if we both like talking in the middle of the night?" Chan asks, pulling you to a stop before you can head for the door. 

You find yourself shrugging, eager to linger. "Do we have to fix it?" you ask. "We're doing it right now, you know."

His mouth quirks. "Maybe tomorrow, then," he proposes. "Or we can just spend the rest of our lives only talking at midnight."

"I don't mind," you say with a shrug. "Midnight is a good time. Two AM is even better."

"I'll think about it."

He looks around, searching for something else to comment on, some way to keep the conversation going even when it feels like you have run out of things to talk about (except that you haven't, because you never could, because talking to him is so easy no matter what). In the corner of your eye, your door looms, calling you back to the warmth of his apartment and the quiet dark of your own - but his hand doesn't leave yours and his feet don't move, and even though you know it is stupid to be standing around like this in the snow, you can't bring yourself to let it go and bring on the end of night so suddenly. It's been such a nice day, and the walk home so warm, that you don't want to let it go, not until every second has been squeezed out of it.

There's still the movie, you remind yourself, thinking of Han sitting up there above your head watching, but your mouth doesn't say that. Instead, it asks, "Do you want to walk down to the corner store?"

You only realise later that Chan doesn't ever stop to ask why, or to complain about walking even further in the snow. In the moment, his smile consumes you, his feet automatically turning towards the store; and then again, you are immersed in your own world, stealing five more minutes from a night that cannot go on forever.

But for just this one night, you are happy. For just one night, you have something that is all yours.

Him. 

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[wirewitchviolet]

Let's talk about how Ranma is trans in the 2024 anime, part 1

Way the hell back in 2018, after a random exchange with a friend, I sat down and wrote a series of four blog posts where I looked at the manga Ranma ½, which ran from 1988 to 1996, explicitly through a lens where I assumed the protagonist is in fact a trans girl. A major component of the series being that Ranma and several other characters fell into various pools in a cursed set of natural springs causing them to magically change into whatever tragically drowned in one when hit with cold water, then back to their original body with hot, and Ranma fell in the girl one, so it was bound to be a series that would crack a lot of eggs regardless, but my memory of reading it years before transitioning was that it worked on a mundane level too, particularly later. I did somehow forget a bit towards the end where Ranma honestly just kinda straight up comes out of the closet, but I'm not going to link to that panel yet again for the sake of preview links not blending together. Anyway, those posts were already the most popular things I ever put on this blog and have never stopped circulating, despite it being a pretty old and largely forgotten series at the time.

I had always had the idea that I really should go back and also watch the anime adaptation(s) of Ranma, which deviates a good bit from the manga, but that is 161 episodes, 3 movies, and 11 OAVs which are terribly terribly paced, and I don't actually get paid for this. But then lo and behold, here's a brand new anime adaptation coming out decades later, looking really nice, and surely that will deviate even more from the source material, so here I am diving in to find all new bits of gender stuff to talk about, under the fold here and-

Oh. Turns out the new anime series is actually an EXTREMELY faithful adaptation of the original manga and the only deviations I've actually noticed are that there's a little bit less nudity and the one scene with Ranma's breasts fully on display goes the route of not drawing nipples. And really that's only significant because the original anime adaptation somehow got away with that one. Speaking of the original anime run, this adaptation brings back the entire surviving voice cast, and continues the tradition of coloring Ranma's hair red in cold-water form as an extra tell for the audience. And speaking of color, one thing this adaptation does now and then that I really appreciate is punctuating certain scenes with the sort of cool pastel palettes (see above) that were used for the cover illustrations of the original manga.

Another thing the 2024 anime does is throw in a quick little vignette before the opening credits of each episode to restate that Ranma and Akane are engaged, and the feminizing water thing, which mostly feels like it's there as just a little extra emphasis that regardless of all the other shenanigans going on, those two are the one actual couple and making it clear that the rest of the tangled web of crushes and obsessions don't really matter. Something I feel like this adapatation is keen to emphasize in general. In fact, being as nearly 1 to 1 an adaptation as it is, the title of every episode is directly lifted from the chapter names of the manga, so we can just slap together a little infographic and see what's getting compressed a bit and what's getting the time it needs to breathe!

We're chewing through the extended fight scenes pretty quick and slowing down any time Akane's having an emotional moment or some time in the spotlight basically. Which makes sense since the action scenes in the manga are like all full page splash images with a word of text and need to be flowing quickly, and because we have the benefit of hindsight knowing that the Kunos become irrelevant real quick. We're also squeezing out a little early identity crisis stuff for Ranma in the process (there's an early dream sequence after first meeting Kuno, coming to grips with the whole "since I'm a girl, dudes want to sleep with me" realization that barely makes it in and a few early moments of internalized misogyny that get dropped), and we really give Shampoo's debut some space (not QUITE as much as the above suggests, most of episode 10 is wrapping up a three parter on the ice skating with her just punching through the wall as a cliffhanger at the end).

The whole thing is also paced out to nicely cover the first four volumes of the manga, out of 38. They might up the compression rate a little, but as it stands, it's going to take another 8 or 9 seasons to get through everything at this rate. In comparison, my first blog post got through three times this much of it, but the original anime covered only the first half of this in the same episode count (and then for some reason introduced Shampoo and Mousse early and didn't get through the ice skating until episode 27).

Anyway, like I said, this doesn't really change things up enough to have a lot to say about how clearly Ranma is trans. Jumping back to the start though yet again, it really cannot be emphasized enough though just how clearly, even from the very first episode, she is SO much more comfortable presenting as a girl, not at all nervous meeting Akane's family like that, then suddenly super tense and awkward and closed off when interacting with... really anyone while boy-moding. So I guess it's time to bust out some of these other lenses to look at this...

Let's talk about how Akane is gay, part 1

I mean, we've established she's into Ranma, with extra emphasis in this adaptation, and we've established that Ranma is in fact a girl, but that's just the one data point. What else do we have? Well, she's quite explicitly not a fan of guys, particularly guys who are attracted to her, and we're keeping plenty of a focus on that while not wasting time trying to pretend Kuno matters at all in the grand scheme of things. The closest she ever comes to showing interest in a guy is Dr. Kuno, and the anime here is strongly emphasizing how that's less of a real crush and more just emulating her oldest sister (Nabiki of course is also some flavor of queer, and I don't think anyone has ever questioned that) since that's kinda what you do, right? She also gets intensely jealous of the idea of Shampoo kissing Ranma while assuming Ranma is a girl, talks about how hot she is, and hell, at the start of things when everyone's assuming they've somehow gotten into a situation where one of the three sisters has to marry a cis girl, Nabiki points out how that works out perfectly for her. Because she is extremely gay.

Let's talk about how Ryoga is trans, part 1

OK so this isn't the same absolute slam dunk as Ranma turned out to be, but there is a surprisingly strong case to argue that Ryoga is also a trans girl. What do we know about Ryoga after all? Real real socially awkward. Only has one sorta-friend from childhood, who turned out to be trans later. Can we call Ryoga a furry? I'm not even talking about the pig curse, but there's this whole feral wolf vibe before that's even established. In a series where basically every guy who is ever introduced is a horny creep obsessed with rigid gender roles, Ryoga does not bat an eye at seeing women naked (which comes up oddly often), spends a lot of these early arcs hanging out with the gal pals to help practice gymnastics and skating, deals well enough with the pink heart collar and being called Charlotte, and like so many of us, Ryoga is introduced to the series indignantly sputtering about how Ranma's situation shouldn't really be called a curse and is a situation we'd be happy to be in. You could argue that Ryoga's saying this just relative to the pig curse, I guess, but I do at least get the vibe that Ryoga wouldn't be too super worried about finding hot water with that one.

Speaking of the pig curse, I feel like every time I revisit Ranma I have a different perspective on the whole "P-Chan" situation. With this adaptation, it does feel significantly closer to "it's really just this super awkward situation where I've been looking for a good moment to explain and at this point it's been so long she'll probably kill me" than "I am a loathsome sex offender using a disguise to snuggle up with this girl who thinks I am a small animal" and Ranma is doing an appropriate amount of "I'm not going to blurt it out, but you should seriously come clean already" so, glad to know we're downplaying that.

Also, the emphasis on Ranma and Akane as The Couple in this adaptation really makes it clear that Ryoga isn't so much into Akane as just kinda... incapable of conceiving of any sort of existence that doesn't involve being Ranma's rival/friend/polycule member.

Anyway, I guess that's where I have to leave this until the second season drops? Have a patreon link?

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“Nosferatu” (2024) simplified

Robert Eggers is subverting every theme in the “Dracula” novel, and playing with canon and expectations: “My influences are all very clear, and Nosferatu is a remake, after all,” Eggers says, yet he plays with the canon, with expectations and clichés – “hopefully subverting them to do something unexpected”.

Robert Eggers has said a thousand times already this story is a Gothic romance, heavily inspired by “Wuthering Heights”, which he read and re-read while writing the script, and Ellen and Orlok are similar to Cathy and Heathcliff. This Ellen wants this Orlok;

This is a Folk Gothic horror movie: Count Orlok is a strigoi from Balkan folklore; isn’t merely blood he feeds on, it’s souls (that why he drinks heart blood; heart as center of the soul). His lore is Balkan folklore and Dacian mythology. He’s not Vlad the Impaler and he’s a subversion of Count Dracula in many ways. He’s an entirely new character created by Eggers, as are the rest of the characters here.

The “possession” are the blood plague victims. Orlok can only “possess” those he feeds on, and traps their souls inside of Nosferatu (alongside his own). This is why Thomas was exorcised but he’s still lost in Orlok’s shadow like the Nuns warn him, he doesn’t listen (Orlok still has influence over him, as we see; not kicking out Ellen of the bed, and Thomas is the one who gets possessed in the “possession scene”);

Ellen and Herr Knock are more similar than you think; Knock is the character who tells the audience what Ellen has been doing in her teenage years (masturbation; Orlok has to be conjured for telepathic/mind communication to happen, via sexual energy). Orlok can only possess those he fed on (Thomas, Anna Harding, Friedrich Harding, etc.). He only “possesses” Ellen at the end;

Ellen is confused about her own power, she’s a unreliable narrator, because she doesn’t have the language to understand it. It’s a character outside of Victorian society which begins to unravel the mystery behind her “sickness”, but she’s comes to the answer on own. At first, Professor Von Franz thinks she’s a victim of spiritual obsession by some daemon (she’s having these “hysterical fits” because a daemon tells her to, a daemon is influencing her behavior because of what he says to her, inside of her head). Ellen doesn’t have the knowledge to understand what Von Franz means, and interprets this as Orlok being a demon possessing her body (“I have felt you crawling like a serpent in my body”). He isn’t because he never drank her blood (soul). She also keeps mixing up her 16th century incarnation with her current one;

Thomas is the character who tells the audience the “true story” in the “possession scene”; he says it’s “impossible” for Ellen and Orlok to have been lovers “then” because he was actually possessed by Orlok, he had access to his soul, he knows what Ellen is talking about can’t possible have happened in her current life/incarnation (because it didn’t; he was only a shadow at her window during her teenage years, and she’s the reincarnation of his wife, she most likely has flashbacks memories of this);

Most scenes are characters talking about opposite things and people dying as a result;

Ellen and Orlok “first night scene” at the Hardings is Ellen accusing him of being a demon possessing her, while he thinks she knows she has been conjuring him this entire time. He also believes she remembers their past life together because of the lilacs;

The “possession scene” between Ellen and Thomas is her talking about her past with Orlok (she unleashed him; lovers), and initiating a communication with the spiritual world because she thinks Orlok will possess her like a demon; Thomas knows this is impossible, truly believes he was the one who unleashed Orlok because he sold him a house in Wisburg and now thinks Orlok is getting to Ellen the same way he did to him when he arrived at Transylvania (nightmares and hallucinations);

The “vengeance” at the ending is Thomas. He’s on a revenge mission against Orlok because he wants to avenge Ellen, the Harding and himself. He blames himself for everything that has happened. Only this is what Orlok wants because he has been influencing Thomas into killing him with a “spike of cold iron” (Thomas-Handsome Roma vampire hunter).

Friedrich and Anna Harding are the mirror pair to Orlok and Ellen. That’s why they are targeted by Orlok. Orlok and 16th century Ellen were like Friedrich and Anna (but Ellen being more sexual);

Ellen’s shame is connected to Victorian views of female sexuality and womanhood as a whole. Orlok doesn’t only represent her repressed sexual desire, but also nature (vs. society/domestic sphere/Thomas) and education/knowledge (enchanter; occultist; worshipper of Zalmoxis, owner of the secrets of life and death, and immortality). Passion isn’t the only thing he has to offer; he represents liberation and power. Everything that was off limits to women in the early 19th century. This story deals with Historical Feminism.

[tillysslife]

wsp with you?—w. scobell

pairings: walker scobell x teen!actor!reader

warnings: lowkey just walker responding is pretty unrealistic so i guess that

the internet was already obsessed with you and walker. the way you interacted in interviews. the way walkers eye couldn’t focus on anything else when you were in the room. it was all enough for your shippers to go feral.

but now you were just adding flames to the fire.

you and walker had made the decision to never address these rumours. well—until now.

it had started as a silly joke. you had been on set of your recent movie when the trend had shown up on your for you page. and well if the internet was going to speculate regardless, you might as well make things interesting.

you picked a cute photo of yourself for the first screen. typing the words ‘they say shooters shoot’.

then you scrolled through your camera roll for a photo of the blonde boy. you ended up picking a candid from a red carpet event you two had gone to recently. he looked ridiculously handsome. ‘walker scobell wsp with you?’

you giggled as you posted it like a villain when they thought they had beaten the protagonist in movies. oh were you excited for this.

except of course the internet rarely took things jokingly.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

user HELLO? WE WON SHE LIKES HIM? SHE ACTUALLY LIKES HIM

user walker wake up y/n fucking l/n just shot her shot with YOU

user what if i passed out

⤷user what if i screamed

⤷user WHAT IF I ACTUALLY EXPLODED

user just dropped to my knees in the middle of target🤧

dior.n.goodjohn ‘she was mine first’ i scream getting dragged into a white locked room

user HIS REACTION IS GOING TO BE EVERYTHIBG

user better not fumble this gorgeous girl i swear to god😤

charliebushnell @walkerscobell

⤷ leahsavajeffries @walkerscobell

⤷ aryansimahdri @walkerscobell

user walker scobell how does it feel to be the chosen one

⤷ user bro's percy jackson and pulls baddies how is it fair

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

your comments were going insane on every single platform, editors scrounging up any proof that this is real and not just a bit.

but as one comment suggested walkers reaction was the best.

walkerscobell oh. word?

and you just stared at your phone in shock because this was just meant to be a joke and now he’s acknowledging it in front of everyone??

just when you thought it couldn’t get worse your phone buzzed again.

it was walker texting you

walk💙 we gonna talk about this or what

sometimes shooters shoot and sometimes they score.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

A/N let me know if you want a pt 2 because i've already brewed up an idea in my head

[37-children-of-the-dreams]

Will Monica Be Part of Stars of Lyra?

So if you have Evelyn and get to her movie promotion trust level, you get more tidbits of Monica because Evelyn ask us if we have Oh~ Sweetie.

Now, this is all because Evelyn needs to help Astra find a movie role for her. So she ask us to watch Monica’s movie because Astra and Monica are rivals.

I mean, we already do know that because of Billy. Yet, it’s nice that even Evelyn knows how good Monica is.

I thought she already met Billy during the New Year’s Event? Okay well…

So I had to do this twice because I think there was a translation error. Mostly because I thought it was weird that they said Billy isn’t a person. I mean, yes, he’s an android but do they mean human? Billy should be a person since he acts like one. Still, Billy mention.

I knew it. Astra would never have a bad rivalry with Monica, she’s just too nice and lonely to want to hate someone who she wants as a friend.

Holy shit. I mean, not a surprise to me since everyone loves celebrities having rivalries and going off at each other’s throats, but it’s still sad that they can’t be friends because of their companies. And having to do multiple takes because they break character just to have fun with each other? Brutal and unnecessary.

And their fans are just as bad. They don’t want the rivalry to end because it’s popular. Thankfully, Billy would never be an Astra hater since he’s already met Astra and enjoys her work and her personality. He’d probably be happy if there was news that Astra and Monica became friends since he likes them both.

Can’t blame Wise. He just learned the sad truth about Astra and Monica’s ‘rivalry’. There’s nothing worse than knowing that two people who want to be friends can’t be friends in public because of their stardom.

Oh don’t worry Evelyn, we have Billy renting her movies every time he comes around.

Especially during events. If only Nicole would stop stealing his stuff.

Well, we should have an ‘Oh~ Sweetie’ movie with Billy, Evelyn, Astra, Belle and Wise.

I need Billy to see that and nod. Our dear android would love the idea that he can fangirl with us about Monica.

Seriously, with this many mentions of Monica, I hope she gets a cameo in the game and then becomes an agent because the Stars of Lyra are currently one of the smallest factions in the game tied with the upcoming Mockingbird faction since they both only have two agents in their factions. Adding Monica into the faction would be perfect for them especially since it would mean that Astra and Monica can finally act like the friends they are.

[thatoneautisticshark]

Hear me out- Ghost and either Gaz or Soap go to the movies and sit in the prime spot of the back row in the middle so they're right under the projector room that has the open window. The movie starts and they realize it's just them in the theater so they decide to fool around but try to keep quiet so whoever is in the projector booth doesn't catch them and kick them out 🎥🍿

-ttt

Hehe! Yes yes yup absoulutely!! Hearing you loud and clear.

Sorry it took a little while!!! It was such a cute idea I was inspired to make art of itt!! So I'll add that at the end! :3

Gaz shifted his weight between feet as he waited outside the theatre. He genuinely couldn't believe he got ghost to agree to come to see a film with him!

Ghost was usually so standoffish, but Gaz really felt he had been making progress recently, Ghost would let Gaz sit next to him and yap, or sometimes even would seek Gaz out to sit next to in the mess.

He hadn't pushed Gaz off that time after a long mission, when Gaz was exhausted and fell asleep against him in the heli. And Ghost had even been talking more around him.

This was a chance to get to just hang with Ghost, and he couldn't believe the other had agreed. He had asked ready to be stabbed for even asking, but Ghost just shrugged and went “Sure. Why not?”

Gaz nervously tugged at the collar of his sleeveless shirt, suddenly feeling it was a little promiscuous. Which was ridiculous, it was a hot day and it wasn't a weird shirt to wear.

He probably wouldn't feel like this, if he hadn't gained himself a massive crush on his lieutenant. But he did. And this was the lieutenant who was always covered, so a sleeveless shirt felt very very bare.

But before he had time to continue criticizing his wardrobe choices, the cause of his panic walked in.

And fuckkk he looked good.

Gaz was sure his face turned a little pink. “Ghost! Over here. Uhm.. I already bought snacks.. but if you don't like them I can get others uhm.” Ghost cut off his rambling

“What you have is fine. Come on, let's go”Gaz nodded awkwardly, shutting his mouth as he led the way. Heading upstairs to the theatre, Ghost following behind.

“Oh sweet we are the first ones here! I guess we can pick our seats, any preference?”

Ghost nodded “Back, let's go” Before interlocking his hand with Gaz's and walking to the back.Gaz nearly dropped the drinks with how fast his heart rate jumped, silently thanking the low lighting in the cinema as he scrambled after Ghost.

They ended up sitting in the back in the middle of the row. Right in the dark.

And Ghost's warm ungloved hand was still interlocked with Gaz's, but he didn't dare bring it up, should Ghost pull away if it was mentioned.

The movie started, and Ghost was still holding Gaz's hand as Gaz ate the popcorn. “Uhm… are you gonna have any?”

Ghost hesitated, glancing around the theatre. “I was probably not.. but there's no one here, so I actually will.”

He pushed the mask up to his nose, revealing his mouth, and Gaz did his best not to stare at the large scar, instead glancing around the theatre. “Huh we really are alone huh? That's rare. I don't see that happening often”

“Maybe the film you have brought me to is just shit” Ghost demanded through a mouthful of popcorn.

How dare he.

Gaz snorted jokingly whacking Ghost's shoulder “Oi!” He hesitated before deciding to actually make a move on Ghost.

He hoped at least if it fucked their relationship he could sort it out with Ghost and apologize before they got back to base. “Well you know what people do in empty theatres yeah?”

Ghost blinked at him. “No?”

Gaz paused, brain stopping for a second. Was Ghost gently turning him down? It would be better then getting yelled at atleast.

But the Brit looked genuinely confused, all his attention was on Gaz, and his head was cocked to the side. Much like a puppy.

Gaz faltered, some of his bravado gone. “Come on… like back row.. in an empty theatre… It's a whole movie troupe” he gestured awkwardly with his hands.

Ghost blinked at him again. “No. I don't know. I am not one who really watches movies, this is an exception.”

An expectation? Ghost didn't particularly like movies? But made an exception to come with him? Gaz felt his heart melt, but refocused on the fact that Ghost was not catching his drift

. “Oh for crying out loud… Jesus. I'm asking if you want to snog.” Gaz stated bluntly

And Ghost flushed, bright pink, Gaz could only see a little of his face, but it was pink. His mouth fell open, and then opened and closed a few times.

Gaz couldn't believe a look like that was being directed at him, but it was. Ghost finally nodded quickly, still silent, eyes blown wide.

He nodded?

HE NODDED!?

Gaz wanted to squeal in happiness.

Ghost was really going to kiss him. Gaz took a deep breath to steady himself, before leaning forward, connecting their lips.

The larger man tensed but didn't pull back, slowly relaxing into the kiss, with soft groans, as his large hands slowly found their way to Gaz’s waist.

They ended up awkwardly twisting, feet ending against other seats as they moved without breaking the kiss.

But Gaz didn't give a shit.

His world had centered down to the feeling of the warm lips moving against his own. Ghost perfectly slotted against him, filling every hole he didn't know he had.

Although there were other holes Simon could fill, but that could happen later.

The sillyss they are kissingggg

[yearsbecomingcool]

meet the parents | daniel markowitz

donate to gaza here | masterlist

pairing | daniel markowitz x f!reader

synopsis | after 3 months of dating daniel finally introduces you to his parents and invites you to spend the eighth night of hanukkah with his family.

warnings | f!reader, jewish!reader, fluff.

word count | 4.4k

a/n | i wanna give a huge thank you to @kawaii1kitten for reading over this for me to make sure everything was accurate, it meant so much for someone to offer up their time like that and it was greatly appreciated. i got this request back at the end of january but have been incredibly busy since then (21st birthday, trying to get my license, new season of yellowjackets, writing a 7.6k word fic about jason from hell of a summer that you should all read…) but i did also take some time to research hanukkah for this fic. if anything is falsely represented or you think could be portrayed differently please let me know and i can fix any mistakes made! thank you so much for the request and hopefully it came out to your liking. also thank you to @joeloverture as always for reading over this and giving me input!!

taglist | @snazzynacho

You had been dating Danny for three months and somehow still hadn’t met his family, it wasn’t the most unusual thing in the world but you couldn’t help but feel a little suspicious. You would always hang out at your house, never at his. He always made an excuse about a messy room or someone working from home that day and you were beginning to feel a bit fed up with it. Today he was picking you up for a date, a trip to the movies. You heard his horn go off and ran outside, hopping into the passenger seat. You lean over and give him a quick peck, “You look cute today, scruffy, but cute.” You caress his cheek, looking at him lovingly.

He blushes, leaning into your touch like a cat. “So you don’t want me to shave?”

“Not yet…I’ll be generous and give you another week,” you tease, pinching the pale flesh of his cheek between your thumb and forefinger. He giggles and pulls away from you, he backs out of your driveway and starts to head towards the theater. 

You could save your questioning till after the movie, make it easier on both of you, but you’ve never been known to choose the easy route. You decide to come right out with it, “Why haven’t you introduced me to your family yet?”

He coughs nervously, “W-What?”

“Your family. You haven’t introduced me to them at all, you haven’t even brought me over to your house. We always just go to mine. There has to be a reason, so tell me Danny, what is it?”

His face grows hot and he swallows nervously. “I-It just hasn’t been the right time…they’re always busy. Y’know…I just…”

“You hardly talk about any of them besides your grandma, who sounds lovely by the way. But it just feels weird, if you have a bad relationship with them I’ll drop it but I’m just curious about your family. It feels like you’re hiding me from them and vice versa,” you explain.

He sighs, “My parents are just…a lot, okay? They still treat me like I’m a kid, hell my mom still has Life-360 installed on my phone.”

You giggle, “Were you a bad kid in high school or something?”

He laughs, “The furthest from it actually. I hardly went out, never went to parties, never did drugs. I was a good kid, my parents just…they’re intense and I know they care but they don’t really treat me like an adult yet. I didn’t want to scare you away or have you think I’m some Norman Bates mommy’s boy, I just want you to like me.”

“I already like you, dork. Do you think I’d be going out with you for three months if I didn’t like you? I’m certainly not dating you for your car.”

“But you could be dating me for my money,” he jokes.

“I’m practically your sugar mommy, mr. unemployed, I don’t wanna hear it.” 

“Okay…okay, I get it, you do actually like me. But are you sure you wanna meet my parents?”

“Yes! C’mon, let them get the embarrassing stage out of the way already. I’ll come over and bring them some nice wine and nod politely while they show me baby pictures and tell me embarrassing stories about you from your childhood. Doesn’t that sound nice?” You’re trying your hardest to convince him.

“It sounds better without them embarrassing me but I guess it could be worse…why don’t you come over for the final night of Hanukkah, it’s the one day this week where both my parents are off work so they won’t be super stressed or anything. We’re doing it at my grandmas so you’ll get to meet her too,” he suggests, finally giving in.

“I finally get to meet the famous Thelma Post you’ve been telling me about!” You celebrate.

“I’ve told her all about you too, she’s been asking when she can meet you.” He starts to poorly imitate his grandma, “Danny I’ll have one foot in the grave before you bring her over to see me!” You both burst into laughter at his imitation. “Don’t tell her I did that…please…”

You hold your pinky up, “Pinky promise.”

It’s the eighth day of Hanukkah and Daniel had come over to your place to help you cook, he insisted that you didn’t need to bring anything but you were determined to make a good impression. He’d been here for a few hours helping you make sufganiyot, normally his mom would make some but she was more than happy to leave that task up to you once you’d offered. You’d already made the filing the night before, letting it sit in the fridge for a few hours. Danny had been eyeing it as soon as he saw it in the fridge. Once you were done preparing the sufganiyot you’d piped some onto his finger, letting him finally have a taste. He sucks the cream off his finger and moans at the taste, “Fuck this is good. My mom is gonna have one bite of this and ask when I’m putting a ring on your finger, I swear.” 

“And what are you gonna tell her?” You tease, placing a hand on the counter and leaning against it, trying to look seductive.

“That I need an actual job before I can even think of walking into a jewelry store.” 

You roll your eyes and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into him to give you a soft kiss. He looks a bit silly, wearing the apron you’d bought him when you’d gone grocery shopping the other day. It had a stupid little slogan that made you cringe on it and you knew it’d be perfect for him. When he’d arrived you held it up for him and he rolled his eyes. “For me?” He teases, holding his hand up to his mouth. You smacked him with a dish towel. 

While you went to get cleaned up and changed for the party Danny lounged on the small couch in your living room, flicking through the channels. He was grateful the SY-FY channel was still playing shitty horror movies this time of year. He’d gotten about halfway through Sharknado when you came out into the living room ready to go. You’d done natural makeup, some soft smoked out eyeliner and some lip gloss. You were dressed casual but cute, wearing a dark blue sweater and some black jeans. Danny sits up from the couch and smiles as his eyes rake over you, “You look great.”

“You’re so sweet to me, Danny. C’mere.” You outstretch your hand to him, pulling him up from the couch and into your arms to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. He grabs the wine off the counter and you grab your tray of sufganiyot and he opens the front door for you, locking it up before opening the passenger door for you. As you sit in the car on the way to his grandma's condo your knee bounces up and down, a nervous tick that you’ve had for years. Danny notices and places his hand on your thigh.

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise. I should be freaking out more than you, I have no idea what  embarrassing shit they’re gonna tell you tonight!” 

“I really hope they have a whole scrapbook for me to look at. I wanna see every embarrassing school photo, your awkward prom pictures, your cute little baby pictures.”

He groans, “Your parents didn’t show me any of that for you though!”

You laugh, “Uh yeah because I told them I’d never come back home again if they did.”

“You’re mean.”

“I’m not mean…I just know how to get what I want.”

He narrows his eyes but keeps them on the road, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your hands are trembling when you get to his grandma's condo, you knew you’d be nervous you just didn’t know you’d be this nervous. “Do you think they’ll like me?”

He chuckles and parks the car, “They’ll love you. You have your shit together, you’re beautiful, you’ve helped me get my shit together I’m pretty sure that’s everything they want in a woman for me.” 

“And if they somehow don’t like me?”

“Then I’m staying with you anyway, I don’t care what they think. I know they’re gonna love you and I know for a fact that my grandma is gonna love you. Before the night is over she’ll be shoving her phone in my hand and demanding I friend you on Facebook for her.” He smiles at you like you’re the only girl he’s ever loved, he means every word he says, he’s not just trying to make you feel better.

“The only approval I need is yours and Thelmas.” He laughs at your joke and leans across the console to kiss you. He cups your face gently. When you pull away he’s smiling like a schoolboy.

Your face contorts in confusion, “What?”

“I just…” He runs his hand through his hair, “I really like you. I’m happy we’re doing this.”

You feel like a lovesick teenager, “Me too.”

Daniel goes around and opens your door, bowing his head as you step out of the car. “You’re such a nerd, you know that, right?”

He smiles at you playfully, “Are you gonna bully me in front of my parents? I don’t think they’ll like that too much. My grandma especially won’t.” 

“Well shit I can’t let Thelma down…”

“Exactly, so be nice!” He kisses your cheek and leads you to the door. He knocks quickly before wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You rest your head against his shoulder as you wait for his parents to open the door. You hear rustling and suddenly the door opens. His mom is standing there with a huge smile on her face. At first glance she doesn’t look much like him, she’s got dark brown hair cut into a neat bob and light green eyes. When she smiles that’s when you see the resemblance. Her tortoiseshell glasses pair nicely with her tan sweater and brown pants. 

“It’s so good to see you two! Come in, come in!” She exclaims, moving aside for the two of you to come in. You follow Daniel inside and kick off your shoes by the door before going into the kitchen to put your sufganiyot down on the counter. There’s already a few dishes sitting out and ready to go. Latkes with a small dish of sour cream sat next to them, fried bimuelos with honey drizzled over top, and some brisket. His mom, Gail, hugs you like she’s known you her whole life. 

“Danny has told us so much about you, I was wondering when he would finally introduce you,” she says, nudging him playfully with her elbow. He looks down at the floor bashfully.

“I guess I didn’t realize everyone was so…eager to meet.”

“Well with how you talked about her we all wanted to finally see the lovely girl. How are you?” His father, Alan, comes up behind Danny and outstretches his hand to you. You shake his hand and smile politely. 

“I’m great, Danny takes the best care of me. You’ve raised a wonderful son.”

Daniel looks down blushing again, he does this every time you praise him. It’s something he’ll never get used to. 

You take a second to look around the room, her kitchen reminds you so much of your grandma’s house. The only word you can think of for it is cozy. She has an array of plants all over the kitchen, some are sat on the windowsill above the sink. A few of the bigger ones sit on a white metal shelf populated by some cutesy glassware and a couple cookbooks. You feel right at home. You grab the wine from Daniel and present it to his parents, “I wasn’t sure what kind you would like so I hope this is okay.”

They take the bottle and inspect it, “It’s perfect.”

His parents thank you and bring you into the small tv nook where Thelma is sitting comfortably on the family's couch. You marvel at the collection of books she’s collected over her lifetime. They sit cozily on her built-in shelves, a modest CRT TV sits at the center. On each side of the couch sits more bookshelves. You can imagine yourself curled up on her orange and white pinstripe couch spending your days working through her collection.  “Grandma, there’s someone I’d like for you to meet.” She turns and smiles as she sees you. She’s quick to get to her feet, walking towards you happily. “Oh honey! Finally! I thought we’d never get to meet at this rate, ah, look at you! Danny you’ve always had good taste but she’s got to be my favorite! Oh just look at her, Danny you make such a cute couple.” Now it’s your turn to blush as Thelma gushes over you. She holds your hands in hers and smiles at you warmly.

“You’re too kind…Danny has said so much about you. I think he’s been hiding me away so I don’t become your new best friend,” you joke, helping Daniel lead her to the front of the house. The house is set up a bit strangely, her main living room is quite spacious, and a bar sits behind one of the floral couches. It’s unused, now displaying various family photos. There’s even more books on more beautiful shelves, you wonder if she’s read them all.

Thelma playfully swats at Daniel's arm, “Have you been hiding her? I always could do with more friends. You know that, Danny.” You admire their menorah as it sits on a white tray on a small table in front of the window, it’s a beautiful gold color, made of brass. It was his parents' wedding gift. A blue table runner sits beneath it.

He giggles, “Can you blame me for wanting to keep her to myself?” The three of you stand together, his parents on either side. 

You watch as his father loads the candles, their matchbook sits on the tray next to the menorah. You watch as his father strikes the match and lights the shamash and begins to recite the blessings. “Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah. Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, she’asah nisim l’avoteinu, b’yamim haheim bazman hazeh.” Once he’s finished reciting the blessings he lights each candle from left to right and puts the shamash at its place in the center. It makes you think of past Hanukkah celebrations you’d spent with your family, it’s the first year you’re not spending it with them. You have a feeling you can convince Daniel to come to yours next year.

You all head to the kitchen and grab a plate and start to grab your food, you load your plate up happily.

Daniel pours you each a glass of wine, Thelma has water instead. The table is small which makes things a bit cramped but you make it work, you and Daniel sitting close enough that your elbows knock occasionally.

“Was your family alright with you missing out on celebrating with them this year?” Thelma asks as she sips from her glass.

“They understood, they’d like Danny to come to ours next year for a night. They really loved him when they met him.” Daniel squeezes your hand softly.

“Oh of course! Maybe we could all get together next year, have a little party!” She suggests.

“That sounds perfect. I’m sure they’d love to.” 

As you begin to dig into your food you look over at Gail with a sly smirk. “So…what was Danny like as a kid?”Daniel chokes on his wine, his eyes going wide. He didn’t expect you to start asking about this as soon as dinner started.

Gail smiles knowingly at Daniel, she knows just how badly she’s about to embarrass him and she’s going to cherish this moment for as long as it lasts. “Oh he was just precious. Such a sweet smiley little boy,” she takes a sip of her wine, “but he was so shy. I remember on his first day of Kindergarten he was so scared, he wouldn’t let go of my leg. Poor thing…”

“Aww Danny…I was a shy kid too. Maybe not that shy but it took me a while to grow out of it. I remember sitting at a table with a group of other shy kids in English class and we were all supposed to do some project together and I had to pull myself out of my shell for it because none of them wanted to,” you laugh.

“That sounds like Danny. Y’know there was this shy boy in his class when he was younger,” she turns to face Daniel, “Wendy Horowitz’ son, do you remember him?”

Daniel nods. He has no clue who she’s talking about.

“Anyway, he got hooked on Don Julio and he’s been in and out of rehabs ever since. Always made me worried for Danny, you never know what the quiet ones are doing…”

“Well I don’t drink much, I’ll have one if I go out somewhere nice for dinner, but I’m usually the designated driver. Danny doesn’t really have much when we go out either.”

Gail rubs Daniel on the shoulder, “Oh you’re cutting back on the drinking? Good, see Alan she’s already a good influence, only 3 months in!”

Alan smiles, “You did get him to throw out that ratty old cardigan too.”

“There were too many holes for it to be considered wearable at that point. I bought him a nice new one to replace it.”

Daniel blushes, “The new one is softer…”

“He’s always worn his clothes till they were falling apart…I’d always fix them up so he could wear his favorites a bit longer,” Thelma says.

Daniel looks at her with nothing but love in his eyes and smiles,”And thank you for that. You’re why most of my favorite sweaters are still around.” 

Gail chuckles, a memory surfacing. “Do you remember that phase you had where you would only wear your Spider-Man costume? You were like what…six? You wore it everywhere! I remember you even demanded you wear it to school under your clothes.” Daniel's face turns bright red as the rest of you giggle.

“I uh, I think I do remember that,” he scratches the back of his neck nervously.

“That’s cute. I think I did the same with some princess dress my mom had got me.” As fun as it is to watch him squirm with embarrassment you still don’t want him to get too embarrassed. 

The rest of dinner is spent with Gail telling childhood stories about Daniel, most are just cute instead of embarrassing but once dinner is wrapped up is when the embarrassment really starts. Thelma is quick to lead you to her array of childhood photos of Daniel she has on display. You pick up each one, inspecting them closely as he looms over your shoulder, face bright red with embarrassment. “Do you really have to show her the middle school ones? Those are just…they’re bad…” He groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Oh but Danny you were so cute! Wasn’t he?” Thelma asks, turning towards you.

You giggle and smile, “The cutest.”

“See! Not embarrassing!” 

Daniel groans and puts his hands over your eyes, he leans down to whisper in your ear, “I think you’ve seen enough.” It’s playful and cute. You giggle and lean back against him.

“I think I wanna see more actually-”

He’s quick to cover your mouth with one of his hands, “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. That wine must’ve been strong, right baby?” He moves his hand from your eyes to your chin, maneuvering your head to make you nod. “See? She’s all good on childhood pictures now, Grandma.”

You lick his palm and he yelps, pulling his hand away. “Don’t listen to him! Show me the worst ones!”

Thelma is doubling over in laughter at the two of you, it reminds her of when she had met her husband. “Oh I’ve got more, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” She heads over to the bookcase to start looking for her photo albums. 

Daniel leans down to whisper in your ear so softly that no one else can hear, “You’re so getting it later. You hear me?”

You giggle, “I’m sure I am, Danny…” He loves to talk a big game but hardly ever follows through. You know it’ll end in giggles and a makeout session on your couch. 

He helps Thelma bring over the photo albums, setting them down onto the coffee table before taking a seat next to you. “You better be nice to me about these.”

“Danny how bad could they be? Don’t be so dramatic, we were all dorky when we were younger.” You rub his shoulder comfortingly. You lean against his arm as he opens the first one. The first page is his mom holding him in the hospital, his tiny footprints next to the photo make you tear up a bit.

Thelma tells a small story with each photo, “He was such a smiley baby. The happiest in the family. I remember Gail called me one time to ask if it was normal for a baby to be so happy all the time,” she laughs, “she’s always been such a worrier…”

“You were adorable Danny, your smile is the same now y’know.”

He leans his head against yours, “Some things never change I guess.”

“I’m glad you’ve still got that sweet smile and all those beauty marks.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead as you continue to look through the photo albums. His face heats up with embarrassment as they reach the elementary school photos. He’s wearing silly graphic tees and missing teeth, new ones growing back into place. There’s photos of him playing video games, kindergarten and 5th grade graduations. Photos of him with childhood friends and peers, most of the names he can’t remember but he has a story for almost all of them. “He had a pet lizard! I begged my parents, and Grandma of course,” he nudges Thelma with his elbow, “for one too. But when I actually went over to his house and saw it in person it scared me so bad I never asked for another pet again!”

“What kind of lizard was it?” You ask curiously. 

“A bearded one, like that dinosaur in Jurassic Park that ate Nedry.”

Your eyes light up, “Ah! I can see why you’d be terrified now.”

He blushes bright red with embarrassment once the middle school pictures start coming up, awkward phases, bad haircuts, and plenty of embarrassing stories. It’s an awful time for everyone but it seemed particularly cringe inducing for Daniel. You and Thelma stifle laughter as he tries to defend his magician phase with his life.

“The girls were into it I swear!”

“Thelma, did you tell him that to make him feel better?” You ask, leaning forward to see her.

“I think I did…”

Daniel dramatically scoffs, feigning offense at her confession.

“Did you like try to pull a flower out from behind a girl's ear?” You joke.

His cheeks turn pink, “I-I…no…”

He’s a little less defensive over his high school photos, you can see him finding his style in every photo. He’s switched out his silly graphic tees for band t-shirts and cardigans, his cargo shorts for skinny jeans. It’s interesting to watch him figure out who he is through photos. You smile at the photos of him at concerts on his tiptoes trying to peer over the shoulders of the people in front of him. There’s ticket stubs from his favorites glued down next to the photos of him at each one. You can tell you would’ve been friends in high school, probably more considering how you ended up. He was your type to a tee. You could imagine asking him out to see whatever indie movie was playing at your local theatre, him slipping his headphones on you in a diner afterwards to show you his new favorite band. You feel a pang of sadness that you didn’t know him back then. You’re grateful to have him now. You cuddle up a bit closer to him as he gets to the final picture, it’s him on graduation day. His hair was grown out and combed back under his graduation cap. His favorite is the shot of Thelma and him together. He has his arm slung over his shoulder as he holds her close.

“Why don’t we take one of you two to add to the album?” Thelma suggests.

You smile and look at Daniel, trying to see how he feels. He’s smiling just as big as you are and he nods, getting up from the couch. “Where’s the camera?”

“It’s in my office on my desk, right by the computer,” Thelma explains. Once he’s walked off to retrieve the camera she leans close to you, taking your hand in hers. “You’re my favorite of the girls he’s ever brought over. Thank you for being so good to him…I think you’re what he needs.”

You feel tears begin to well up in your eyes, your lip quivering. You reach up to wipe your tears and nod, “I think he’s what I need to.” Thelma leans forward and hugs you tight, you pull away with Daniel comes back with the camera.

“Should I call dad to come take it?” He asks Thelma.

“Oh no, dear. This is the one technology I know how to use!” She gets up from the couch and takes the camera from Daniel, directing him to sit next to you. She continues directing the two of you, telling you how to pose. “Danny at least try to look like you love her! You’re so stiff!”

He chuckles and tries to relax, pulling you closer to him. You’re leaned against him, your head on his shoulder as he holds you close. You glance up at him for a second and hear the camera go off. “Oh, I wasn’t ready!”

Thelma smiles down at the photo, turning the camera back around for the two of you to look. It’s instantly your new favorite photo of the two of you. You’re cuddled up, gazing into each other's eyes. “I think it’s perfect, dear.”

[nijigasakilove]

Truly tale of two halves episode.. beautiful opening showing everything from Luke’s perspective including his burgeoning feelings for Natsuko. Luke had lost his purpose and his reason for fighting until Natsuko showed up reminding him of how much good he’d done. It’s no wonder he was an asshole to her given all he’d seen prior to her coming. I think the double entendre of the episode title is that she’s his hero as much as he’s the world’s.

“I could watch her all the time, I find my eyes following her, I get anxious when she’s not around. I can’t stop thinking about her fuckckckgigk he’s so cute!! Him being a cute boywife and making her favourite breakfast before she wakes up and fixing her hair up, ahh I love it. Episode would’ve been perfect if it was just that the entire time, but sadly wasn’t to be..

“Make sure we get a happy ending ok. I know you can change the future” FUCK MAN WHY?! Why QJ?? Literally the only person who knows the burden Natsuko been carrying and someone who’s always supported her.. why MAPPA WHY!!? If there’s any consolation from this it’s that the future isn’t written in stone.

Already things have drastically changed from the OG movie. Mem is alive, Umio alive, Destiny and Luke aren’t a thing.. natsuko exists, so there’s clearly some things that can be changed.. but I’m also worried about Natsuko’s drawings showing up as voids. It’s almost as if the world is trying to correct an error and throwing stronger voids at them to kill the people meant to die. QJ’s sacrifice may be a catalyst for a different timeline though.

This one hurts 😔

[sunschay]

Seduction and Passion Duplicated twice. ||

Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanoff! x Fem!Reader.

In which you are the new member of the Avengers, Thor's younger sister and Tony's favorite person, and where Natasha and Wanda are completely in love with you and want to get your attention at all costs.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, light blood, spicy.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader x Natasha Romanoff.

Word count: 3,358 words

There was a brief silence behind the communication devices before more gunshots filled the air, bullet casings flying through the air and joining small shards of glass on the ground. She stepped behind them, picking one up with one hand and slamming the head into his nose, knocking him down for good and watching hot blood splatter across his face. 

“I caught one! Expunged, Stark.” Y/n said next, seeing the man fallen with his rifle over his chest. 

She ran with her body bent behind the counters, hearing deep male voices shouting something in Russian and she kicked one of them from behind, knocking him down as she stole his own gun and hit him in the head with the barrel. Y/n groaned as she felt a thick black cable wrap around her neck from behind, kicking the back of her knees and sending her falling to her knees on the cold floor. 

“Odinson! Where's the rest of them?” She heard Stark's voice through the small device in her ear and growled, feeling the man's grip tighten, the cable starting to burn into her neck. 

“Just a m-moment, I'm having technical problems.” She sighed, hearing the sound of shock nearby and felt the cable fall from her neck, the man being knocked down and taking another shock between the legs. 

She looked up, finding a pair of bright green eyes and red hair appearing in her vision. She sighed deeply, grabbing Natasha's hand and slowly getting up from the ground. She stared at her for a moment, parting her lips to say something when she saw a man being thrown into one of the building's windows, the red light of Wanda's magic appearing in the background, her hands in the air. 

“Thanks, Romanoff.” She thanked him quietly, watching Natasha's lips curve into a half smile and Tony appeared in his armor. 

“The area is completely clear. Come on, mission successful.” Stark stated, earning a nod from Y/n who looked between the two women, who were already staring at each other. 

[...]

Y/n stepped out of the elevator, her eyes shifting between the group of Avengers in the center of the room, and then she removed some shrapnel from her injured arms with tweezers, well accustomed to the pain. The mission had succeeded, those arms dealers had dealt with their own fates, and every clandestine weapon had been recovered by Tony and taken to a decent armory. 

“Mission report. Weapons recovered, all enemies surrendered and eliminated one by one.” Steve announced calmly, calmly cleaning his shield. 

“Well, the day ended well anyway. Have a good night everyone.” Thor announced, heading to his room as did Steve, Bruce and Clint.

“Are you guys hungry? I was thinking about pizza or something alike.” Tony suggested, looking between the three women intently. 

“We know your "pizza" is Pepper, Tony. But I appreciate it, I'm not hungry, I just need a shower and bed, what do you think about a movie?” Tony rolled his eyes, throwing a pillow at the girl, who just dodged it. “I still prefer my pizza, good night girls.”

“I think the movie is a good idea.” Wanda said shyly, her cheeks a little flushed and Odinson nodded, looking at Natasha. 

“I would like a movie but I'm getting sleepy, I hope you enjoy yourself. Have a good night.” Romanoff said, giving a toothless smile before disappearing into the hallways with Tony. 

“So what would we watch?” Wanda asked, pressing her lips together, her eyes deeply fixed on Y/n's every move. 

“Oh well, we can still discuss that. I just need a quick shower, okay?” She asked, raising her blood-stained hands and Wanda nodded calmly. “Sure, no rush.”

Y/n gave a small smile, waving before disappearing into the corridors towards her room inside the tower. Wanda knew perfectly well that Natasha was jealous of the Odinson girl, because they both wanted her attention and affection, so Natasha just preferred at that moment not to be too close to the two of them so as not to increase her jealousy attacks even more. But she would love to be there, if Wanda wasn't there, because Natasha would love to be close to the woman who consumed her thoughts and even her dreams. 

Y/n looked at her rusty sword stored inside a long glass cabinet, her chest rising and falling with regret. Her powers were weakened and using the sword that attributed her power to it would not change the fact that Y/n felt lost and exhausted. Thor had the thunder and lightning in his hands to control as much as he wanted along with his ultra-heavy hammer, but only Y/n knew that controlling fire was completely different. Only someone worthy and deserving of the flames could dominate them.

She came out of her shower after a few minutes, wearing a long plain gray shirt and some thin shorts, rubbing the towel on her head to try to dry her hair. Her body was crying out for rest, but she still wanted to be close to Wanda before the dream took her away. 

Yes, Wanda. Although her feelings were mixed between Maximoff and Romanoff, Y/n knew and understood perfectly that she was attracted to both redheads and she needed each of them. 

“Hey, you. Choosing the movie already?” Y/n asked with a slight smile as she found Wanda sitting in the living room. 

The room was dimly lit, the lights off, only the soft light of the television on to illuminate the little path of Odin's daughter. Wanda was sitting on the main spacious gray sofa, even in the dim light her pale face could be seen, her hair was tied in a messy bun, she was wearing thin shorts and a tight pink blouse, leaving her collarbone exposed to Y/n's imagination. She immediately smiled when she recognized the other Avenger, looking away from the television as she held the remote between her fingers. 

“I'm actually so undecided that I'd like to hear your opinion.” Wanda explained, a quick smile appearing on her lips as Y/n sat down next to her. 

She discreetly inhaled Thor's sister's scent, her legs closing and her thighs rubbing against each other slowly. Wanda bit her lip, trying to ignore the strangely warm sensation that crept through her body, her cheeks heating up with a certain shyness. She offered the remote to the Avenger who took it and began to scroll through the movie pages. 

“Oh well, do you like war and action movies? Because honestly this one came out recently and I was really looking forward to watching it.” Y/n pointed at the screen, the cover of a movie with soldiers and tanks catching Wanda’s attention.

“Sure, action movies are really great. Let’s go!” Maximoff nodded, biting her lip again.

To tell the truth, she hated action or war movies. She would definitely like science fiction or romance movies, but she wouldn’t say that out loud. Wanda wanted to impress and be as close to Odinson as possible. Her scent was making her ecstatic, her body still heating up, her eyes fixed on every little detail of her face.

The movie started, the opening scenes showing a completely destroyed place, in the corner of the screen informing that it was somewhere in Germany. Y/n snuggled into the couch, her arm draping over it, close to Wanda's head, who was still drawn to her, her body shivering even though she was so close.

The movie continued, the minutes passing and showing several injured soldiers being carried back to their base. Y/n wet her pink lips, her attention diverting to Wanda who was embarrassed to be caught staring at her like an obsessive maniac.

"Oh well, I think I'll make some buttered popcorn. Okay?" The older girl asked, earning a quick nod from the redhead who settled herself on the couch, pulling blankets up over her thighs.

“No problem, do you need any help?” Wanda offered, licking her lips calmly.

“I would love to, I was thinking of making some chocolate syrup anyway. Help is always welcome.” Y/n nodded, smiling back at Wanda who stood up and followed her.

The two entered the huge, luxurious kitchen, a little settling in for a moment while Y/n grabbed a pan or two and a bag of popcorn. She turned on the built-in stove, grabbing a spoonful of butter and placing it on the pan, opening the package of corn and throwing some inside.

“I confess I was surprised, I didn't know you had culinary skills.” Wanda commented, grabbing a chocolate bar and handing it to the taller girl.

“Not to break your expectations, Maximoff, but I'm terrible in the kitchen. But in the time I've been here with my brother, I've learned how to do the basics without blowing up the entire kitchen and the tower itself.” She laughed lightly, covering the pot and opening the chocolate wrapper.

“Oh well, but anyway I know you have many other skills. You are the daughter of a Demigod, that says a lot about you.” Wanda whispered, a slight smile on her face which Y/n returned.

“I’m going to be showing off.” She joked, placing the bar inside the pan and adjusting the temperature to melt.

“Strawberries with chocolate sauce, how about it?” Wanda picked up a closed jar of strawberries, earning a positive nod from Y/n who watched the small corn pop inside the pan.

“Great idea, Wanda. Just a minute, we can eat them with the chocolate sauce when it cools.” She said, watching the first corn turn into popcorn.

Wanda nodded, resting her hands on the counter as she watched Y/n take care of everything. The Scarlet Witch never thought she would find someone cooking so sexy until she saw this scene. Y/n turned off the stove, seeing the pot full of popcorn and opened the lid, adding a pinch of salt and shaking it slightly before transferring the contents to a larger bowl.

“Popcorn is ready, now all that’s left is our grand finale.” She smiled proudly, stirring the chocolate with a long spoon and after a few minutes turned off the stove completely.

Y/n moistened her lips, touching the tip of the spoon with her thumb and put it in her mouth, feeling the sweet taste of the smooth cocoa. She sighed, running her finger over the spoon again and leaned in, a playful smile on her lips.

“Time to taste and give your opinion, Miss Maximoff.” She brought her chocolate-stained fingers closer to Wanda's face, who gave a light giggle and came closer.

The Odinson girl was surprised when Wanda gently licked the tip of her finger, tasting the chocolate. Y/n bit her lip lightly, a shiver going up her spine when Wanda wrapped half of her thumb inside her mouth, sucking her finger slowly, her green eyes turning dark.

“It looks really delicious, Miss Odinson.” She commented as she pulled her lips away, her eyes staring at Y/n's lips without any shame.

“I'm glad to hear that.” Y/n said almost in a trance, laughing mentally at her own reaction.

She transferred the syrup to a container, seeing that it was warmer and looked at Wanda, breathing heavily when she felt the Maximoff girl even closer to her. A sigh left her lips, feeling Wanda's light breathing and sweet scent getting closer and closer to her.

“Wanda... the movie is playing.” Y/n warned calmly.

“Maybe the movie can wait until we taste the main course.” Maximoff replied, the double meaning in her sentence making Odinson's skin heat up.

Y/n's lips slowly parted, almost forming a mere smile, the way Wanda looked at her almost making the woman faint from how intimidating Maximoff's gaze could be. The taller woman broke the small space between them, her hand touching the side of Wanda's neck, moving away a loose strand of hair lost in her hairstyle and brushed her lips over theirs, making Wanda hold her breath.

When Y/n's lips touched Wanda's she almost let out a small moan, it was inexplicable. Intense. The softness she had on her lips was even better than a bed made entirely of cotton, so warm and so simply addictive. Wanda parted her lips, returning the kiss as best she could, her anxious hand grabbing one of the other girl's shoulders.

Fuck the movie, Y/n thought, there are more important things right now... and it certainly isn't the popcorn or the chocolate syrup.

Wanda let out a soft moan as Y/n's firm hands gripped her thin waist, her tongue nimbly wrapping around the scarlet witch's with a slow, enveloping rhythm. She kissed her back, her fingers running down the back of Y/n's neck to one of her arms, her nails scratching her warm skin, a heavy sigh coming from the girl daughter of Odin.

A gasp of surprise escaped the sorceress's throat as her back hit the pure marble counter, her eyes rolling back as hands grabbed her thighs and brought her up onto the counter, the cold texture on her body making her shiver.

“Y/n!” Wanda exclaimed, her voice cracking and weak. “I really think you can do more than just cast magic with those hands, little witch.”

The witch parted her lips for a second, her words failing her when she was simply silenced by Y/n's lips again. The slow, deep kiss made her moan and sigh, her hands entering the taller woman's shirt, her nails slowly scratching her stomach and ribs, feeling how goosebumps she had gotten from the act.

Wanda's back arched against the cold wall behind her as she felt Y/n's hand slip inside her thin shirt, slowly moving up and down a few times. She felt the girl bite and lick her lower lip, the taste of blood making Wanda let out another moan as she felt the warm hand reaching for her bra and the fingers ready to undo the strap.

“And I’m sure I can do things with you that you never thought were possible in the world.” Y/n whispered, her warm lips kissing Wanda’s neck all over.

The noise of something being placed on the wooden table caught the attention of the two Avengers, who, somewhat confused, saw that they had been caught. Y/n slowly turned her face, seeing Natasha pour more wine into her glass, licking her lips slowly, the friendliest expression in the world planted on her fucking beautiful face. What the fuck, was she there the whole time!?

“I am a mere illusion of reality, carry on.” She hummed, lightly shaking her wine glass, her lips stained.

“We were watching a movie, if you want to join, make yourself at home.” Odinson whispered, passing by Natasha who almost devoured her with her gaze.

Y/n held back a laugh, watching Wanda's completely flushed face and shook her head slightly. She couldn't believe that Natasha had simply seen everything and was acting naturally, she must have liked what she saw, maybe? Y/n bit her lip at the thought, picking up the bucket of popcorn and signaling to Wanda.

Y/n felt a shiver down her spine, a warm sensation spreading through her body and returned to the room with Wanda and Natasha. She sat in the middle, watching each of them join her, sitting on either side of her. Y/n tried to focus her face on the movie in front of her, hearing the booms of cannons coming from the screen and sighed, her eyes accidentally falling on the neckline of Natasha's blouse. God, her breasts must be huge.

A silence fell between the three women, and Y/n tried to pretend she hadn't noticed Natasha's intense, burning gaze on her face.

“What is this movie about?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, slowly eating some popcorn.

“Oh, um, it's about war and conflicts between formerly allied countries.” The taller of the two replied, seeing Wanda's giggle at the corner of her lips. Why was she finding this amusing anyway?

“Do you like conflict, Odinson?” Romanoff asked amusedly, her eyes trailing down her body shamelessly for a moment.

“Not always.” She replied, drawing an uncharacteristic laugh from Natasha.

She remained as focused on the movie as possible, discreetly alternating her gaze between Natasha who was still drinking her wine and eating popcorn, and Wanda who was a little curled up on the couch, her legs strangely crossed. Y/n licked her lips, watching as Wanda leaned over, offering a strawberry covered in now cold chocolate sauce, and Y/n bit into it slowly, watching Wanda run her thumb across the corner of her mouth to clean off the rest of the chocolate.

Dammit, she knows how to tease.

Wanda gave another discreet giggle, focusing her attention on the movie like the rest of the others. The movie continued to roll over the ground, already close to the end, and Y/n slowly stretched, trying to stretch her arms and placed the empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table in the living room. She turned her head to the side, seeing Wanda lying on the other side of the couch, sleeping peacefully. She gave a slight smile, picking up the blanket and slowly covering her.

“You have a surprising romanticism.” She heard Natasha say, her voice slightly hoarse and sleepy.

Y/n shook her head with a small laugh, placing the also empty chocolate syrup jar inside the other one, taking the remote control in her hands and turning off the television, leaving the room even darker.

“I'm not romantic, I'm just trying to make my teammate comfortable.” Y/n said, giving a playful wink as she took the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

She calmly washed each dish and dirty pan, drying them and putting them away in their proper place, taking off her shirt and remaining in her shorts and sports bra. There was practically no one there and she just felt comfortable like this anyway.

“Hey, are you okay? Looks like the wine didn't agree with you, Romanoff.” Y/n finished drying her hands, turning to look at her.

Natasha was leaning against the sink on her side, her hands gripping the marble edge tightly. Her hair was slightly disheveled, a small red mess, her face was flushed and she looked...a little warm? It got hot inside the tower and Y/n didn't even notice it.

“I'm perfectly fine, Odinson.” She replied quietly, her voice still cracking and her eyes dilated, and then cornered Y/n with her hands still gripping the sink in front of her. “What's the game between you and Maximoff?”

“There is no game, Nat.” Y/n replied, breathing heavily as Natasha leaned in and placed her face in her neck.

“I know there's some game going on, she attracts you, you attract her to you. But you attracted me before I attracted you. Now you're playing dirty with me.” Natasha whispered, looking deeply into her eyes before moving even closer and sucking on Y/n's earlobe, biting lightly.

“Fuck, Nat, you're the one playing dirty with me.” Odinson murmured hoarsely, her body burning with the feeling of Natasha's mouth on her skin, watching her smile slowly and pull her closer.

“Then play with me.” Romanoff whispered, warm fingers touching Y/n's chin before moving closer to her lips.

Y/n groaned at the intensity of the kiss. This kiss itself was nothing compared to Wanda's, they had started slowly and calmly and Wanda seemed to be as patient and unhurried as she was. Natasha didn't, her skin was burning, she felt how much she needed her, Y/n could taste blood at some point due to the rough kiss, the feeling of Natasha's hands, her nails on the back of her neck making her moan deeply.

Natasha moaned loudly when she felt Y/n's hands on her ass, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh between her nimble fingers before slapping her nearly exposed buttocks. She cornered her, pressing her back even further into the cold marble of the sink.

“You are not behaving well, lyubov.” Natasha whispered, the Russian accent making Y/n's hair stand on end as she felt the redhead suck on her tongue and drag her nails across her chin, scratching slowly.

“I wasn't meant to be tamed, Romanoff. Deal with it.” She replied, returning the wet, rough kiss again.

Y/n gave a frustrated groan as Natasha pulled her lips away from her, her nails scratching the back of her neck and pulling her back, exposing her pale neck. Romanoff moved closer, running the tip of her tongue over her skin, making Y/n grunt and moan hoarsely, her eyes closing tightly as she bit her, giving her an intense hickey.

“I'm not sure if Maximoff will like seeing this, but the game is beginning. Good evening, Odinson.” Natasha took a step back, walking away with a smile.

Shit. Y/n groaned in frustration as she walked away, quickly disappearing down the halls to her room before he could reach her, leaving her aroused and alone there.

*Lyubov: From Russian, means “Love”.

Author's Note:

This is so hot, I'm going to need another cold shower after this, lol.

[tiddiewitch]

Second Chances - Ch. 1

Description: Agathario AU / Wagatha

Warnings: Death, miscarriage, drinking? I don't think anything else yet

Notes: So since @captain-raffi asked, I've decided to post the first chapter of the fic I've been working on. I don't really write, but for some reason this invaded my brain and I saw the whole thing like a movie and just had to get it out. It's looking like it'll be several chapters so strap in, or on ;) (eventually)

Chapter 1: 0

It wasn’t the alarm that woke Agatha that morning, but the impending sense of doom. Today was the day; her birthday. Among the usual angst of aging, unwanted recognition from friends and colleagues, and an obligatory dinner with her mother, she was particularly woeful about this milestone. She had told herself this was it. The last shot at creating the family that she and Wanda had always dreamed about. 

They met early in college when Agatha’s roommate Jen brought her home from a sorority function. The two girls had stumbled in and began cooking loudly in the kitchen, waking her. She stormed so fiercely out of her room that night the door handle created a dent in the wall behind it. She raged into the kitchen already screaming at Jen for waking her when she had an 8am exam the next day before realizing there was another person in the kitchen. Wanda popped up from behind the refrigerator door eating one of her cheese sticks. Giggling, she apologized for their disturbance and offered to replace the food she had been eating. Enraged, Agatha screeched and stormed back off to her room to have a fitful night’s sleep. After that evening, as Jen continued to bring Wanda over, she would bring a bag of cheese sticks for Agatha, every now and again, as an apology for their first interaction. 

Despite this act of kindness Agatha did her best to avoid them both whenever Wanda was over. Until one night when she and her friend Ralph brought over dinner for all of them. Wanda had managed to break down a few walls Agatha had built and even made her laugh as she poked fun at Jen. After that night Agatha began to look forward to each time Wanda would visit, ensuring she always looked her best. Half the time she would bring Ralph and the three of them would wreak havoc throughout their campus in one drunken escapade or another. Before she knew it she had fallen for this kind, bubbly, passionate, brilliant woman. She was surprised to find Wanda had similar feelings and they endeavored in a relationship that survived grad school and eventually led to marriage. 

Their life together had been one adventure after another. They bought a small cottage near Wanda’s hometown. Agatha worked downtown as a financial advisor while Wanda was either researching or off on another expedition. They thrived in their fields as they challenged each other’s success. It was blissful, happy, and full of love, yet doomed not to last.

Wanda had disappeared almost 7 years ago now, off on another one of her archeological expeditions. She was brilliant, reckless, and passionate about her studies. It’s what drew Agatha to her in the first place. They way she would babble on and on about ancient goddesses and fertility rituals whose practices were nearly lost to time if it weren’t for the work she was doing. This time, while exploring a series of caverns, her team lost contact with her. They had sent rescue teams down immediately but were unable to locate her. It was weeks of searching before they decided to call. 

“I don’t know how to tell you this Agatha…” said the voice on the other end

“SPIT IT OUT! TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!” she shouted into the receiver. Her breath heavy with tears starting to form in her eyes.

“We…we don’t know. We haven’t been able to find her body.”

“Her…body?! You don’t mean you’ve stopped looking? What are you even saying?”

“Agatha, we found her gear near a crevice. It’s too deep and tight for any of our guys to get down any further... It’s been 3 weeks. I’m so sorry.”

Wanda wasn’t even supposed to have gone on this trip. Agatha was nearly 4 months pregnant with the child they had finally decided to try for after Wanda agreed to cut back on expeditions and move into an adjunct professorship at the nearby college. Now she was faced with raising this child alone. The despair ate away at her. She had to force herself to eat for the baby. Barely able to sleep, just holding on to the last little piece of her life with Wanda. That was until her next appointment. 

She knew the moment the nurse smiled at her something was off. She had excused herself, saying she needed a second opinion from the doctor. He came in, cold and distant, looking at the screen as if he was just checking emails. He sat down on the stool, turned off the monitor and turned to face her. 

“I’m sorry to tell you this but we are unable to find a heartbeat and there is no movement. We need to schedule you for a DNC as soon as possible to avoid complications.” As if it was that matter of fact. As if she hadn’t just lost the last bit of love and hope she had. She didn’t react. She couldn’t in that moment. She just went through the motions, signed the papers and had the procedure without a tear in sight. She only collapsed in grief upon entering the threshold of their cottage. She must have spent a day at least just on the floor on the other side of the door, weeping silently as the grief passed over her in waves. 

She would have stayed there even longer had it not been for Jen busting her door in once she heard the news. Though she would likely never admit it, Jen had saved her that day. For how much they bickered and taunted each other, at the root of it was a sisterly bond they had forged at school.

It took a few years for her life to start to feel human again. For the grief to not hit her before dawn. She could look herself in the eyes again and not immediately begin to cry. Instead she saw the strength that these tragedies had built inside her. That was the first year she celebrated her birthday again. An all out bash, Ralph had invited everyone she had ever known, to let loose and have a moment of joy, if just for one night. In the end she wouldn’t have remembered much of it had it not been for him. 

Ralph had been there for the beginning of her and Wanda’s relationship. Almost like a big, gay third wheel. He would take them to all the gay bars and drag shows, in turn they would feed and house him during grad school. He could see when they would be headed for a fight and know how to diffuse the situation and how to get them to apologize to one another when he wasn’t there to calm the tensions. He was their obvious choice as a donor when they finally decided to start trying to have kids. He had been there for all the ups and downs when they were first trying to conceive. Once Agatha had gotten pregnant he accepted a series of cruise ship contracts and was away when it all fell apart. That regret was everlasting and he was constantly trying to make it up to her. 

He had helped plan and orchestrate the party, agreeing to stay; somewhat, sober to ensure things didn’t get too out of hand. He kept a watchful eye over Agatha and made sure at the end of the night she drank some water and took some medicine. He helped her to bed, tucking her in and in her drunken stupor she begged him to stay. To hold her until she slept so she didn’t have to fall asleep alone. As he held her they talked about Wanda, about the life they had planned. About the baby they almost had and he just let her weep until she drifted off. 

In the morning she had awoken to the smell of coffee and burned bacon with a splitting headache. Making her way down the hall she found Ralph in the kitchen with her apron on attempting to make pancakes. 

“Morning Birthday girl! How you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a bus”

“5 shots of tequila and whatever else you drank will do that to you. Especially at 35!”

“Eugh, don’t remind me.” 

“Can I offer you some breakfast? Perhaps a bloody mary, mimosa?”

“If I smell alcohol right now I will puke all over this table. I don’t know how I’m even alive right now.”

“How much do you remember?”

“Not a whole lot, Jen and I were singing at some point. I remember cake but I don’t remember eating cake. I definitely cried at some point but the details are fuzzy.” 

“Girl, every time I turned around you were making out with another woman. I would’ve made sure you got laid but you were too far gone by 10 for that to be a good idea.” He chuckled before falling silent, a question hovering on his lips. Finally he asked, “Do you remember our conversation last night?”

“You’ll have to enlighten me.” Her face flushed with embarrassment and nausea. 

“I’m only bringing it up now because you brought it up first last night and in the state you were in it felt like a confession to me. So here goes… are you serious about trying to have a kid again on your own?” She was stunned. Had she really admitted she wasn’t done trying? Hadn’t given up that hope? She sipped the now cold black coffee on the table in front of her and munched on a piece of bacon as she rolled the question around in her hungover head. At her age it wasn’t impossible but the chances lowered the longer she waited. If there was any chance at a piece of the life she had imagined, would it not be worth it in the end?

“I mean, I have thought about it. But it seems crazy, especially after everything.”

“You think about it. It’s a big decision, but if it’s something you’ve always wanted? You’re the only person I know crazy enough to do it and be a damn good mother. And you wouldn’t be alone. You have me for one, guncle Ralph, and you know Jen would be over the moon…eventually.” 

“Gods, Jen would kill me for sure! The last thing she wants is to pull me out of another pit of despair.” She sat with the thought imagining the life she really wanted now. “I don’t see myself getting into another relationship… but I’ve always known I wanted children” she said with a misty smile.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive, Agatha. There is still time, I’m here either way. At least for the next couple of months before Magic of the Seas sets sail.”

She contemplated the offer over the next month and in the end decided she deserved to find this happiness if at all possible. Over the next few years, whenever he was in town, they would plan a night - go have dinner, sing karaoke, catch a drag show that, half the time, Ralph was hosting and afterward they would go back to her place. She’d watch a movie while he jerked it in the guest bathroom and then he’d leave her to manage the rest on her own. 

It was definitely different than when she and Wanda had tried. She remembered the effort she had gone through to ensure the day was perfect. Doting on Agatha, bringing her breakfast in bed. They spent the day outside, went to a concert, and had a romantic dinner out. They returned home as Ralph left, and spent most of the night locked in an intimate embrace. All these efforts proved fruitful and they quickly became pregnant. 

Though she tried, she couldn’t quite recreate Wanda’s magic. She was too aware of the emptiness surrounding her. It made the endeavor too practical and clinical. She was not as lucky this go around either. The first year she made 4 attempts, none of them successful. The following year the stars aligned and she was able to successfully conceive. This however was short lived as she didn’t make it past the first trimester. Devastated, she took a step back and didn’t try again the rest of that year. Then this last year she made 6 unsuccessful attempts. Each time she saw the negative result her stomach dropped and heart ached. By the end she resigned herself to one final shot - her birthday. 

Somehow all the stars aligned. The day landed within her fertile window, Ralph was able to come into town the day before, there was even a full blood moon! She knew Wanda would look to that as an affirmation from the universe that this was the time.  

https://www.tumblr.com/tiddiewitch/776932052760182784/second-chances?source=share (to chapter 2 pt. 1)