#but if it helps someone else out there then good

[teaboot]

do you think i'll ever get to a place in my life where i'm actually a good person and i don't keep getting bombarded with people telling me all the ways i'm doing things wrong. will i ever stop feeling like i'm faking being good and i'm actually a despicable person deep down inside like there's something rotten and irremovable in the very core of me. i feel sick

As a recovering self-hater I have a few things that have been helping

Truly shitty people are typically, in my experience, not chronically preoccupied with anxieties that they need to be better. It seems to be the 100% rock-solid certainty that everything you ever do is selfless that you need to watch out for.

Motive only matters in court. If you donate 30 hours a week to charity so you can tell yourself you're a good person or you donate that same time because you genuinely enjoy helping people, that's still 30 hours, imo. At that point the argument is more philosophical than anything. The help is still happening.

Nobody can read your mind. You can be the bitterest, cattiest, most judgemental and mean-spirited motherfucker alive, but as long as you don't let your feelings hurt others, you're golden. In fact, I personally think you should get extra credit for effort. Swimming upriver ain't easy

None of us are selfless by nature. That's okay. We all crave attention, and validation, and comfort, and reward. That self-interest is a survival skill. It's not going anywhere and I don't think it should. The key is moderation, self control, and consideration for others.

The loudest voice in your head probably isn't yours. Survivors of all kinds of abuse- and all abuse is psychological to varying extremes- often keep their critic's narrative in their head. That voice that says you're awful- is that something you'd say to someone else? No? Then try to figure out who said it to you. They were probably an asshole. The voice that answers it it probably your own. Listen to that one

No, you will not feel like this forever. It's a pain in the ass, but dedicating time and thought into ignoring that inner critic and elevating your positive impulses is effective.

Some things I've done myself that seem to help:

Do some research on cognitive behavioral therapy and cognitive reprogramming. These are easier to exercise with a therapist but once you figure out the steps to follow you can do them on your own, too.

When you do something good, write it down for yourself. Keep a dated journal, either on paper or in your phone. When you find yourself in a pit of self-loathing, you can go back and remind yourself of all the good you've done. If this is hard, try listing 3 good things you did at the end of each day. Anything from picking up a scrap of litter to running a food drive.

Long post, but really, the best thing I can say is this:

Aything that takes effort is worth celebrating, even if that effort is minimal or that task is considered small.

At the end of the day, "bare minimum" isn't working a full-time job and eating three meals a day, cleaning up after yourself and doing it with a smile- bare minimum is nothing. Bare minimum is laying on the floor motionless for 24 hours and filter-feeding like a sea sponge. And if even that's difficult for you, then it's not your bare minimum, is it?

There's a lot of cruel, inconsiderate, uncaring people in the world, only out for themselves at the expense of others, and even if you think you're one of them, giving a shit about doing better still puts you a mile ahead of most.

Try not to worry too terribly. If you're thinking about it, you're probably doing fine👍

[thegodofkhaosinkarnate]

When I am feeling BadTM, I talk to myself in second or third person, mostly internally. I speak in the way I would for a friend in need of comfort, the way you would gently and lovingly guide someone else to good behavior. Of course you feel awful, you're sick and you've been running yourself ragged all day with tasks to distract. With how little you've been drinking and all that time at the computer, it's no wonder you have such an awful headache. The project can wait, we have time, and you won't do yourself any good by refusing to sleep- in fact, you'll likely make more mistakes if you keep trying to push it, and that will make it harder to get this done later. Come on, we'll get you a glass of water and some time away from the computer- one chapter out of a book, then down to bed early, alright? Can you do that for me? Eat something, get some rest, it will all be okay. We can tackle it in the morning. I'm here. I love you so very much.

It helps me feel a little less stressed about the world sometimes, a little less alone. Getting a Voice Of Reason involved can keep me from going hypochondriac or sinking into stress about work. I like taking care of people, I like providing help for my friends, so why not be my own friend? Give yourself some love and care, the way you would for a person you love deeply. Treat yourself and you would want your loved ones to be treated.

they won't tell you this in therapy but sometimes the best way to stop catastrophizing/anxiety is to interrupt your spiraling with "girl what the hell are you talking about"

[steveseddie]

apply directly to the forehead

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: alone | rating: t | wc: 997 | tags: hurt comfort, steve has migraines, eddie takes care of him, hand holding, forehead kisses read on ao3

No one notices when Steve slips out the front door. No one but Eddie, who tells Jonathan he’s going out for a smoke and follows him.

There are only woods around the Hopper-Byers cabin, and the only light comes from the Christmas lights hanging from the roof so it takes a moment for Eddie’s eyes to adjust to the near darkness. He sees Steve sitting on the steps with his head between his knees and taking slow, deep breaths. 

“Steve?” Eddie speaks softly, trying not to startle him but Steve still flinches. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbles, keeping his head down. 

Eddie sits next to him. “Wanna try again? That wasn’t very convincing.”

Steve groans but it’s not his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan, it’s a pained groan. 

“‘S just a headache, ‘m fine,” Steve insists but his voice sounds weak. 

“Look at me.” Eddie squeezes his knee. “Stevie, please, look at me.” 

Steve sighs but lifts his head. Eddie can’t help but wince at how he looks. His face is twisted into a grimace, his skin is paper-white and there are tears in his eyes. 

“Oh, Steve. It’s a migraine, isn’t it? A bad one?” He gently brushes some hair off Steve’s face. Steve gives a tiny nod. “When did it start?” 

“A few hours ago,” Steve says with a shuddery breath. “While shopping with Robin, all the lights, the music and the crowds–”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Steve shrugs, then winces. “Didn’t want to worry anyone.” 

“Of course not.” That’s why Steve still showed up to the Hopper-Byers Christmas party, knowing there would be loud music and even louder kids, and then forced himself to smile through his pain. Eddie sighs. “C’mon, I’m taking you home.” 

“No, Eds–” Steve protests weakly. “I can drive myself-”

Eddie huffs. “Steve, you can’t even keep your eyes open right now.”

“But the party–”

“–will carry on without us,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes. “Wait here, okay?” 

Steve sighs and nods, and Eddie squeezes his knee again before heading back inside. 

He finds Robin and tells her that Steve isn’t feeling well and he’s taking him home. 

“Do you want me to come?” She asks, worried.

“Nah, I got him,” Eddie says. Steve wouldn’t want someone else to leave the party early because of him. “Just tell Hopper I’ll pick up the van tomorrow, okay?” 

“Okay, thanks, Eddie,” she says with a quick hug. 

Outside, Eddie finds Steve leaning against the railing, looking like he’s about to keel over. 

“Alright, big boy. Let’s get you home,” he says, leading them to the Beemer.

“No van?” 

“Nope. You complain about how fucking loud my van is on a good day. Figured you wouldn’t appreciate it today of all days.”

Steve chuckles weakly. “Admit it, you just want an excuse to drive a cool car for once.” 

Eddie scoffs indignantly. “My van is plenty cool, Harrington.” 

“Uh huh.” 

He sticks his tongue out at Steve and starts the car. The drive to his house is quiet. Eddie turns the radio all the way off, Steve keeps his head against the window and his eyes closed, and Eddie tries his best not to jostle the car too much. 

He has to gently shake Steve’s shoulder once they arrive and then he follows him inside. 

He goes straight to his bedroom and collapses on the bed, taking his shoes off but leaving his jeans and his ugly Christmas sweater on. 

Eddie finds some sleeping clothes and tosses them his way. “Take those jeans off, Harrington.”

Steve huffs. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson,” he says, his hands working on his belt buckle. 

Eddie’s cheeks turn pink but with just the moonlight illuminating the room through the curtains, he doubts Steve can see it. “So that’s what it takes to get into Steve Harrington’s pants?”

“Usually,” Steve says, shoving his jeans off before sliding on sweatpants, keeping his movements slow to not make his headache worse. “But for a guy as hot as you, I can make an exception.”

Eddie chokes on his spit. Leave it to Steve to flirt while his head is waging a war against the rest of him.  

After changing out of his Christmas sweater, Steve falls back into bed, burrowing his face into his pillow with a groan. The mattress dips when Eddie sits next to him, his back against the headboard. Steve blinks one eye open. “You don’t have to stay, I’m–”

“-in no condition to be alone right now,” Eddie finishes, rolling his eyes.

“You should go back to the party. I didn’t mean to ruin your night–”

“Steve Harrington called me hot. Nothing could ruin my night after that,” he jokes even if there’s some truth to it. 

Steve groans– this time it is his ‘Eddie is being annoying’ groan. “I’m gonna regret saying that.” 

“Because you didn’t mean it or–”

“Oh, I meant it,” Steve says, rolling to his side and looking up at Eddie through half-lidded eyes that might not have anything to do with his migraine. “But now you can hold it against me.”

“It would be kind of hypocritical of me since I also find you hot,” Eddie says, playing with a rip in his jeans. 

Steve’s fingers find his, intertwining them. “If my head wasn’t about to explode I would suggest we do something about that.”

Eddie’s widen. “Something like–”

“Like kissing. Though I could be persuaded to do other things.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says laughing shakily. “Now my head feels like it might explode.”

“We can talk in the morning,” Steve says, shifting until he finds a comfortable position. 

“Thought you didn’t want me to stay,” Eddie teases.

“Said you didn’t have to stay, Eds. I always want you here.” 

Eddie’s stomach flutters. “Okay,” he says, sliding down until he’s lying next to Steve, their fingers still intertwined. 

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Steve whispers, half asleep already. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, kissing Steve’s forehead. “Anytime.”

[genderqueerdykes]

hey, i saw a post on here saying you guys support non "traumagenic" systems and I was wanting to know if thats true.

You guys are so amazing and have helped me with my identity a lot, but this information is really important to me as a trauma survivor with severe PTSD. If you are pro endos but are open to listening to trauma survivors and phycology sources, I absolutely will provide them. I want you guys to be a safe space for people with PTSD and dissociative disorders so bad, as people who has OSDDDID tend to have more "contradictory" labels in the first place, due to the complex relationship all the different alters identities make combined.

I'm hoping so much that you'll be open to listening if this is true.

hello! i'm good, i don't need any!

if you only have severe PTSD and not a dissociative disorder and do not identify as plural, you should NOT be commenting on plurality at all. like i hate to break it to you, but if you do not deal with plurality, you do not know what the experience is like. reading papers about it will not give you insight into how people actually live.

i'm an inclusive Dissociative Identity Disorder system who is 100% pro endo, and any other type of system. i support ALL plurals, i don't cherry pick. you're correct, this blog is a safe space, especially for people with "contradictory" identities or ones that "don't make sense." why wouldn't i be here for endogenic and non traumagenic systems?

that would go against everything i stand for.

i am a trauma survivor as well. i *have* DID, i don't really need any resources on the matter- before I was diagnosed i spent years researching, and i still do keep up with research. i am aware that DID and OSDD are caused by trauma! generally it's severe, repeated trauma and/or neglect. i have no memories of my life before the age of 10. i too have severe PTSD, i have a diagnosis for C-PTSD in specific. i live with this every day of my life. i still have a lot of trauma and triggers. i black out and lose time and regularly forget who i am or where i'm at.

something to keep in mind is research on DID has literally 0 bearing on other types of plurality. just because there is a lot of research into DID, OSDD, etc. does not mean that other plural experiences do not exist. when ONLY siting medical sources and saying that because there's no other "proof" or "evidence" that other types of plurality "can't" exist, it's an appeal to authority. there is no research data to point toward because studies on DID and OSDD and other dissociative disorders have really only gained traction within the last 10 - 20 years maximum. this is an extremely recent phenomenon! just because there are no (paid, keep in mind that studies have to find funding, and investors are picky) medical papers or studies to point toward doesn't mean something isn't happening.

someone identifying as plural without trauma is not an affront to plurals who do have trauma. someone identifying as a system who doesn't have or know of any childhood trauma is not spitting in your face. i've seen this take around and it's just not it. don't take someone else's mental health as an attack on yours. it's not hurting you at all for people to identify as plural if they don't have trauma. it's not spitting in *my* face, so it's not spitting in yours, either. it's okay to let non traumagenic systems exist. it's not exacerbating your trauma or re-traumatizing you or subjecting you to new trauma.

they're not saying that your trauma is invalid just because they don't have any. i don't like people who get on a high horse because they have a dissociative disorder and act like they get to police how other people's brains work. you only know how your brain works. you do not know how any other type of system works.

endogenic systems are not identifying as endogenic to spite you or dissociative systems. they're not doing it to hurt you. they're doing it because they identify as multiple people. that is not being done with the intention to hurt anyone. this is about THEM, not you. nobody is the protagonist of the plural community. no one.

as a plural, myself, i get to choose who i support. and i choose to support people who aren't hurting anyone or doing anything wrong. i really don't care how offensive some people find non traumagenic systems, but they're not hurting you, me, or anyone else. live and let live. you don't know how someone else's brain works. you will never be able to know how someone else's brain works. accepting that will make your life easier.

being angry at other people for not having trauma will not make yours go away or undo what was done to you. you should never take out your frustrations on people who haven't hurt you. endos haven't hurt you, you just don't agree with them. these are 2 separate things. also you really don't have the right to comment on the nature of how complex non traumagenic plurality is or is not- endogenic systems can have just as many nuanced and complex identities regardless of whether or not they're dissociating. they're still multiple people whether or not you see them that way. they also have complex identities, why wouldn't they? being different people leads to a lot of complexity. you should still see them as multiple people even if you don't think it's legit. that's basic respect for another person who, again, literally hasn't hurt you.

also endogenic and non dissociative systems are still people, and we should still care about them. they're still people even if you don't agree with them, and again: they have not hurt you by virtue of existing.

hope that helps and makes sense. i am not open to changing my mind on this, but i appreciate you giving me a good reason to explain my stance on the matter. i don't have the right to police other people and tell them how their own brains work. you don't have that right, either. i'm not here to police anyone. that goes against everything i stand for. i don't gatekeep.

i'm not a cop.

[holylulusworld]

How to cure a grump (1)

Summary: You're losing your job on Christmas.

Pairing: CEO/Boss!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, grumpy Bucky, awful boss

“Santa Claus is coming to town,” you sing along to the song blaring from your phone. You’re, as so often, the last one at the office.

Before the holidays, most of your colleagues try to get out of the office as early as possible. They have better plans than to work like busy ants two days before Christmas.

Sadly, you didn’t get to leave on the clock. Your boss demanded your attention. You couldn’t join your colleagues at the little Christmas party you organized for weeks.

Now they will all exchange the Secret Santa gifts you got for most of them, drink eggnog, and sing awful Christmas songs while you are stuck here with your grumpy boss.

“Miss Y/L/N, I need the numbers now." Mr. Barnes doesn’t even walk toward your desk. He simply barks orders your way.

You heave out a sigh and glance at the stack of papers on your desk. Before you get up to hand Mr. Barnes the numbers he wanted you to finish before the holidays, you save your work.

Grabbing the papers, you silently pray that Mr. Barnes won’t come up with more tasks. It’s long past your work time, and you’re tired and cranky. You’ll need a good night’s sleep and at least a day off before driving home for Christmas.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he barks as you are already halfway toward his office. Mr. Barnes huffs as you stumble over your own feet. “You know, I had better things to do than wait for the numbers. I have been waiting for hours. I think you’re the worst person working here.”

For a second, you’re stunned. You feel like Mr. Barnes slapped you across your face.

“Maybe if you asked the person responsible for the mistake to help you with the numbers, you'd like the outcome better. I worked overtime only to get yelled at!” You gasp. The words just flew out of your mouth, unfiltered and raw with emotions.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t work here any more then!” He bites back. It wasn’t a surprise to you that Mr. Barnes lost his temper. He’s always been a little hot-headed and grumpy. Mr. Barnes fired people here and there over the years. You just didn’t think you’d be one of them one day.

“You’re firing me after I fixed a mistake someone else made?” You huff and cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t see anyone else standing in line to work through the numbers. I worked overtime before the holidays to do you a favor.”

“That’s your job,” he growls and points at the door. “Or was. I want you to pack your things and don’t come back.”

“Fine,” you huff and turn on your heels, regretting your mishap instantly. You’d apologize and even fall to your knees to get your job back. Sadly, Mr. Barnes is a strict man. He doesn’t accept mistakes or insubordination. Whatever you’d do or say, there was no way he’d give you your job back.

So, you got a box from the storage room, emptied your desk, grabbed your belongings, and left the building for the last time in your life. To hell with this job and your boss.

“Mom, stop asking questions,” you plead as your mother wouldn’t stop asking questions about your job.

“It’s all so exciting. Living in the big city, having friends you meet up at bars like Carrie in Sex and the City, and your job. It sounds wonderful!”

“Mom, I barely made any friends,” you sigh, and try to rub the embarrassment off your face. “I’d call them work friends or acquaintances.”

“I bet they are all too happy to have you around,” she coos and cups your face. “I know my Munchkin conquered the big city in no time.”

“Mom, I—” you sniffle and look away, ashamed. It never gets easy to lie to your mother. “I have to tell you something about the job.”

“What is it, Munchkin?” she asks, looking at you, worry in her eyes. She coos to you as you begin to cry. Starting anew after your long-term boyfriend and fiancé broke things up was the dream you wanted to fulfill. Now, you failed again.

“I got fired yesterday,” you sniff. “I worked overtime, and my boss yelled at me. I fixed someone else’s mistake, and he still yelled at me. I lost it and…” You shake your head and refuse to look at your mother.

“Y/N, that’s not the end of the world.” She wraps you in a warm embrace. The kind of embrace only a mother can give you. You feel warm and safe, remembering all the times she calmed you in times of need. “You’ll find a new job, a better one. If he fired you, that man doesn’t know how to value you.”

“The fuck no!” Bucky flings a stack of papers across the room. He tried to access your account, only to realize he never asked you to reset your password. Now he’s seething because most of your work, except the files you shared with colleagues and him, is password protected. “She forgot to reset the fucking password!”

“Well, you told her to pack her things and leave, Buck. What did you expect to happen?” Steve huffs. He had to leave his cozy home and wife to help Bucky with some unimportant paperwork. “We've got time to fix this until after the holidays.”

“Unimportant to you,” Bucky bites back. “I want this finished before the year ends.”

“Buck,” Steve snorts. “If you need her password, call her.” The blonde shrugs before turning to leave. “I know you are not the best at communicating, but I believe in you. You can handle a phone call with a woman you just fired.”

“I tried more than once,” Bucky snaps at his best friend and business partner. “She won’t answer. The last time I called, she blocked my number.”

“Yeah, because you fired her!” Steve replies, laughing. “I wouldn’t answer any call from an asshole firing me two days before Christmas, either.”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply. He huffs as his friend already walks toward the door.

“What shall I do now? I need the password!”

“If you cannot reach her, go to her home and ask for the password. I will go home now. Please don’t call me during Christmas. Natasha will rip me a new one if I miss Christmas.”

“She’s not home. I was there. Her neighbors told me that Y/N will spend Christmas at her parents’ house. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Buck,” Steve laughs. “You can fly to her hometown and ask her for the password. While on your way back, you can celebrate with a pretty stewardess in first class as every Christmas…”

[featureenvyproductions]

This post touched on physical media for drawing which is good but I want to add my ramblings about physical drawings as well because these days there's a lot of emphasis on drawing digitally, to the point where I think it's been an actual decade since I've come across a tutorial where someone has drawn things physically on paper....Like, don't underestimate the power of drawing on paper and learning to use physical media. Yeah it's not going to do anything in terms of your popularity 👀👀💧 but at the moment, you've also got an extra layer of protection between you and AI since the best physical art AI could probably do with current technology is something akin to "printing" out a picture with a writing utensil of some sort since mimicking real physical technique from photos of paintings or drawings is quite a bit harder than weighting pixels and outputting them into a file.

I'm also telling you this for corporate reasons. The way the world is going, there's going to come a day when there are no free programs for drawing, and certainly tablets and computers won't be free or cheap, and they're going to demand all your personal information to even boot up. You'll be locked into selling all your data and locking yourself into subscriptions just to have some artistic expression. Do you want that? Adobe and apple can do a lot but they can't fucking take away your paper and pencil. You should learn to use them if only to take back power from corporations. It's why even though I do use digital tools a lot for comic color because it's faster and I'm just one person, I still do almost everything else physically (ink/pencil/layouts/etc). I have a box the size of a large coffin with all the comic book pages I've drawn in my adult life, and the only way Adobe is getting their hands on them or removing my access to them is by banging down my front door or burning my house down.

Sure, technology makes our lives easier, but if you learn to use physical mediums, no one can ever take art away from you or keep you from creating it (at least not EASILY without some seriously oppressive changes) and it's going to be a very long time (maybe not even in our lifetimes) that the corporate ability to do so is finally nerfed.

And yeah you don't need fancy shit. I do all my rough sketching on printer paper with a mechanical pencil, or with a cheap ass sketch book I carry around. Especially if it's just for you practicing and no one is going to see it, you do not need fancy things. Your ancestors ground stuff up and dipped their hands in it and smacked a cave wall. This is your RIGHT to make shit by whatever means necessary whether you think it's instagram worthy or not. (I even outlined what you can use for animation from dollar tree if you're broke in a series of posts if that's a thing you want to do https://www.tumblr.com/featureenvyproductions/752966738522619904/my-thoughts-on-how-to-do-basically-kinda-cel?source=share)

And that's another thing too, don't worry if it sucks. I promise it doesn't, because you made something. And also even if you think it does because you're not meeting your goal or whatever, you have to shake the 10000 bad drawings out of your wrist before you get to the good stuff. Even someone like me who's been drawing [seriously anyway] for 25+ years has to warm up a bit before churning out something serious. Just do it I promise it's fine. (And also if you have the ability to take a figure drawing and/or life drawing class do that because in my experience it helps)

(Also not that I'm that great at art still compared to a lot of artists, I have been at it for a long long time, so if anyone who sees my stuff ever wants to know how I did something, please ask me, I will tell you free tips, I love info dumping, there is no such thing as a stupid question,,,,the greatest compliment is being asked how I did something,,,you do not understand,,,,to me democratizing art means ensuring YOU no matter who you are, can make some of it)

Can't afford art school?

After seeing post like this 👇

And this gem 👇

As well as countless of others from the AI generator community. Just talking about how "inaccessible art" is, I decided why not show how wrong these guys are while also helping anyone who actually wants to learn.

Here is the first one ART TEACHERS! There are plenty online and in places like youtube.

📺Here is my list:

Proko (Free)

Marc Brunet (Free but he does have other classes for a cheap price. Use to work for Blizzard)

Aaron Rutten (free)

BoroCG (free)

Jesse J. Jones (free, talks about animating)

Jesus Conde (free)

Mohammed Agbadi (free, he gives some advice in some videos and talks about art)

Ross Draws (free, he does have other classes for a good price)

SamDoesArts (free, gives good advice and critiques)

Drawfee Show (free, they do give some good advice and great inspiration)

The Art of Aaron Blaise ( useful tips for digital art and animation. Was an animator for Disney)

Bobby Chiu ( useful tips and interviews with artist who are in the industry or making a living as artist)

Second part BOOKS, I have collected some books that have helped me and might help others.

📚Here is my list:

The "how to draw manga" series produced by Graphic-sha. These are for manga artist but they give great advice and information.

"Creating characters with personality" by Tom Bancroft. A great book that can help not just people who draw cartoons but also realistic ones. As it helps you with facial ques and how to make a character interesting.

"Albinus on anatomy" by Robert Beverly Hale and Terence Coyle. Great book to help someone learn basic anatomy.

"Artistic Anatomy" by Dr. Paul Richer and Robert Beverly Hale. A good book if you want to go further in-depth with anatomy.

"Directing the story" by Francis Glebas. A good book if you want to Story board or make comics.

"Animal Anatomy for Artists" by Eliot Goldfinger. A good book for if you want to draw animals or creatures.

"Constructive Anatomy: with almost 500 illustrations" by George B. Bridgman. A great book to help you block out shadows in your figures and see them in a more 3 diamantine way.

"Dynamic Anatomy: Revised and expand" by Burne Hogarth. A book that shows how to block out shapes and easily understand what you are looking out. When it comes to human subjects.

"An Atlas of animal anatomy for artist" by W. Ellenberger and H. Dittrich and H. Baum. This is another good one for people who want to draw animals or creatures.

Etherington Brothers, they make books and have a free blog with art tips.

As for Supplies, I recommend starting out cheap, buying Pencils and art paper at dollar tree or 5 below. For digital art, I recommend not starting with a screen art drawing tablet as they are more expensive.

For the Best art Tablet I recommend either Xp-pen, Bamboo or Huion. Some can range from about 40$ to the thousands.

💻As for art programs here is a list of Free to pay.

Clip Studio paint ( you can choose to pay once or sub and get updates)

Procreate ( pay once for $9.99)

Blender (for 3D modules/sculpting, ect Free)

PaintTool SAI (pay but has a 31 day free trail)

Krita (Free)

mypaint (free)

FireAlpaca (free)

Libresprite (free, for pixel art)

Those are the ones I can recall.

So do with this information as you will but as you can tell there are ways to learn how to become an artist, without breaking the bank. The only thing that might be stopping YOU from using any of these things, is YOU.

I have made time to learn to draw and many artist have too. Either in-between working two jobs or taking care of your family and a job or regular school and chores. YOU just have to take the time or use some time management, it really doesn't take long to practice for like an hour or less. YOU also don't have to do it every day, just once or three times a week is fine.

Hope this was helpful and have a great day.

[vifilms]

tattoo artist!vi who takes notice of just how beautiful you are the moment you step foot in her shop. it’d be the most difficult task in the world to not notice just how insanely breathtaking you are. it’s clear by the smirk on your glossy lips. you know just how good you look. caitlyn, being the woman she is, tries to jump in first. you’re just her type. violet would know, cait’s dated the anti-thesis of her since the moment you broke up. caitlyn kiramman loves pretty girls. anything she can do to be underneath them, she’ll find a way. you fit her bill. violet tried not to take offense of the ways your eyes light up taking to her ex-girlfriend. maybe you’re just nice. that’s it, right? two minutes, someone who is almost as gorgeous as you walks in and then violet forgets about you as her next client walks in. she tries to at least.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t stop thinking about you. it’s new york. there’s plenty of pretty girls she can drown herself in. well, if she could figure out how to ask someone out without her crippling anxiety suffocating her. she knows she’s somewhat attractive but her lack of knowing how to efficiently communicate it without sound like the weirdest fuck who has ever lived gets lost in translation. she doesn’t like how sure cait is of herself when she talks about you though. violet doesn’t even know you but seeing the glint in those aquatic-blue eyes make her want to punch something. it’s hard to even tell if it due to her budding crush or that it’s her ex. probably both but she ignores it.

tattoo artist!vi who likes to frequent bars on her days off. it’s when she doesn’t feel alone. it’s fun to bug her sister, powder. she’s always been more of a free spirit out of the two of them. an artist, a wanderer, someone who choses to bartend a couple nights out of the week just because she liked meeting new people, learning their story, what makes them tick. are they a mean drunk, happy, or will they burst into tears when you ask them how they’re doing? vi isn’t either really. she’s quiet, calm even, but tonight part of her wants to cry. she feels lonely, lost, and even a little bit upset caitlyn is your first choice. she only knows your name because of the clientele list and that just feels pathetic. violet’s never been the smoothest of talkers, she knows that more than she feels the blood coursing through her veins. she isn’t the girl and she’s perfectly fine with it. perfectly. fine.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t even enjoy work anymore. three months in and you’ve been cait’s girlfriend and the feeling only gets worse. it’s cliché. a little fucked, but being in love with her ex’s girlfriend? it doesn’t get any lower than this. she let it slip days ago, only to powder, thank fucking god. if violet knew one thing, she didn’t wanna deal with caitlyn’s wrath. according to maddie, she’d been a dog with a bone when it came to you. so protective it nearly turned into possession. she wanted everyone to know that you were hers and not anyone else’s. it wasn’t new to violet, cait didn’t like being runner up to anyone. it’s why their relationship ended in the first place, especially when the girlfriend feels inferior to the sister. when powder comes around to the shop, cait can’t help but wear her disgust all over her face like a poorly concealed mask. vi thinks it’s silly. the both of them are nearly the same it’s almost sickening. if only the other took the time to know the object of their disdain, they would see two peas sitting in a pod.

tattoo artist!vi who hates a messy shop. when personal items are left behind or someone’s station isn’t properly sanitized and clean. it’s why she’s here, alone on the sunday, the only day the shop is closed. it’s been too long since she did a deep clean, just a week or too, but that’s long enough for her. she’s always been proud of what she’s been able to accomplish her. even if she didn’t have much, a girlfriend to love on, or if her father was on the other side of the country, she had this. violet ink. it was her name out on the sign over seeing the street, the luminous violet led lights kissing the downtown street. she made it this far and she couldn’t let anyone run her off from something she fought so hard to build from the ground up. it’s why she was surprised when she saw you. your face free of makeup, your hair in it’s natural state, and you appeared more laid back than you ever were — in her shop. it feels like a fever dream she never wishes to wake up from. cait must have given you a spare key to the shop which she would have a discussion with her about that later because what the fuck? but it’s hard for her to stay mad when you’re standing there looking like a million bucks in the most casual pair of sweats she’s ever seen. it feels different to who you usually are. shredded of the image you maintain, stripped back, there’s just a softer version of yourself and vi can’t help but contemplate if this is the side you’re so reluctant to show.

tattoo artist!vi who stutter how some stupid joke, trying to break the ice and it should have made things more awkward than they already were but your laugh full of symphonies just makes violet smile. in her best efforts, she craves to conceal it from you but it’s impossible when you’re looking at her. she can’t help but smile — so she does. desperately, violet tries not to act nervous when you’re looking at her designs on the wall, not saying a word, just inspecting. there’s a chill in her bones she feels, a need for her work to be loved because if it isn’t? it eats her up from the inside out. maybe it’s embarrassing but she needs her work to be loved. what’s the point if it isn’t? it’s always been an extension of her soul, her life, and if someone doesn’t like it? all they say is they don’t like her. it may be the silliest thing in the world, but she needs to be adored. from a complete stranger, from the people who she’s permanently tattooing, and especially from the beautiful women violet can’t stop daydreaming about.

tattoo artist!vi who blushes when you tell her how much you love her designs. there’s a soft touch to her shoulder, your thumb lightly tracing circles in her sturdy bicep. it feel innocent enough but vi doesn’t give herself much time to think about it. painfully, she takes note in how your eyes soar when they make contact with her designs. even if it makes her cocky, violet knows she’s good at her job. clients flying in from all over the country, just to get tattooed by her. with your undeniable charm, you’ve convinced her to do a custom design for you but you wanna discuss it on sunday’s, alone. if anything, she should know this isn’t a good idea. you’re charming, gorgeous and the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. she should be afraid of caitlyn’s wrath, of what would happen if she found out, but it’s innocent…right? she’s a professional. no matter how much she’s attracted to a client, it’s never been an issues and she certainly won’t make it one now. vi nods and the second she does, you’re leaping in her arms, into her space. you smell of lavender and lilies, like spring in the beginning of march. a sun-kissed marvel aching for the shine of summer, for one breath of fresh air. it’s really all she wants, a moment to be in the sunshine with you, if only for a moment at least she could tell the moon about it. her best kept secret and she would cherish every bit of it. 

tattoo artist!vi who tries to keep her head down low as the weeks carry on. even when you try to make more of an effort to speak with her, the last thing she needs is caitlyn to take one final look at her and realize just how much she likes the attention. maddie already made one comment, even if it was light-hearted — it’s enough to keep her on edge. with the design being complete, all she needs is to tattoo but violet’s been avoiding you and what’s worse? you knew it too. in her true avoidant style, violet failed to go to the shop the last two weeks on sunday. the tidiness and damn right organization of her shop was suffering but she still had plans of avoiding it. rather avoiding you, but in her forest fire of a mind, it comes all the same. all of this is so trivial, so stupid, so tragic. it’s kiramman’s day off and violet and sevika are the only artists on hand today which means she’s overworked. the both of them are tired and violet just completed her last session of the day. she sneaks to the back enjoying the cigarette she’d been itching to have. violet’s on her second one when you corner her into the brick wall she’s leaning on. you’re too close. dangerously close, almost as if the fire you’ve created in violet’s lungs might cause her to burn from the inside out. it’s chilling how silent you are until you aren’t. you’re loud about the way you caress her exposed biceps, tracing the lines of her intricate tattoo as it crawls up shoulders and so do your hands. with a sharp graze, you scrap your nails across her skin as if you want to leave a reminder that she was in fact here. should she even even be here? letting you touch her in the way you are? but it’s not like vi has much of a choice when you push the hem of her tank top up to her ribcage, showcasing the flexing abs on her abdomen. it may be faint but there’s a happy trail, one violet wants to see your lips on but she’s scared to say anything, to move, to breathe. “caitlyn said you were ripped underneath. i wanted to see for myself.” then your touch is gone and you are with it. 

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t show up on sunday…for the first couple of hours. violet thinks of that night, the way you touched her, like you knew exactly what to do before she even could think of what she wanted next. how on earth did you manage to paralyze her with a mere flick of your wrist? when your nails clawed at her toned abdomen, violet felt the stickiness in her boxers and you’d done all of nothing. she had to put an end to things, the private session, violet couldn’t do it. she didn’t want to be caught in some weird and perversed love triangle with her ex. in the back of her throat, violet feels the lump she constantly has to swallow. the only reasonable explanation is that this, you, is all some weird fantasy of caitlyn to get the last laugh. to fully degrade her in a way she couldn’t, not when you’re the person who gets broken up with. it’s not a secret caitlyn’s ego had taken a hit. to anyone, not being the first choice stings but to cait? it might as well be a death sentence and certainly it wouldn’t stand. 

tattoo artist!vi who isn’t one for confrontation but in the need to savor some of her salvation in her dignity, she walks in the shop. you’re still waiting for her. two hours later, you’d hoped she’d show. ”violet, you came.” it’s endearing but violet also sees herself the night before tangled in her black sheets, vibrator on its highest setting as she applies pressure to her clit, fingers nestled so deep inside her cunt as she hears your voice, thinks about your irresistible lips. violet wonders what you sound like when you come and suddenly the thought sends her hurling towards the edge. the smile you offer is almost like you can see right through her, like you know vi came to the idea of you just the night before. 

with a slender smile, you make your way over to her and suddenly the internal dialogue she created to put an end to this arrangement died on your tongue when she shrugs vi’s leather jacket off. she’s only wearing her wrap to cover her chest, not intending on staying for a long time. definitely not enough to finish the beautiful design she created for you. she’d get cait to do it. their styles were similar to it. your girlfriend has to do this. but you’re touching her bare skin. vi is losing focus as she feels the control slip into your greedy fingers. 

“i know what you’re gonna say.” 

“and what’s that?” 

“you wanna stop this, meeting me here, you feel like you’re betraying someone you love and you have too much integrity to keep seeing someone you so obviously want to fuck.” 

“i can’t—” but the words die on violet’s tongue. 

“sense won’t get to you, that’s something caitlyn didn’t understand. you think with your heart of gold. when it drips for someone, you’d let it bleed out if it meant you were saving someone.” you take a pause, slipping off your shirt as your pierced nipples are exposed. violet nearly begins to drool, her eyes unable to look away from your perfect nipples, the swell of your breast how perfectly they fall on your chest, she’s nearly salivating to be offered a taste. “my girlfriend doesn’t understand you’ve found someone else to be loyal to.” 

“this is not, um, i didn’t—” 

sweetly, you kiss her cheek. “it’s such a bitch isn’t it? your heart wants whatever the fuck it yearns for, no damn mercy on who it hurts.”  

violet can only think of how much she wants to be suffocated by your tits, forever trapped in this venus fly trap you’ve caused her to succumb to. with her best foot forward, she wants to tell you to go to hell, that you’re wrong about her — she would never do something like this — until she does. it’s all tongue and teeth, vitriol and lust spills into her mouth as violet pushes you on the bench, ripping your skirt to shreds with her bare hands. only to find nothing underneath. 

bent over the table, ass up in the air, violet wastes not a single moment and stuffs her face in your fat ass. with a gratifying need, she splits your folds on her tongue as she slaps your ass making you whimper and cry out for her name. it’s beautiful, violet thinks. someone needing her to bring them to the edge, and god, you aren’t shy about it either. never has she heard anyone be so loud and proud about sex. so goddamn confident in each moan you let fall from pornogrpahic lips, it’s damn invigorating. the first one comes easily, you spill over vi’s tongue as she moans back into your weeping pussy, liquid gushing over her face violet never wants it to end. the second time violet fucks you with her fingers, stuffing and fucking until there isn’t any part of you that isn’t undeniably shaking. the third time, you’re on top of her, the two of you finding comfortablity on the cot in the break room as violet lets you fuck her. 

exactly what she expects it to be; hot, rough, fast. slippery pussy rubbing against hers until you collapse on top of her, breast pressed against her binded ones. you have a feeling they are there for a reason and you don’t push, for once in your life, you let yourself succumb to sleep as you fall asleep in her arms. 

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t see you for three months after she had the best sex of her life. even if it does sting, vi knows it’s for the best. six months in and you’re still with caitlyn despite your best efforts. surprising everyone, but violet for different reasons, you admit your slip up to cait but she forgives you. maddie and sevika make a game of it, trying to guess who make you cheat and when violet’s name comes up jokingly, caitlyn’s words leave an unsettling pit in her stomach. 

c’mon, what is violet going to do? look at her. she’s as loyal as a trained dog and i have you trained. don’t i, cupcake? 

tattoo artist!vi who focuses on her work, like a trained dog, she falls back into her routine. sunday’s aren’t as pleasurable as they were with you, or one sunday she should say, but she dismisses the thought altogether. pushing it to the deepest parts of her mind becomes the only viable option. she uses other forms of entertainment to get her mind off of you. powder thinks it’s a good idea to be here but she refuses to step foot in here with her. this is where my path ends, sis. i’ll be just up the hill when you’re ready. a not so subtle wink has her cringing and flipping her off blue-haired braided sister off in the process. this is such a good stupid idea but violet doesn’t manage to convince herself out of this situation she’s conducted for herself. anyways, it’s one night? no one ever has to know. from the moment she steps into the strip club, she knows she never should have been here. she keeps to the bar as she changes songs from the jukebox a few times. this has never been her scene nor will it ever. as she finishes off her class of neat whiskey, the familiar voice whispers into her ear, never thought you’d be here but i guess we’re both full of surprises.

[throneofsapphics]

remember everything that we'd die for

cazriel x reader

summary: Hybern attacks Velaris, you're not where Cassian and Azriel expected you to be.

warnings: injury, death, angst

a/n: the acomaf blurb style rewrite temptation is strong

By all means, it was one of the most beautiful days of the year. Until you were called into work. Not that you minded your job, the bookstore was a peaceful place, but some days you just wanted to rest. Considering both of your mates were busy, it was probably a good thing this happened, saving you from a full day of worrying. 

Fate was tricky, you knew that. Despite all previous signs pointing towards a peaceful life in a city known for its safety, not everyone could escape the scythe of the afterlife hanging over them. Your scythe was looking an awful lot like the soldiers from Hybern Azriel and Cassian had described, blotting out the beautiful sky. 

“Get inside,” you pushed the door open, ushering the panicked people through. “If they break through, go out the back,” you’d firmly instructed your coworker earlier before retrieving the rusted blade you kept under the front desk. Your mates would throw a hissy fit over that. Two knives, gifted to you by them, were tucked into your clothing. 

A little girl pressed her hands against the window, her mother dragged her back. You hoped you conveyed your appreciation in the brief meeting of your eyes, all you saw in hers was gratitude that made you sick to your stomach. You were no savior. You were more likely to be their damnation. Perhaps fate or destiny took you to work that day, you just prayed the people inside the building made it. 

With a store full of people behind you, you tapped into your magic for the first time in years, perhaps decades, and let the wall rise as you stepped beyond it. A golden sheen now covered the building like a second skin. 

You wished you could’ve had one last day with them. Or even just an hour. 

-

As Hybern’s soldiers fell, Azriel took solace in the fact that you were in their home, safely warded. He knew, not far away from him, that Cassian was doing the same thing. Later, he’d question why his shadows had failed him, for the first time. 

-

The first grey scaled being landed in front of you, took one look at the blade in your hand, and laughed before calling out in a language you half understood. Only three others landed. 

Righteous, sweet, anger filled every nook and crevice of your body and mind. Breathing out, you let enough of it fade to keep a clear mind. 

“Losing your head is the fastest way to get killed,” Cassian’s voice echoed in your mind. They may have taught you a few things, but you were no trained warrior. Tears built in the corners of your eyes. Was this really how it would end for you? 

-

As his blade toppled the head of one soldier, his magic crushing another, Cassian counted his lucky stars it was your day off, but he wouldn’t find true peace until he managed to lay eyes on you and confirm you were safe. 

-

Like something out of a story book, you felt rather than saw your magic sneak up the blade, coating it in what must be a golden iridescence. You didn’t dare look, didn’t dare give away that one precious piece of knowledge that might give you some kind of edge. 

Despite the training you’d received from your mates, four versus one was not good odds. Tilting your eyes to the blotted sky in silent prayer to the mother, you waited for your opponents to give something away. Time, you needed to buy time for someone else to get here. 

It took three dead enemy bodies for you to realize help was not coming. Your arms shook as they held the blade, the magic on it already sputtering. 

The first knick hit your shoulder, blood pooling around the cloth of your off white top. 

Dying was absolutely unacceptable. You had too much to live for.

If you died, you doomed the people behind your shield, the ones counting on you to keep them safe. You had a store full of younglings, females, and males all counting on you. 

This couldn’t be your end, you thought as you reached for the knife tucked at your waist, dodging another blow. 

Your aim had always been good, it wouldn’t, couldn’t fail you now. 

The knife flew from your fist as a blow hit your head, hard enough darkness took you. Like a marionette doll, you crumbled to the pavement. As the sky turned a familiar and safe dark, the golden shield behind you faded, and you couldn’t tell if you were a failure. 

-

As Rhys’s magic cleared the city, a black shadow wisped around his ear, whispering one of his greatest fears. 

Hurt, she’s hurt. 

Azriel shot through the sky, a blur of black, aiming right for where Cassian scanned the horizon. He looked up as Azriel slowed just enough to approach, the panic in his eyes must’ve made the message clear. Few things could make him panic. 

“Where. Is. She?” Cassian said, jaw clenched. 

Work, another shadow curled around his ear, work. 

“The store.” 

He clasped Cassian’s forearm, shadows transporting them the short distance to the city proper.

They landed quietly, but their steps were near thunderous as they approached, the crowd clearing for them, words of thanks flying past their ears. 

A few children hid inside the bookstore, he could feel the remains of your magic, a sensation he hadn’t known in years, something you generally kept to yourself, brought to the light by these ancient horrors. 

Azriel kept his head clear enough by focusing on how his shadows said hurt not dead. Why the hell did you have to go to work today of all days? He’d kill whoever called you in. Gladly. Cassian might even help him. 

“Clear out,” a voice shouted, he looked out to see a healer he recognized hovering over your form, looking at him and Cassain. 

The crowd parted before he needed to shove their way through. 

Azriel’s knees hit the pavement on your other side, Cassian right next to him. 

The healer didn’t complain at the shadows now swarming over your body, reporting back to him on every little detail. 

A blow to the side of your head, one on the back of your head, likely from hitting the ground, a wound on your shoulder. Unconscious, no doubt you’d have a concussion, but right now you were still breathing. 

Cassian asked all of the questions to the healer, his restraint at her touch and magic a sign of your century old mating bond. A hundred years ago they would’ve been at her throat. 

Now, he was capable, although not happy about it, of letting her work. 

“She needs lots of rest,” the healer said. “Minimal activity for at least a week.” He’d tie you to the fucking bed if he had to. 

general taglist: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @nestaismommy @erencvlt @book-obsessed124

@callsigns-haze @littlest-w01f

acotar taglist: @lilah-asteria @yeonalie @I-am-a-lost-girl16 

[ddodol]

familiarity — l.cy

series ⭑.ᐟ [ kinktober masterlist ] content warning ⭑.ᐟ smut! minors dni!, ex!anton, fem!reader, pet names, dry humping, 'public' sex, unprotected sex, squirting, overstimulation. word count⭑.ᐟ 1.8k+

✩🎧⭑.ᐟ [ it's ok, i'm ok — tate mcrae ]

“ugh, are you kidding me?”

you were bummed that a friend couldn’t come pick you up for tonight’s halloween party because her boyfriend can’t keep his hands to himself. you already dressed up for tonight, all that’s left was for someone to come pick you up and come with you to the party.

thankfully, your friend had connections, or else you would’ve just moped around at home.

the only thing that’s holding you back, though, was the fact that it was your ex— something your so-called friend forgot to consider. now, you were shaking nervously on your couch, obsessing over your appearance and clothes.

you were dressed as a certain beloved comic book character, hair split into uneven pigtails, intentionally messy make-up, ruined cropped tee, booty shorts, fishnet stockings, and a bat in one hand to top it all off. you were quite the sight, and you knew he’d enjoy it just as much.

this costume was something you’ve been planning on for quite some time now ever since shotaro told you about his halloween party. you put a lot of time and effort into it, from accessories to altering the clothes you bought.

having your ex-boyfriend think that you put this much effort into your costume just because you found out he was picking you up today would be the last thing you wanted— and you know he’d bring up how you were still not over him at some point.

when the time came for him to come pick you up, you could’ve sworn he was checking you out from head to toe just as you expected.

normally, you would've felt flattered, but you were way past that now. you crossed your arms, “are you done? can we leave now?” anton chuckles softly, going around his car to open the car door for you.

for a very brief moment, you were surprised to realize that you’d be sitting at the back, not at the passenger seat like you always did. you hesitated, glancing at him awkwardly.

anton seems to have noticed, turning his head away to hide the growing smile on his face. it might’ve been months since you broke up but he could still tell what goes on in your mind, chuckling silently at how lost you looked.

”wanna take the passenger seat instead?” you beamed up at his suggestion, nodding quickly. anton smiles at you, nodding back.

unsurprisingly, anton looked as dashing as ever even if he was wearing a cheap swat uniform. black looked amazing on him, especially now with his hair reaching his shoulders. he looked good, too good actually.

he walked past you, stopping in his tracks when he felt something tugging at his pants. he looks down, seeing a velcro strip caught onto your fishnet stockings. anton tried to be discreet before you could catch on, pulling it gently.

”what are you doing?” you asked in a panicked voice when you felt the tugging on your thigh, turning your head to look at him. the darkness didn’t help and anton had to run his hands around to get a feel— ”anton?!” you squeaked out, surprised when he pinned you against the car door, upper body pressed flush against his window.

anton groans out, hands clumsily trying to break your stockings apart. his fingers grazing against your bare skin made him shudder, swallowing thickly as he gave into the temptation and gently caressed your thigh. he was getting sidetracked but he couldn't help it— he missed having you in his arms, way more than he liked to admit.

your skin felt soft and warm against his touch, scent overwhelming him from how sweet it was. anton could easily recall every single thing about you, every touch and caress that would drive you crazy.

”tell me to stop,” he sighed out, pressing his body against yours and sandwiching you in between his larger build and the cold car door. when you didn't respond, anton grabbed your ass, giving it a small squeeze, "look at me and tell me to stop."

you let out a shaky breath, turning your cheek towards him. anton cursed softly, the messy makeup you had on reminded him so much of the past; all the passionate nights after small squabbles where he got to apologize for his behavior and make it up to you.

"do you want to?" your voice came out quiet, hesitant even, but anton could hear it all. hell, he swore he could even hear how hard your heart was beating at that moment.

anton couldn't shake his head, breathing heavily against your neck as he leaned in. he nipped at your lobe before trailing wet kisses down your neck. his huge hand roamed around your body, warming you up effectively against the cold night air. he let out a sigh, brows furrowing at how familiar you felt and how easy it was to leave you trembling under his touch.

"need to hear a yes from those pretty lips, baby." you gasped softly, his hot breath fanning against your exposed neck. "i'll treat you so good, just give me the word," he groaned, hips starting to grind against your ass.

you whimpered, head spinning when you felt his cock starting to get harder, pressing onto your plush thighs. "fuck, yes," you breathed out, placing your hands on the car's window.

anton gripped on your hips, keeping you still as he slotted himself in between your legs. you pushed your ass out even more, swaying it against anton's movements. he moaned breathily into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

you were feeling lightheaded, body heating up from the slow but deep movements. you felt needy, whimpering at how familiar this feeling felt. there wasn't any affection involved, but you could almost fool yourself into loving him from just how much you wanted him in this moment alone.

"anton, this is so bad." he chuckled at your breathless murmurs, gripping on you tightly. he knew those were empty words, the way your hips moved against his was enough proof for him. anton badly wished that he could replace your lingering hatred for him with whatever he was making you feel right now, to just act like nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.

you shuddered at how desperate you were starting to feel, feeling heated from anton's teasing. "hurry," you breathed out, "just hurry, fuck, i need you. i need you bad, toni."

anton stilled his hips, eyes going wide for a brief moment before leaning in to press a soft kiss on your neck. "you have no idea how much i missed you," he whispered, voice laced with sweet desire.

"don't say shit you can't take back, anton." he laughs weakly, ignoring the disdain in your voice as he unapologetically tore more holes into your stockings before hooking his fingers up your shorts and tugging it up, leaving you gasping and whimpering at the pressure against your already sensitive core.

"baby, i have no reason to lie," he mumbled almost defensively. his hands moved busily, pulling your shorts down while his other hand unbuckled his belt. the fabric of his costume felt rough against your bare thighs, feeling it drop down as his hot length rested on your ass cheek.

you bit your lip, letting out a small noise when he slapped his heavy cock against your plump ass. "missed that, baby?" anton teased, smirking at every little reaction you gave him.

"tell me what else you missed about me and i'll give it to you like a good girl."

you wanted to complain, really, but the temptation was too great. his hands dug into your skin, warmth seeping into your core. his hands— you’ve missed them terribly, body tingling in response to his desperate touches. but more importantly, you missed having him inside of you.

you whimpered, resting your forehead against the vehicle’s window. “please,” you gasp, “i need you inside.”

anton chuckles, nuzzling his cheek against the crook of your neck. he pressed a kiss on your skin, leaving you shivering from the contact. “anything,” he whispered, “anything you want, darling.”

he pulled away slightly, gripping on his length while he pushes your shorts to the side. he mumbled soft curses, face contorting in pleasure as he rubs the tip of his cock against your wet entrance. anton pushed his cock inside, drawing out that sweet, breathless gasp from your plump lips.

”i fucking missed this,” he moans breathlessly, resting his head against your shoulder. anton began to move in a steady rhythm, your walls clinging onto him snugly. “always so needy,” he brought his hand down onto your ass, the loud smack echoing in the empty streets. “always so tight for me,” he gasps softly, brows furrowing.

you whimpered, legs starting to tremble. your voice grew louder, crying out at the increasing pace. anton’s hips snapped against yours, leaving you moaning and whimpering. he pressed on your back, pressing you closer to him and splitting your legs open even more. you cried his name, encouraging him to go faster, until you couldn’t take any more— just the way you liked it.

”take it,” he panted, “take all of me, baby.” you whimper, body melting from the overwhelming pleasure you felt for the first time in months. anton snaked his hand around your waist, gripping on you tightly.

”you’re close, yeah? i could tell,” he mumbled against your flushed skin. you clawed on the window, breath fogging up the tinted surface. your body tensed up, voice going up a pitch higher as he pressed his cock deeper and deeper with every thrust. he rubbed on your lower stomach, feeling his cock bulging as he thrusted deep.

you sobbed softly, barely keeping yourself up as your orgasm began to build up. “anton,” you moan, “keep going— fuck!” anton happily complied, smiling against your skin and leaving small bites on your shoulder. he panted, hands shaking as he reached down to roll your swollen clit, further amplifying your pleasure and leaving you shaking under his touch.

”fuck, fuck— oh, anton!” you cried, trembling as you came. he held you up, fingers still rubbing circles against your clit. he kept moving his hips, drawing out your orgasm for as long as you could take it.

”i know you could give me more than that, baby.” you whimper, sobbing sensitively as he kept pressing on your sensitive walls. warmth began to build up in your lower stomach, hips jerking from how sensitive you felt.

anton whispered praises into your ear, slowly driving you insane. his movements began to get sloppy, starting to reach his own high as your walls kept clenching down on his throbbing length. you weakly cried his name, fists balling up as you squirted all over his cock.

anton pressed your body against his, shuddering slightly as he came deep inside you. “fuck,” he mumbled, dragging his lips against your neck, lazily leaving kisses in its trail.

you panted heavily, resting your cheek against the window. you sighed, “i need a minute after that.”

he chuckles, kissing your jaw, “still plan on going to that party? i can bring you somewhere nice.” you sighed at his tempting offer. “somewhere warmer, perhaps?”

right. you two were still outside— at a residential neighborhood. if you were lucky enough, your mom would hopefully be asleep by now. how horrific.

”somewhere far,” you whispered, “i don’t think i can face my mom’s neighbors after this.”

[bunnyboilewd]

So something I prescribe to is a guideline I call "5 below and any above"

I can actively initiate flirting with anyone older than me no matter how much older. I can only initiate flirting with someone who is younger than me if they are within 5 years younger than me.

An example: when I am eventually 40 I'm probably only gonna initiate flirting with people 35 and up.

Now the other part of this is that if someone is of legal age, and they start flirting with me but they are under my 5 year rule, I then explain "I am XX years old, with being older than you there will be a power imbalance. If you really really are interested then you have to do the initiation because I will not." Then we either discuss the imbalance or that's that gg we are just friends.

When I was younger I could of used this conversation, I could of used a lot of things to be honest, but being infantilized didn't help me at all. Treating adults like they are still incapable of making their own choices when they are grown ass adults is ridiculous and will just fuck up their ability to grow and become independent.

Let the 23 year old knowingly consent to dating the 45 year old as long as they both have safe support structures and their own autonomy they can do whatever the fuck they want. Those are consenting adults, go have sex and discuss boundaries and philosophy.

Age gaps don't gotta be fucked up and toxic. I'll be the first to say I'll throw hands with a groomer, but if both people meet as grown ass adults and both know about healthy boundaries and power dynamics then go for it.

Stay safe, don't let any one convince you to leave your job and be their stay at home pet it's not good for your mental health I promise, always have a way to leave, never become entirely dependant on someone else if you can avoid it. Most abusers trap you by the second year and have slowly cut out your support network by then. Don't stay with someone if they hate or just say negative things that make you not wanna spend time with your friends and loved ones, run.

90% of age gaps don’t matter when you’re a grown adult as long as you don’t have a repeated pattern of dating people barely legal. I would date someone 30 years older than me if I liked them who gaf

[starkeynation]

I love you, I’m sorry

A letter from reader to Rafe

Content: Angst, like PURE sad, the lamp looks weird, based on the song I love you, I’m sorry by Gracie Abrams (may or may not be accurate)

A/N: about that cliffhanger and happy ending, I changed my mind… also ignore any writing mistakes if there’s any and this was kinda rushed so I hope it still turns out good

Masterlist

dividers from @anitalenia

Rafe,

It is Saturday night. I should be out doing something, partying or whatever to enjoy myself, yet here i am, pen in hand, finding myself writing to you again. I know this letter will never reach you- it’ll end up crumpled at the bottom of my drawer or burned to ashes. Still, I can’t seem to stop myself.

It has been exactly two august ago since everything fell apart. I remember the way I laid it all out, raw, I wanted to be real, hoping that honesty would mend us. We weren’t perfect. Hell, we were far from it. We fought like fire and gasoline, burning everything we touched. Jealousy leads us to mistrust each other but even then, I didn’t think it would end the way it did. I never thought that fight would be the last..the final, devastating blow before you ghosted me and blocked me everywhere.

I swear it wasn’t my intention to break up with you, I thought by exposing the cracks, we could patch them together. Instead, the truth just ended up pushing you away. When you drove off in your Benz and left me standing at my gate, it felt like everything had stopped. The time, the world, my heart…everything froze. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to scream, I wanted to stop you, beg you to stay, to tell you that we could still save us but you didn’t look back, and i was too late.

Now, i watch you from a distance as you become successful, helping your dad doing business, running Cameron’s development like you were born to do it. I heard your name whispered in admiration at the club where I work, how you charm people the way you trained for. And you know what? I’m so so proud of you Rafe. I always knew you had it in you. I’ll be rooting for you always, even from the shadows.

Maybe two summers from now we’ll be talking again at some point, exchange smiles, our lives untangled and we’re cool again. I can picture you’ll be in your family’s jet, travelling, and me, on my boat moving on with our own lives. By then, i hope..im actually ready to move on. I know you’ve already moved on- I mean, why wouldn’t you? Still, there’s part of me wish that you wouldn’t yet, and maybe, just maybe, you would take me back.

But that’s just selfish isn’t it? I was selfish when we were together too. I made everything about me, i was inconsiderate, I turn something small into raging battles. I didn’t listen, didn’t see you for who you were. I’m ashamed of the person I was, of the mistakes I made. After everything i did, I’m surprised you haven’t send someone to kill me yet.

Lately I find myself sitting on the porch, watching sunsets like we used to, with a glass of something strong in my hand. I laugh at myself, at the crash I made, because what else can I do? It’s a twisted kind of coping—laughing at my own heartbreak. It doesn’t feel real and it’s really hard to let go but i guess that’s just the way life goes.

I know i was a dick, Rafe. I had too many flaws to count but as sick as it sounds, I loved you first. You’ll always be my first love. You were the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me, a storm that left me shattered but alive. Your love had impact me deeply, it is carved in my soul. No matter where we are, i want you to know that I’ll carry the past and the weight of my mistakes with me. Trust me, it will always, haunt me.

I regret every second for not treating you well, for not being the person you needed. Lastly, i want you to know that I still, truly, deeply, love you, I’m sorry.

*Ding* you heard the bell rings. You rush downstairs to answer the door.

“Pizza delivery”, says the delivery boy standing in front of you. You almost forgot you ordered one, an hour ago. You take your prepaid alfredo chicken pizza and thank him. It was Rafe’s favourite pizza, you’re not sure if it’s still his favourite though. After shutting the door, you walk to your kitchen.

Just two seconds later, *ding* the bell rings again. Did the delivery boy forget anything? You thought.

You open the door, “yes-“ you pause. You couldn’t believe it, standing right in front of you,

“Topper?”

“Topper what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice laced with confusion.

He then steps aside and reveals a man behind him, lying on the steps of your porch- a man whose silhouette you’d recognize anywhere. “Rafe,” you whisper.

“Shit I’m sorry to bother you but this dumbass got into an accident for driving while he’s high,” Topper blurts out, panickly.

Your brow furrowing and your confusion deepens. You walk closer to Rafe and spot the blood dripping from his head, “Accident? What? Then why do you bring him here instead of the hospital?” You ask, your voice sharp, slicing through the chaos of the moment.

“He won’t let me. He insisted I bring him here to see you,” Topper explains.

“Y/n,” Rafe speaks up, his voice low and strained.

Your heart skips a beat. It’s like the universe has stopped spinning again. This is the first time you hear him calling your name after two whole years.

“Hey Rafe, you’re bleeding,” you say, your voice mix with feelings.

“I’m fine,” he says, giving a soft, disarming smile while trying to sit up.

You instruct Topper to go find some cloth to stop the bleeding. As he dissapears, you sit on your knees facing to Rafe, “Rafe, what happened? Why are you here?” you ask, still have no clue of what’s going on here.

“I wanted to see you,” he replies, putting on that damn smile again, the one that’s always managed to unravel you. “I miss you, y/n.”

Your face goes pale, your eyes widens, the words hang in the hair, heavy and unexpected. “Rafe, you’re drunk,” you accuse, trying to make sense of what’s happening right now.

“No, I’m not, i swear I’m very conscious right now,” he insists, his voice firm. You’re still not sure if he’s telling the truth or not. “I really miss you, y/n,” he continues, his voice low but still clear for you to hear it.

Your heart aches, torn between disbelief and the undeniable pull of his words. “How hard did you hit your head? God, you’re still bleeding. We need to see a doctor,” you say, trying to stand up, but he grabs your hand, pulling you back down.

“Stop it, I’m fine i swear…this is nothing,” he says waving off the concern. Just then, Topper returns with a towel in his hand. He hands the towel to you and says, “dude, are you sure you’re okay? When i saw your car there were smokes everywhere. Looks like you hit that tree pretty hard,” his voice fill with concern.

“I’m fine Top, just go. I need to talk to y/n,” Rafe says with a dismissive wave. Topper hesitates, he looks at you for confirmation as if you’re the one in charge here. You nod at him, signalling an approval, “s’okay Top i can handle this.”

“Okay, just call me if anything happens,” he says. “Thank you,” you mutter softly to Topper as he’s leaving towards his car.

With Topper gone, you shift your focus back to Rafe. You take the towel and start dabbing on the blood on his forehead, “we still need to get this stitched up,” you say. Rafe then grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful, “look at me,” he demands.

You look at him straight in the eyes, drowning in his blue eyes. It’s overwhelming- staring at the man that you love but no longer yours.

“I do mean what i said, i miss you y/n and i wanted to see you,” he says, his tone steady and sure.

“But why now?” You ask, your voice breaking under the weight of the question.

“Sar..Sarah told me tonight that you’ve been writing letters about me. She found them stashed under your bed,” he says, hesitantly.

Your stomach drops and you shake your head in disbelief, “God…i knew it there was something wrong. She was acting so weird when she left this morning,” you mutter.

“So it’s true? You’ve been writing about me?”

Your face is turning red, you’re struggling to find the words. “I- yes…I’ve been writing letters. Pretending like I’m gonna send it to you but i never do,” you stutter.

“Why didn’t you just send them?” He presses, his voice low, almost pleading.

“You know why Rafe…you’ve moved on. You blocked me few months after we broke up. You’re thriving now with your job, you got your whole life together, and I- I was the reason why we broke up. I can’t just crawl my way back into your life like nothing happened,” you shatter, your voice breaking as you’re struggling to control your tears.

Rafe shakes his head. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles and kisses it. “You’re wrong y/n, you’re absolutely wrong. I’ve been doing nothing over the past two years except than trying to forget about you. That’s why I’ve been doing all these jobs, thinking it could distract me, but no,” he shakes his head again. “Nothing could make me stop thinking about you.”

His confession leaves you breathless, your tears streaming down your face as he continues. “About the blocking and disappearing, I’m really sorry, I was a coward. The truth is, that day i came to your house to apologize. Then, as I stood outside, i saw you were laughing with jj through your window. I knew you guys were not together cause after jj left, I may or may not have confronted him…” he then mouthed sorry. “But then, I remember the way you looked so happy when you’re with him. At that time, I knew I had to let you go cause you deserve someone better and you deserve to be happy so that’s why I blocked you..as if that makes any difference.”

You idiot,” you scoff. “I never wanted anyone else, only you Rafe, only you. You’re the only one who could truly make me happy.”

His eyes glisten, his smile soft and hesitant. “Please forgive me y/n, I swear I’m a better person now and I love- I love you, so much. I still do.”

You reach up, caress his cheek and pull him in for a kiss. “I love you too Rafe,” you whisper. He cups your face and returns the kiss. The kiss is passionate, slow and tender. His lip is so soft and only god knows how much you miss this. The world fades around you, leaving only the two of you, two broken pieces finding their way back to each other.

You pull away from his face and let out a giggle. “Why are you laughing?” He asks, can’t help but let out a soft giggle too.

“Before you came I was actually writing another letter for you,” you admit, a shy smile appears on your face.

“Oh really? Tell me about it baby,” he smirks. Your smile widens at the sound of the nickname that rolls out from his mouth. “Mm I miss that. You, calling me baby. Anyways, it’s in my room, wanna come in?” You ask.

He shakes his head, pulling you closer as he leans back against the stairs railing. “Hmm in a bit sweetheart, you can tell me here while we stargaze. I missed your porch- and mostly you, of course,” he replies with a faint smile.

So you do. You talk to him about the letter while your head rest on his shoulder and your fingers intertwined. “Lastly I wrote, I love you, I’m sorry,” you say, explaining the last content of the letter. But then, you realise he has gone quiet. His stillness unsettling. You glance up to him, “Rafe?” He’s not responding. You check his pulse but there is none. Panic sets in as you shake him, calling his name.

“Rafe”

“Rafe, wake up”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up!”

“Y/n”

“Y/n”

“Y/n, wake up”

You gasp, your heart is pounding like a drum. You’re sweating all over your body as reality crashes down. It was a nightmare.

“Hey..baby you okay?” You turn your head to your right and realise it’s Rafe. He’s okay, he’s alive and he’s sitting on the bed next to you. Relief floods through you like a tidal wave.

“Is it the nightmare again?” He asks. You nod, signalling him that he’s right.

“It’s okay baby I got you. Here, come back to sleep,” he says, gently pulling you into his arms. You smile and cuddle him, clinging to the illusion of safety his embrace provides. You close your eyes again trying to fall back to sleep till your alarm suddenly rings.

You wake up with a tear running down your cheek. You hit the snooze button and realise that was a dream and this time, it’s the true reality. You look to the other side of your bed, it’s empty. It always has been for quite a while now. The truth is, that night after Rafe collapsed, you called for an ambulance. On the way to the hospital, they try everything to make his heart beat again, but nothing works. It was too late. He had lost too many blood before that you weren’t aware of and that same night, Rafe had died in your arms.

It’s been 3 years since the tragic. You keep having the same dream almost every night. Part of you is grateful that you and Rafe had ended in good terms but another part of you knows that the truth is you’ll never get the chance to redeem yourself and be a better partner. There’s nothing remaining other than the memories that will haunt you forever.

Rafe, if you’re hearing this, I love you, I’m sorry.

Like and reblog if you want to kys after reading this😇☺️

[levans44]

underneath the tree

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

summary: Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

warnings: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, first kiss, light angst

word count: 2.7k

a/n: hey friends, this one’s a holiday special w/ pure fluff (and a pinch of angst b/c who am i without it?) feedback is always welcome! thanks for reading and happy holidays 🎄✨

“Santa’s… Favorite… Ho.” 

The words glitter in bold, obnoxious cursive, smack dab across the chest of your favorite red-haired assassin. 

“Good one, Romanoff.”  You smirk, biting back a laugh as she levels you with a deadpan stare, betrayed by the faint twitch at the corner of her crimson lips.  

Your very first time hosting a Christmas Party. 

Or, as Nat lovingly dubbed it—a ’Derelict’s Christmas.’ 

It’s a tradition you’re determined to start this year, for anyone on the team without family during the holidays—a way to make sure no one spends this time of year alone.

And, naturally, another opportunity to humiliate your coworkers. 

The rules were simple: everyone had to show up in the ugliest, most eye-searing sweater they could find. No exceptions.

And I mean ugly, Nat. A basic red sweater is not ugly. 

Even Bucky’s adhered to your law, donning a laid-back penguin wearing sunglasses, sprawled beneath the words ‘Chill Vibes Only.’ A festive tinsel garland spirals around his left arm, which will undoubtedly be the subject of jokes he won’t live down until well after New Years.

Wait, does this make you the Winter Wonderland Soldier?

As you glance around your living room, soft, warm light dances off the mismatched decorations adorning the walls—the kind you’d spent all week setting up—and you can’t help but feel a distinct melancholic warmth reserved for this time of the year.

Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

Your eyes flick to the door for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.

No luck. 

You try to tell yourself it’s just traffic, that he’ll walk through any second. But the party flows on, cruelly indifferent—drinks flowing, laughter bubbling—Sam’s already made his second sappy toast of the night and is well on his way to a third. With each passing minute, the excitement in your chest grows heavy, twisting into disappointment.

Sure, he’s probably got a million other things to do. Even on Christmas. 

But when you’d brought up your little soiree, he’d agreed with a gentle nod of his head, and smiled in that boyish way that made your heart flutter.

Sounds fun, I’ll be there.  

It’s not like him to just leave you hanging. But when there’s no work emergency and everyone else is here, it’s hard not to take it personally. 

Your mind feels exhausted, steaming like a train running low on fuel, huffing its way to its final station, desperate to come up with more excuses. You’ve run out of them about two drinks ago.

You’re about to prepare your third, slumped against the kitchen island with a cutting board under you, when a quiet voice cuts through your haze.

“Not feelin’ the holiday spirit?”

You start at the interruption, the lime in your hand slipping from your fingers and tumbling away, rolling off the cutting board with a soft thump.

“Jesus, Barnes, give a girl a warning.”

You abandon your knife with a quiet sigh, eyes following the trail of red and green tinsel up Bucky’s arm as he steps in closer.

Lips twitching in something like amusement, he leans casually against the counter, gaze flicking pointedly toward your apartment entrance before drifting back to you.

“Noticed you’ve been staring at that door all night.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You force a roll of your eyes, dismissing his observation with a shrug. But your fingers hesitate over the cutting board, the lime mocking you from its spot against the cool backsplash. 

“I’m not—” You cut yourself off, the words tasting too defensive.  

A heavier sigh slips from you when you reach for your glass instead.

“It’s just not like him, you know?” You mutter, swirling the last sip in your glass before downing it. Your lips come up sticky-sweet from the rim when you mumble, more to yourself than him.

“I mean, sure, he’s busy, but…” You trail off, meeting Bucky’s gaze to find that the teasing glint was gone, replaced with something softer, unreadable. The shift unsettles you, and your stomach twists.

“What?” The word comes out sharper than you intended.

He tilts his head, as if weighing his words, and the silence grows heavy—a non-answer wrapped in a knowing look. Brows furrowed, you wait, trying to decipher his hesitation. 

It’s another long beat before he sighs, lifting himself off the counter, and taps his fingers absently against the edge. 

His eyes dart to the side, glancing briefly over the room. “He… didn’t want me to tell anyone.” 

Your fingers tighten instinctively around the stem of your glass, teeth scraping over the remnants of sugar sticking to your bottom lip. 

“About what?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Steve’s…” His gaze flicks to yours, softening, “He’s probably over at New York-Presbyterian.”

Your stomach drops, fingers slipping around the glass as you reach for the countertop. The train jolts back to life, racing faster than ever, the wheels screeching as each thought barrels forward, colliding with the next in a blur of frantic speed.

The hospital?Why, was he hurt?What happened?How had you not heard?

“No, no, he’s not—” Bucky cuts in quickly, raising a hand to stave off your growing panic. The wince on his face softens into a small, apologetic laugh,

“He’s fine. Just…volunteering for the kids. Does it every year.”  

You blink, the rush of thoughts screeching to a sudden halt.

“He’s…”

It takes all of two seconds for the realization to register, your body moving before your mind can catch up. The glass is abandoned on the counter as you scramble for the nearest coat, not caring whose it is, and rush for the door.

The pediatric ward offers a welcome reprieve from the usual maze of sterile corridors—paper snowflakes and crayon drawings adorning the walls, giant inflatable snowmen standing guard at the entrances to patient rooms. A small Christmas tree, twinkling with homemade ornaments and tinsel, stands next to the nurse’s station. 

Your desperate steps falter when you spot him in the corner of the ward, sat cross-legged over a rug in a makeshift play area, surrounded by a small circle of children. The Captain America outfit stands out amongst the sterile blues and whites—and it’s not the usual tactical gear he wears on covert missions, muted tones and coarse to the touch. 

No, its the spandex version of his uniform, that ridiculously colorful suit he’d worn to punch Hitler on stage every night. Soft patches of red, white, and blue that fit snugly around his shoulders, but hang a little loose over the rest of his frame.

He’s reading from a tiny children’s book, splayed open in one hand, while the other steadies a little boy in a hospital gown perched on top of his shoulders. The boy’s eyes are wide, glued to the page as Steve gently rocks him side to side.

You hesitate, pulse quickening, letting his soft, steady voice wash over you for a moment—a rhythmic murmur that envelops the quiet corner of the ward. 

It’s not until he finishes the book that he realizes you’re standing there.

Soft blue eyes crinkle at the edges when he frowns, starting to uncross his legs.

"Hey, uh… guys, new mission,” He’s still a little unsure when he sets the book down, gaze still on you. “…whoever can help me clean up the blocks gets to pick the next game, okay?” He clears his throat, smiling back at the eager group as they scramble off to the toy bins in the corner. He gently lowers the boy from his shoulders, letting the little one rush off to join the others. 

You move forward, feet shuffling against the soft foam padding of the floor. As Steve meets you halfway, you clutch the sleeves of your sweater tightly, heart hammering.

“Hi.” He breathes out, surprise still evident in the small dip between his brows, though it gives way to a gentle smile. 

“Hey.” Your words come out choked, something unmistakably tightening in your chest. 

“How did you…” His eyes flit down to the loud pattern on your sweater, then behind you at the clock. His gaze lingers there for a moment, eyes fluttering shut in disbelief. 

“Shoot. I’m sorry, I had no idea it got this late. I was going to—”

“—Steve.” Your voice cracks, thick and watery—frustration, sadness, guilt, longing, all tangled with a deep, aching incredulity. 

And goddamn it, why was the tip of your nose prickling?

You take another step toward him, now close enough to notice the tiny details of his uniform—the delicate lines of stitching, the faded patch of white over his chest. And as your eyes trail over the frayed seams, you can’t help but lift a hand, the tip of your index tracing a gentle line against the end of a loose thread, pressing it down and watching it pop back up. It’s all you can do to keep from collapsing into his arms, or punching him square in the chest. 

“It’s been sitting in my closet too long,” he murmurs, the low timbre vibrating against your palm, “Figured I’d take it out for a spin.”

Your eyes snap up, and the air that escapes your nose is somewhere between a snort and a desperate cry because you know you’re fucked. 

Utterly ruined by this ridiculous, stupid, dumb man standing in front of you. 

And when he tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, trapping the soft pink flesh in quiet hesitation, the spring finally snaps. 

Brows furrowed, he's halfway into offering some kind of reassurance—maybe another damn apology—when you rise on your tiptoes, yanking him down by the loose collar of his uniform.

And then it’s nothing but the heady sensation of his lips flush against yours, a little stiff but warm and alive just the same. His broad hands find their way to the small of your back, the pressure against your lips growing firmer as he bends down, pulling you in closer. You’re gripping his uniform so tight your knuckles have turned white, but you refuse to let go even when he pulls back, his breath warm and steady against your skin. 

His gaze is soft, searching, and you become acutely aware of the hot sting rising behind your eyes, the bruising grip on his collar the only thing holding you together. You wonder if he feels it too, the weight of so much time lost and longing unspoken, rushing to fill the space between you. 

Then he smiles—a quiet, unguarded thing that tugs at the corners of his lips and lights up his eyes.

And just like that, the weight in your chest slips away as if it was never there.

His gaze flits down to your lips, eyelids fluttering tenderly as he starts to lean back in, only to be stopped short by a ripple of delighted gasps from about three feet below.

“Look, look, they’re kissing!”  

“Steve is that your girrrlfriend?"

A gaggle of children ambushes you two—a surprise strike from all sides with no escape route. Squeals of joy pierce the air as tiny hands grasp at Steve’s uniform, tugging at his sleeves, pulling at his boot. It's a full-on siege, and you’re caught squarely in the middle. Steve looks back at you, brows raised in defeat.

“Oh my god, she’s toootally his girlfriend!”

“Cap-tain America sitting on a tree,” A loud chorus of singing erupts. “K-I-S-S-I-N—“

“Okay, okay, guys–“ He’s got the biggest, dumbest grin on his face when he raises a hand to try and quiet the noise, the other still resting on your waist. 

He’s blushing something fierce, redder than a Christmas stocking, and hell, if your cheeks aren’t warming up too. 

The nurse on duty eventually settles down the noise, gently ushering the children out of the play area and leading them to their rooms. You watch warily as the kids shuffle out, stuffed animals raised in the air as they wave goodbye.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“No, we should’ve wrapped up a while ago.” Steve smiles sheepishly, his cheeks flushed as he ruffles the back of his neck. “It’s late.”

“Right.”

Silence stretches between you, deafeningly loud without all the tiny agents crowding your space. 

He steps forward, hand still curled around his nape, and you resist the urge to kiss him again. 

“Do you… wanna grab some hot chocolate?”

You sit idly in the waiting area, observing the ease on Steve’s face as he chats with the nursing staff, thanking them before heading back toward you with two plastic cups in hand.

The seat beside you creaks under his weight, and you go to cradle the warmth in both hands with a quiet smile. Your eyes drift over to the lights wrapped around the Christmas tree near the nurse’s station, shining brightly—and with it, the familiar knot tightening in your chest.

“Every year, huh?”

“Yeah,” He nods in your periphery, “The kids seem to like it.”

Your lips quirk up in a sideways smile, “Yeah, I bet.”

A beat, then: “Did Bucky tell you?”

You nod, and his smile widens, his gaze dropping to the floor as his leg bounces ever so slightly. The shiny red of his boots gleams against the linoleum, as he taps once, twice.

“I’m sorry I missed the party.” 

You track the rhythm of the tree lights as they blink—on, off, alternating between bulbs then flashing all at once—and he’s still apologizing. 

“I was looking forward to going.”

“Steve, it’s…” you sigh, brows furrowing at the absurdity of his apology, only for a new ridiculous thought to take its place. You blink, then, nose crinkling in amusement as you swivel around in your seat. 

“Wait, were you, planning on showing up in that?”

He laughs, the sound breaking out so warm and easy. “That bad, huh?”

You gaze incredulously for a long, deliberate beat.

“You know what? I’m actually glad you didn’t come tonight. I mean, for your sake.”

Quiet laughter bubbles up in your chest, a smile tugging at your lips as you turn your gaze back forward. But in the silence that follows, a thread of bitterness winds its way back through your thoughts.

"You know," you murmur, eyes drifting to the neatly stacked parcels beneath the tree, "you’re always helping out, doing things for everyone else." A warm, fuzzy feeling hums low in your stomach—though you're not entirely sure if it’s from all the cocktails you’ve had tonight.

You sigh, your head lolling onto one shoulder as you turn to meet his gaze. 

“…does Santa ever get anything for Captain America?”

He blinks, a quiet tilt of his head followed by a slow, knowing smile.

“Well,” the chair creaks again when he leans back, stretching out his legs with a satisfied breath. “He did this year.” 

At the puzzled furrow of your brow, he shrugs, eyes dropping down to the narrow strip of linoleum between you two.

Then, a gentle tap of his ridiculous, shiny boot against your foot.

When your gaze snaps back to his, he’s wearing that same boyish grin again, wide and stupid and far too charming for its own good.

You can’t decide if it makes you want to shove him, or punch him, or kiss him—or maybe do all three just to get it out of your system—because yeah, you’re completely done for.

Utterly ruined in ways you never saw coming, and it’s all his fault.

And if he leans in for another kiss, and you let him pull you in with a shaky breath and a smile that feels like surrender—

Well, that’ll have to be between you, him, and the giant inflatable snowman keeping guard just two feet away. 

(It’s not until you’ve both finished your hot chocolate, and shared just as many kisses as laughs, that you glance down at your phone to notice Sam’s text: 

bird boy 1 hour ago

yo di u take my fcking coat??)

[lovedrruunk]

'A Fresh Start 𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐[part iv]

She's weird, she's creepy, she's a total stalker, and now she's... loitering outside your door...? [part iii]

You paced your living room, arms crossed tightly over your chest, teeth chewing the inside of your cheek. You felt like an idiot.

What were you thinking showing up to her house uninvited, banging on her door and shouting her name like a lunatic? No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't help but feel that showing up like you did had been a mistake. 

The look in her eye when she opened the door haunted you. It wasn’t anger, not really. It was something else entirely. Fear? Guilt? Whatever it was, you hated that look on her.

You stopped pacing for a moment, your arms falling to your sides as you let out a heavy sigh. What was the point of trying to fix things now? You’d probably just scared her away for good. Why did you always have to push things? You should’ve just left her alone, I mean clearly she didn’t want to be friends. 

But then you couldn’t help but wonder: why the hell had she been following you then??

You groaned and flopped onto your couch as your mind raced. It didn’t make any sense. If she didn’t want anything to do with you, why had she gone out of her way to be near you? Why had she constantly stared at you from afar as if she wanted to say something?

None of it added up, and the more you thought about it, the more frustrated you felt. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe she wasn’t following you at all, and you’d just misread the whole situation. But… no. The way she’d looked at you when you confronted her, it was written all over her face. She’d been following you. You were sure of it.

“Ugh.” you groaned, dragging your hands over your face. This was hopeless.

Every time you thought you had a grasp on her, she’d do something to throw you off completely. She was impossible to read, like a puzzle missing half its pieces, or a windup monkey without its gears. And as much as you wanted to forget about it, about her, you couldn’t.

Because deep down, you cared. You hated seeing her so… isolated, so withdrawn. And even if she didn’t want to be friends, even if you’d scared her away, you couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t deserve this.

Pushing yourself off the couch, you started pacing again. You wanted to fix this, to figure out some way to show her that you weren’t just trying to bother her. But how? After the way she’d turned you away, what was the point?

Part of you wanted to march back to her house and try again. But the other part screamed at you to stay put, to not make things worse, to wait until she was ready.

But god did you want to see her.

You huffed again. You felt like a stupid teenage girl kicking her feet and hitting her pillows while whining about her latest highschool crush. You wanted to see her, you wanted to see her so bad it was driving you crazy. It was irrational really. She was a total freak. New in town, avoidant, creepy, and frankly, a little bit of a bitch. All negative traits associated with someone you shouldn’t be seeing. So why did you want to so badly? All your alarm bells were going off but it was hard to tell if they were yelling or singing.

Either way, you decided that this time you wouldn’t be impulsive. You’d choose logic over feeling, because obviously that’s what any other responsible adult would do… obviously. Logic over feeling. Rationality over impulse. It sounded easy in theory, but as you sat there, staring at the blank wall across the room, it felt impossible. 

What if she thought you hated her? What if she thought you didn’t care? Or worse, what if she thought you pitied her?

She’d probably slam the door in your face again if she thought for a second you were pitying her. You knew nothing about her yet you couldn’t help but feel like she would be the type.

You groaned, flopping back onto the couch. "This is ridiculous," you muttered to yourself. "I'm ridiculous."

You stayed still for what felt like hours, the only sound you could hear being the faint ticking of the clock. You couldn’t sit here forever, pacing between guilt and worry. But you’d already decided: no more impulsive decisions.

…

So why were you halfway to the door before you even realized it?

Your hand froze on the doorknob. You couldn’t go over there again. What happened to all that logic over feeling talk? Before you could scold yourself and retreat back to the couch, a sound from the other side of the door made you pause.

A shuffle. A creak. The distinct sound of someone sighing.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you wondered if you were hearing things. After a short pause you decided that it wouldn’t hurt to just check, for your own peace of mind if not anything. 

Turning the doorknob to quickly open the door, the sight made your breath hitch.

Powder was crouching on your doorstep, looking up at you like a deer in headlights. Her eyes were wide, her hair messy, and she looked just as nervous as you felt.

“You!” You shrieked.

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"What... the hell are you doing here?" you managed to ask after a long pause, your voice softer this time so as to not freak her out.

She shot to her feet so fast she almost lost balance, quickly tucking something into her pocket. Her eyes darted to the ground as she fidgeted with her fingers. “I don’t- I wasn’t-”

“You weren’t what? Just crouching on my porch for fun?”

She looked back up at you with a sour expression, her cheeks flushing a bright pink. “I didn’t think you’d open the door!” she blurted out defensively.

“It’s my house!” you said, exasperated.

“I know that!” she snapped back, louder than she intended. Her eyes widened, and her voice softened almost immediately. “I just... I wasn’t ready.”

“For what?” you asked, but she didn’t answer.

The air was heavy and the atmosphere was thick as you waited for her to respond. Her lips parted again as if to say something, but instead, she shook her head and spun on her heel, dropping onto the top porch step with a huff.

You took a minute to look at her. Just a couple minutes ago you were telling yourself to stay away from her, and although you agreed, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for her visit. It felt right, y’know, her being around.

Staring at the back of her messily cut hair, you wondered why she’d dropped by in the first place. Two days ago she was shooing you away like a fly, but now, for whatever reason, she came to you this time. You wondered what changed.

You sighed as you followed her, sitting down a few feet away. Neither of you said anything at first, the silence filled only by the far away sounds of the townsfolk heading home as the sun set.

Finally, you spoke first, your voice quieter this time. “You know, you don't make much sense.”

She didn’t look at you, her eyes fixed on the sidewalk below. 

“I know.” she muttered.

“Then help me out.” you said, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. “What’s going on here?”

“I... I don’t know.” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to look at her, noticing the way her fists tightened. For someone so closed off, she looked more lost than anything else.

You felt a pang of guilt, and although you knew she'd never stand for being pitied, you couldn't help but feel bad.

“Well...” you said after a moment, leaning back slightly, “whatever it is, there’s no rush.”

She glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say anything, but the fact that she didn’t immediately run away felt like progress.

‘There's no rush’ the phrase replayed in her head for the millionth time. It was just like you to say something like that wasn’t it? Sweet, patient, so sure of yourself. Meanwhile, she felt like her insides were about to explode.

She hated how much she cared about your words, how they lingered in the back of her mind, how they actually managed to reassure her.

“You’re being too nice to me.” she said finally.

“How so?” You asked, keeping your tone light.

She shook her head. “You just are.”

You groaned dramatically. “You’re so confusing.”

She laughed dryly in response.

After a short pause you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.

“I like being nice to you.” you said simply.

She froze. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

“I don’t know how to deal with that.” she admitted finally, her voice small.

“Then don’t” you replied. “Not right now at least.”

Powder looked away, blinking rapidly. She stood abruptly. “I have to go.”

You stood too, subconsciously copying her. “Powder, wait–”

She turned to face you, looking at you fully for the first time since you two sat down, before quickly cutting you off. “Here, this was for you.” 

She extended her fist towards you before opening it to reveal a crushed and wilted flower. 

You hesitated before accepting it, it was a cute offer but you were more confused than anything. You stared at it for a second before the sound of her boots rushing down the steps caught you off guard. 

“H-Hold on!” you called out.

She stopped in her tracks, turning her head slightly to look at you through her peripherals.

“Are you… free tomorrow?”

. . .

it wouldve been real fucking funny if i made her trip and fall down the stairs

ANYWAYS THEYRE SO CUTEEE AWWW (i say as i am the one who wrote it)

TRUSTTTTTTT that PART 5 WILL COME A LOTTT SOONER!!!! updating takes me awhile when im not sure how to go about the story BUT I HAVE RLLY CUTE AND FUN IDEAS FOR THEIR HANGOUT SO WRITING IT WILL BE MUCH EASIER!!!

also posting this on my bday is so funny to me like wow life of a teenage girl

[taglist ( ;´ - `;)!!]

@cattjull @kenqki @powderbomb-jinxed @iamastar @lostdreamingwallflower @errorlovernotfound99 @raven437 @cartalige @poncho-fisch @crushh-existz @slxtcity @jinxslapdog @radioheadfan699 @alduinworldeater11 @dulleyeddreamer @alicenasflowers

[USERS I CANT TAG 4 SUM REASON (◞‸◟；)]

@sacrasm-is-my-form-of-attack @wonylvxv

[muwapsturniolo]

Cyber Sex 💿 M. Sturniolo

"W-was it good?"

✘ sub!matt, loser!matt, domish!reader, riding, hand jobs, titty sucking, one use of mommy.

PT 1 PT2 PT3

Decided to give yall an early xmas gift!!! enjoy the last part to cyber sex!!!!

Weeks.

It's been weeks since she had seen Matt and given him a blowjob. He had accepted his reward of taking her out on a date, but now it seemed like he was avoiding her.

Which was partially true.

As always, he was focused on his studies, especially with finals coming up. He stayed cooped up in his room or in the library, taking notes on top of notes. Passing all his tests was one of the only things on his mind, the other being her.

He wasn't trying to avoid her on purpose, but he will admit he's been milking the studying excuse.

It wasn't that he didn't like her, he was infatuated with her. It was just the fact the she was...well, her.

Everything about her was intimidating to him, the way she carried herself, the way she smiled, the way she squinted her eyes when she was up to no good.

She was a force to be reckoned with, and she knew it too.

So here she was, gathering the bags of takeout and other things, leaving her apartment with one thing on her mind.

Matt.

She doesn't take the elevator, knowing that the stairs would be quicker, and she's right.

Soon, she's standing in front of Matt's door, a determined look on her face. She knocks twice and waits impatiently for the door to open.

Unfortunately for her, it doesn't. She huffs and knocks again, but this time louder, the impatience she's feeling only getting stronger. Soon, she hears the muffled sound of cursing and some movement before the door opens.

" Hell-" Matt's breath catches in his throat as he sees her in all her glory. His eyes widen, and he fixes his glasses, looking off to the side.

"H-Hey what are you-" She ignores him and pushes her way into the apartment, looking around for a few seconds before setting her items down on the coffee table.

"Alright Matthew, let's talk." The tone of her voice makes him look down at the floor.

"You have been avoiding me, I don't know why, but you have, and to be honest, I don't like it. So what's your issue?"

He scoffs softly and crosses his arms, looking like a scolded child.

"M'not avoiding you..." He trails off, knowing good and well that he's lying. She stands in front of him and tilts her head, not believing him for a second. " Oh really? You're not avoiding me? Fine then, guess I'll go tell someone else that they wo-No!" He shouts unexpectedly. A small smirk makes its way onto her face as he watches him fidget anxiously.

"I-I'm sorry ok? I just....Like I said, you make me nervous, and then finals are starting, so I've just been everywhere... I-I didn't mean to make you feel bad o-or anything." Her smirk drops as she realizes this runs deeper than him simply avoiding her.

He truly was scared and nervous; this was all new to him, and he didn't know how to navigate it, and finals coming up wasn't helping him at all.

She softens her demeanor as he continues on, rambling in an attempt to clear the air. "I-I do want to take you on a date...I just don't want to disappoint you o-or embarrass myself..." She wasn't dumb, she could read between the lines.

He didn't want to disappoint her sexually.

"Matt....You don't have to worry about th-"

"Ok but it is something to worry about! I'm 21, and I've never done anything remotely sexual! All I do is stay to myself and study! I might as well be called a loser! hell, maybe even an incel!"

She stares at him with a straight face, "Matt-"

"And then here you are, the most experienced person I've met, the most prettiest girl, and yet I'm being a pussy and won't even take you out on a date! I'm fumbling! Hard! If this were a test, I'd fail!"

She finds herself smiling softly at his academic analogies.

"Are you done?" She asks him once he finally stops talking. He huffs and adjusts his glasses, running a hand through his hair. "Good. Now shut up and listen to me." She takes a step closer to him, his breath hitching.

"I don't care about any of that, ok? I don't care that you're a virgin and that I was the first girl to hear you moan." His cheeks flush a soft pink, his palms getting sweaty.

"What I care about is a boy that I find cute, sexual feelings aside, won't take me out on a date.....Now, I got takeout and a Lego set I'm not building alone. Do you want to join, take a break from studying?"

So there they were in Matt's living room, giggling and building a Lego set, the empty boxes of takeout discarded on the coffee table. The tension once in Matt's shoulder had disappeared, now knowing nothing was expected of him, and she wasn't worried about any of that.

He was able to relax, slowly coming out of his shell. She enjoyed his company, his witty remarks, his dad jokes, and the way he laughed. She was getting to know more about him and his life.

He was a good person to be around.

"I don't know where the piece goes!" He grunts in frustration as he tries to shove the Lego piece against another. She chuckles and snatches the instructions off the floor and holds them up. "This is why we have instructions, but no, you're too good for instructions.'' she teases.

He looks at her with a face of mock annoyance, "I'll have you know I've built multiple Lego sets with no instructions!" He points towards the various sets displayed around his apartment.

"Ok well, clearly your no instructions streak is over." Matt huffs and snatches the instruction from her grasp, shooting her a sharp look when he hears her snickering. He looks down at the small words and begins to read them, his eyes darting across the page as his tongue pokes out in concentration. As he does so, she takes the time to really examine him.

He had on a white thermal along with some grey sweatpants, his hair was a bit messy from how many times he ran his fingers through it, and he just looked

good.

"I think I got it!" His shouts of excitement brought her out of her daze, her eyes trailing down to the paper pamphlet falling to the floor. She sits on her knees and moves closer, their faces side by side as he puts the Lego piece in its correct spot. His hands moved quickly as he put the other parts together, his body bouncing in excitement.

It doesn't take long for the display to be finished, Matt's head whipping towards her.

"Done! Told you I didn't need the-" His words trail off once he realizes how close she is. She feels his body tense and his breath hitch, his eyes darting between her lips and eyes.

She quickly takes notice, the corners of her mouth twitching gently.

"Do you wanna kiss me?"

Her voice comes out in a teasing whisper, her eyes taunting him. He gives a slight nod, his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips.

"Y-yeah...."

"Then kiss me."

It's cute to her how scared he was, the way he slowly leaned forward and softly placed his lips against hers. She hums and stops him from pulling away, deepening the kiss and taking full control, allowing her tongue to enter his mouth. She pushes him back against the bottom of the couch and climbs into his lap, pressing her chest against his.

She giggles softly feeling his cock begin to harden underneath her, the tent growing bigger and bigger. She grinds against him, enjoying the way he whimpers softly.

She goes to pull his pants down, but he quickly grabs her hands, stopping it from going further.

"W-wait wait! I-I'm sorry, I umm-" He clears his throat as he pulls away from the kiss, his breathing ragged.

"Hey hey-" She caresses his face and chest gently, trying to calm him down. "What are you saying sorry for? We don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I-I want to I just...." His face turns beet red as he thinks about him being a virgin. He knew that she already knows this information, but having to say it out loud, the thought, It was just embarrassing for him.

"I know, that doesn't bother me Matt."

"I-It doesn't?" He was confused, why would it not bother her? Why isn't it bothering her? Don't girls want a guy who knows what he's doing in the bedroom?

She smiles and plants her lips against his once more, " Nope-" she trails a few kisses up to his ear before whispering,

"- It's the perfect way to teach you what I like."

He can't help the groan that leaves his mouth, the thought of her morphing him into her perfect plaything, her teaching him how to please her....He loved it.

He slowly lets go of her wrists and allows her to pull his sweatpants off along with his boxers. She wastes no time, wrapping her hand around him and slowly jerking him off. He sighs out, the stress and tension in his body fading away with every stroke.

Her thumb swipes over his tip, his lips parting slightly. Her hand felt better than his, it was so soft, smaller than his own.

He's embarrassed with how quick his balls tighten, his dick twitching in her grasp. He was close to cuming, and that's not what she wanted.

She pulls her hand away and moves back, pulling her own pants and underwear off. She settles back down in his lap, grinding their bodies together. Her bare and wet cunt only provide him with more pleasure, his breathing speeding up rapidly.

"Gonna let me ride you?" She asks breathlessly, her own pleasure rising due to his tip nudging her cunt repeatedly. He finds himself nodding eagerly, too excited and lost in pleasure to form a complete sentence.

She smiles and crashes their lips together once more. She situates herself on top of him, lining his tip up with her entrance before sinking down.

It's always the slip-in that gets her.

Her head falls onto his shoulder as his head tilts back onto to couch cushions, her thighs quivering at the stretch.

He was perfect, just as she had thought. He stretched her out just right, filling her up to the point where she found it hard to breathe.

This was a new and exciting feeling for him, it took everything in him not to cum on the spot. Her spongy, wet, and warm walls felt different from the ones inside her mouth, and he didn't know which ones he liked better.

She begins to move back and forth, grinding against him before starting to bounce up and down. Her soft and pretty moans flow through the apartment, making it harder for Matt to think straight. She was like a siren, clouding his mind with her sweet melodic songs, luring him to the ocean for his death.

His hands stay limp at his sides, his fingers twitching as they itch to touch her.

But he was scared, scared that if he did touch her, she'd disappear, and he'd wake up thinking this was all a dream.

"Fffuck Matt, s-so big!" She pants in his ear, her arms wrapped around his neck as she continues to bounce on him.

Her thighs and calves quickly become tired, a pout forming on her face as she looks at him, begging him to help and touch her.

"T-touch me Matt - Shit!- P-please!"

He couldn't say no to that face, he'd be dumb if he did.

So he finally caves, wrapping his arms around her like a bear and helping her keep up with her own movements. He adjusts his legs so they are propped up, and gently begins to buck his hips, meeting her every time she lands on his lap.

She gasps as he hits that special spot deep inside of her, her orgasm getting closer and closer. Their lips connect once more, their tongues messily fighting and their teeth clashing.

He holds her tightly, his fingernails digging into her skin, leaving small indents.

He needed to be closer.

Without a second thought, he removes her shirt, her breast falling free and bouncing in his face. He doesn't know what came over him, but neither of them was complaining.

She throws her head back as he takes one of her nipples into his mouth, and fondles the other. He sucks gently, using his teeth to gently nibble on the skin.

He moans in delight, his eyes closing, his glasses lopsided as he finally gets to experience all that he's been waiting for.

"Shi-it! S-so close, please please please, don't stop!" She begs, urging him to push her over the edge. He follows her directions, not changing anything he's doing, and continuing to pleasure her.

He feels his own orgasm approaching, his whimpers turning into loud and deep moans.

"Fuck, pl-Oh god! M-mommy!" He didn't even realize he said it, but she heard it loud and clear, and it was just enough to push her over the edge.

She moans loudly and falls against his chest, her juices trickling out and down his shaft. The feeling of her walls clamping down on him repeatedly was enough to make him follow her lead, hot spurts of cum painting her insides.

They lay against the couch, the both of them panting softly, still wrapped in each other's embrace. She slowly peels her body away from his and smiles at his flushed cheeks and dazed expression.

"W-was it good?" He asks in between labored breaths, his nerves clear as day. It was obvious he was eager to please her, wanting to hear her praises and words of reassurance.

"You were perfect pretty boy......Can you handle another round?"

[harrywavycurly]

Worth The Fight: Swoon Worthy

Masterlist: Here

CW: Language, pregnancy things, minor anxiety, jealousy and per usual a bit of arguing and angsty bits.

A/N: I’m so glad y’all are enjoying this story! It makes me so happy, now don’t be mad okay? It’s gonna be fine just hold on a bit longer I swear Harry is getting it together. Also this chapter is a mix of texts and a one shot yall will have to tell me how you like it?

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden @gmikaelson @styleswithaseaview @sofaritsalrightt @babegoals @fangirl509east @one-sweet-gubler @stylesftcher @umadirectioner @last-saturday-night @montgomery-929496 @laughterismytherapy

Summary: You meet Anne and have a super tiny casual run in with someone else and Harry says some a lot of things that he shouldn’t✨

You smile at Nick when he opens the door for you and helps you out of the car, you adjust your purse strap on your shoulder as you look around and notice you’re outside the front gate of a house and not a restaurant. You feel your brows pinch together as you reach into your bag to grab your phone so you can call Harry to make sure you’re at the correct place because why would you be meeting his mom for lunch at some random house and not a restaurant? But before you can find your phone the sound of the gate opening up makes you lift your head just in time to see Harry making his way towards you.

“Harry this is someone’s house.” He just laughs as he gives a nod and a wave to Nick who is still standing behind you.

“You’re so observant. Can’t get anything past you huh?” You roll your eyes as Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Come on you’re already late let’s not keep her waiting any longer.” He says with a smirk that you instantly want to smack off his face as he stands to the side allowing you to walk in front of him.

“Is this your-”

“No it’s not my house it’s my mom’s.” He informs you as the two of you walk up the driveway. “As much as I adore my mother I am a bit too grown for her to be crashing in my guest room when she visits and she likes to spend a good amount of time here so this just made the most sense.” He adds as the two of you make it to the bottom step of her porch.

“It’s lovely.” You tell him with a smile as you look at the exterior of the house, Harry watches you look around for a moment before he walks up the three steps to the front door leaving you near the bottom step looking at a rose bush his mother’s has planted in her flower beds.

“Oh I forgot to mention-” Just as you look up from the rose bush you see the front door open behind him and you feel as if everything after that happens in slow motion. You watch Harry turn and smile at the man who walks out of the door, he quickly gives him a hug and you think you hear something about seeing each other soon but you’re not really sure because right after that you find yourself staring into a very familiar pair of blue eyes as the man stands at the top of the steps and is looking down at you with a warm smile.

“Hello.” His accent is thicker in person than it is when you hear it coming from the television in your living room when you, your neighbor and Paris watch The Voice. He gives you a wave as he makes his way down the steps. “You alight love?” He asks with a hint of concern when he notices you haven’t said anything or moved from your spot in front of the rose bush.

“Uhm hi-you’re uh-uhm hi.” You don’t know if what came out of your mouth were actual words or not but either way it earns you a small chuckle as he reaches a hand out and gently places it on your arm.

“Hi. Lovely to meet you.” He says with a smile before he drops his hand from your arm and you find yourself reaching for the spot he just touched as he turns his head to look at Harry over his shoulder.

“See ya H! Text me about a round next week.” And with that he gives you one more glance and a little nod before he makes his way down the driveway towards the gate. You find yourself turning around and watching him leave and it’s as if he can feel your eyes on him because right before he walks through the gate he looks back and gives you another wave and a smile causing a dreamy sounding sigh to escape you as you just stare in the direction that he walked off in.

Harry watches the whole interaction with a clenched jaw and a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, he’s not sure what it is because never in all the years he’s known his band mate has he ever felt this way while watching him simply meet someone for the first time. He’s watched people practically throw themselves at the man and yet he finds himself more bothered by the way your eyes lit up at and how your cheeks got all pink with just a little greeting and a smile from his Irish friend and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Do you need a moment?” Harry’s voice snaps you back to reality as you turn and face the front of the house. He has his arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at you with a raised brow.

“That-that was Niall Horan.” Your voice is still a little shaky from the shock of seeing him up close and personal as you point down the driveway towards the gate Niall left through. “He’s so pretty.” You mumble as you look at the spot on your arm that he touched while Harry rolls his eyes and lets out a scoff.

“Really?”

“What? He is.”

“I’m not arguing with you about that I’m just seeing if you’re done swooning over one of my best mates or do you need a few more minutes to wipe the drool off your chin?” You just send him a glare as you make your way up the steps. You know you could’ve handled meeting him a bit better but you weren’t at all prepared and you’re extremely emotional so honestly Harry is lucky you didn’t start crying the moment your eyes met with Niall’s piercing blue ones because they are truly just that pretty in person, the tv doesn’t do them justice at all.

“I wasn’t swooning you don’t even know what that word means.” You state as you make it up the last step and adjust your purse strap making Harry want to let out a groan due to his personal hatred for the black hole you call a purse you lug around everywhere.

“Yes I do it means to swoon.”

“Are you serious? That’s what you think swooning means? To swoon?”

“It doesn’t matter what it means I just know that’s what you were doing with Niall when you got all heart eyes and just stood there with your mouth hung open.”

“My mouth was not hung open don’t be rude.”

“Then-then the sigh when he left? What the hell was that about?”

“It wasn’t a sigh I was just breathing.”

“Oh please I’ve never heard you breathe like that before.”

“That’s because I’ve never swooned over you.” Harry feels his eyes narrow as his hands clench into fits at his sides as you just cross your arms over your chest and stare at him. It’s then that it hits you what’s going on and you feel your brows pinch together as you give Harry a questioning look. “Harry Styles are you jealous of Niall right now?” You watch him shake his head as a deep and almost dark chuckle escapes him.

“Why would I be jealous of Niall? I don’t even really like you enough to be jealous of anyone you find swoon worthy.” Harry regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, he doesn’t know why he said them because he knows they aren’t true. He does like you, how much and to what extent he’s not quite sure but at least enough to feel a small bubbling of jealousy in the pit of his stomach when he saw you gawking at Niall right in front of him.

“Right. Can we go inside now?” You drop your arms from your chest so you can adjust your purse strap as you look away from Harry and towards the front door. Harry lets out a sigh as he runs a hand over his face, he mentally scolds himself for letting his emotions get the best of him and making him to say things that make you practically deflate right before his eyes.

“I’m so-”

“What exactly have you told her about us?” Harry rubs his lips together when you cut off his attempt at an apology and he knows he’s going to just have to add it to the list of things he has to eventually say sorry for whenever you’re finally ready and willing to hear them.

He opens the door and stands to the side allowing you to go in first and when you give him a small close lipped smile as you walk by he catches your eyes for a brief moment and he feels his chest tighten at how exhausted you look. It’s not the kind of exhausted in the sense you could fall asleep at any moment but the kind that shows you’re just emotionally drained and he knows it’s his fault. His words have managed to take the sparkle and light he saw in your eyes earlier when you arrived and were looking at his mother’s rose bushes, leaving behind only a dull glimmer.

It doesn’t help that he knows you’re putting on a brave face because you’re about to meet his mother, something you repeatedly told him you weren’t ready for and instead of listening and trying to work out a better time he just ignored you because for him it’s almost easier to argue and bicker with you than it is to try to talk and come to reasonable conclusions about things. And the thing is Harry just doesn’t know how to stop himself sometimes before he’s saying something stupid and leaving you to deal with the emotional aftermath. Much like he’s doing now as he watches you swallow down your emotions, readying yourself for the task at hand before you look at him over your shoulder with a quirked brow as you stare at him from his mother’s entryway.

“Harry?” You saying his name brings him back to the moment, he’s quick to walk into the house with a playful smile on his face acting like he didn’t just say something extremely hurtful to you a few moments ago as he takes a few steps so he’s standing next to you.

“Oh you know just that we are madly in love and I’m planning on proposing on your birthday which-that’s not today right? Because I’m not prepared at all I don’t have a ring or anything.” He can tell you’re not in the mood for his jokes by the way you just let out a sigh but before he can say anything you just stand up a bit straighter and turn your head so you can look him right in the eyes and that’s how he knows you’re about to say something that’s going to probably hurt his feelings.

“Don’t bother with a ring. I’d never marry someone I don’t swoon over.” You say it so casually but Harry knows there’s an undertone of seriousness to your words, you wouldn’t marry someone like him is what you’re saying and he can’t blame you because right now he doesn’t even think he likes himself very much let alone thinks he’s anywhere close to being marriage material.

“Yeah you deserve a swoon worthy husband.”

“I know I do.”

“I told her the truth.” Harry says finally really answering your original question as he leads you further into the house. “So she knows everything.” He adds as he looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re following behind him, you pause and give him a wide eyed stare as your hand reaches out and grabs his elbow keeping him from taking another step.

“You told her everything?” You ask in a whispered tone making Harry have to hold back a chuckle as he sees panic begin to set in as the thought of his mother knowing all the details of the two of you’s relationship hits you.

“I mean I might have spared her a few minor details about how we actually made the twins but other than that yeah she-she knows everything.” You let out a sigh as you release his elbow and Harry then does something that shocks the both of you, he places his hand on your lower back and in an almost comforting gesture you feel his thumb rub against the fabric of your shirt as he gently guides you into his mother’s living room. “Just relax. She’s going to love you.” Is the last thing you hear him say and before you can even fully react to it you hear the sound of a sliding door opening.

“Oh my goodness.” Harry grins as his mom walks into the living room from her backyard, he takes a step to the side letting his hand fall from your back so he can give you and his mom some room to say hello. “You are just lovely.” You feel your cheeks get warm as Harry’s mom walks over to you with her hands out. “I’m Anne.” You introduce yourself to her with a smile. “Thank you so much for agreeing to this I’m sorry if you ran into Niall on the way in. He just needed some-”

“Oh yeah we ran into him alright.” You turn your head to send Harry a warning glare as Anne grabs your hands giving them a reassuring squeeze while Harry ignores your threatening looks and heads off towards the kitchen.

“He’s always been a bit dramatic so you’ll have to get used to that I’m afraid.” Anne explains as she watches your eyes linger on the back of Harry’s worn out band t shirt before he disappears into the kitchen.

“So it’s not just me that brings this out of him? That’s good to know because I was beginning to think I had something wrong with me that just made him act a little wacky.” You say with a sigh of relief making her laugh as she lets go of your hands and subtly eyes your outfit, you feel embarrassed for a moment wondering if maybe she’ll think you didn’t find this to be an occasion worth dressing up for but then you see her eyes land on your small bump and a grin takes over her features and you instantly see where Harry gets his smile from.

“Come on love.” She reaches for one of your hands before turning around and heading towards the sliding glass door. “Let me show you what I’ve got for you and let me know if anything sets you off okay? I know how smells can be a bit rough during all this.” Harry stands in the kitchen and watches the two of you make your way outside, his mom places your bag down on a chair by the back door before she escorts you outside to the table he helped her set up before you arrived.

“Harry said you’ve been craving jams on toast so I thought this would be a safe thing to start with and he also said you like carrots?” You can only nod as you stare at the table in front of you that has a few plates full of pieces of toast cut up into cute shapes all with different types of jams spread on top of them while one plate has a mixture of vegetables on it with a dip in the middle.

“I do yes-I like carrots and this is wonderful thank you.” Anne smiles as you take a seat at the table, she sits down in the chair next to you and hands you a plate full of the toast and jam so you can have an easier time reaching it. The two of you snack on some toast and vegetables and talk about your work and how long she’s going to be visiting California before a comfortable silence overtakes the table for a few moments.

“I just want you to know that he told me what he did.” Her voice is gentle not wanting to ruin the mood surrounding the two of you as she looks at you with soft kind eyes, you swallow the lump you feel forming in your throat as your hands fall to your lap. “There’s nothing I can say that will undo that kind of damage but I hope you know that I’m so thankful you’re still letting him be apart of this even after-well after all that.” You look away from her and down at the plate in front of you as you feel your eyes start to get watery.

“I’ll always let him to be apart of this for as long as he wants to be apart of this no matter how I may feel about him.” Anne reaches over and places a hand over yours that are resting on your lap and gives them a soft pat.

“I know he comes across as a bit of a uhm well-a bit of an ass but he does seem to care that he upsets you because he’s never called me quite as distraught as he was that night you didn’t let him inside your apartment.” You simply shrug in response as you lift your head and look at the end of the table where you notice a tea pot and some cups.

“That was a rough not for all of us it seems.” You inform her as you place a hand on your bump as you reach for the tea pot but before you can actually grab it you see a very familiar hand with a cross tattoo between the thumb and index finger grab the handle.

“I can do it.” Harry’s voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it before making you blink up at him as he pours some tea into a cup. “You’re not going to want to watch this next part mom. It’s going to upset you.” He warns as he grabs a jar from next to the pot, Anne just playfully rolls her eyes as she watches her son open the jar and reach for a spoon.

“Is that-”

“Peppermint tea and honey? Yes. Is it killing me to make it for you? Yes but I know you like it and it helps with uh-”

“Nausea.” You finish for him resulting in a small nod and what you think is a hint of a smile as he gently places the teacup in front of you.

“Is that enough honey? I don’t know uhm how-how much you like in your uh tea.” Harry asks all of a sudden feeling very unsure of himself as if it just dawned on him that the amount of honey you take in your tea is just one of the many things he doesn’t know about you. You pick up the teacup and bring it up to your nose and take a sniff and Anne covers her mouth to hide her giggle at the way your nose scrunches up and you very quickly place the cup back down on the table.

“Still smells minty.” You explain as Harry raises a brow at you when you don’t answer his question right away.

“Well yeah it’s peppermint tea.”

“Yeah but I don’t like peppermint tea that’s why I add honey.”

“You-you don’t like peppermint tea?”

“Not really.”

“You’ve been ruining a perfectly respectable tea with honey and you don’t even like it?”

“Perfectly respectable? What kind of tea do you think isn’t respectable?”

“I don’t like lavender tea. Now really why do you drink something you don’t even like? There are so many other nausea remedies you know that right?”

“I’m aware but this one is easy and it tastes fine when I add a lot of honey.” Harry just stares at you as you reach for the jar of honey with the spoon still in it, you hear him let out a huff as he grabs it for you and places another heaping spoonful into your teacup.

“How does this even help with your tummy if it’s just basically honey and hot water?” He asks as he places the honey back near the teapot before he takes a seat in the empty chair next to you.

“Don’t know and I really don’t care because it works so I don’t question it.” Anne sits back in her chair as she watches the two of you go back and forth over the way you prefer your tea and she has to fight back a smile as she notices the way the two of you stare at each other during the whole exchange. Neither of you break eye contact unless it’s when you reach for something but even then Harry is quick to grab it for you, probably not even aware of what he’s doing but subconsciously wanting to do things for you so he has to take advantage of the opportunities when he can, such as spooning extra honey into your teacup while in the middle of a silly argument.

“So love you’re what? Eleven weeks now?” You turn your attention away from Harry to look at Anne who is looking at you with a warm smile. You nod and take a little sip of your tea and smile when it tastes just like it usually does when you make it or maybe a bit better if you’re being honest. “Have you told anyone yet?” She asks and you hear Harry shift in his seat next to you as he rests his hands in his lap and something tells you that if you were to look over your shoulder at him he’d be messing with his rings.

“Uhm not yet I was waiting till I went a little over twelve weeks or so just to be safe.” You explain as you place your teacup back on the table, she just smiles and nods as you reach for a piece of toast with raspberry jam spread all over it. “I also didn’t know how you uh would want to do that? Like announce it.” You look over at Harry as you speak and he lets out a sigh as he runs a hand through his hair while leaning back into the chair.

“I honestly don’t know if I’m going to.” Harry states just as you take a bite out of your toast, he watches your eyebrows furrow as you try to take in what he just told you.

“What do you mean?” You ask once you finish chewing the bite in your mouth.

“I’m going to go check on the cake.” Anne says excusing herself as she stands up from the table, she gives Harry a look that you miss before she walks inside and the moment the sliding door closes Harry lets out a groan and runs both hands over his face as his head rests on the back of his chair.

“We don’t have to talk about this right now.” You roll your eyes at his attempt to change the conversation, but this might as well be discussed now rather than later when you’re even more pregnant and hormonal which just means you’ll be easier to set off on a crying fit.

“Just tell me what you mean by that Harry. You don’t know if you’re going to announce the fact you’re going to be a dad? People will find out eventually you know that right?”

“I don’t know if I want to announce the circumstances in which made me a dad. If I say I’m about to be a dad then they’ll expect an engagement announcement or some photos of me and some hidden girlfriend or something and that’s not the case with us is it?” You feel the lump return to your throat at his harsh tone making the tip of your nose turn pink as you look away from him and down at your lap while you sniffle.

“Once I announce I have a set of twins on the way and they see us together they’ll know very quickly that we are just two people who hooked up one night and ended up here.” Harry adds as he stands up from his seat and gestures to the two of you with his arms, completely ignoring the way you aren’t looking at him and the way your cheeks are now a bit blotchy and your breathing is shaky, all the clear signs that would tell him you’re crying if he would just stop talking and look at you.

“I always thought I’d be having kids with someone that I loved not someone that I just shared a few too many tequila shots with.” His hands are in his hair tugging at his roots as he closes his eyes and tries to take a few deep breathes so he can calm down, not really sure if it’s the topic itself that has made him so upset or if it’s a lingering side effect from his small bout of jealousy earlier and it’s just now rearing its ugly head.

“Harry Edward Styles.” His mom’s voice coming from behind him makes his eyes snap open as he turns around just in time to see you walk around her and through the back door and into the house. He raises a brow as he turns his head to your seat over his shoulder and sure enough it’s empty, he hadn’t even noticed you left the table.

“I uh-I’ll be right back.” Anne just shakes her head as she crosses his arms over her chest and blocks the door from him when he takes a few quick steps towards it.

“No you’ll go sit down and wait for me to get back.” He just nods and lowers his head before he turns around and goes back to his seat at the table. Anne lets out a sad sigh as she turns around and heads inside to find you.

“It’s okay. We aren’t doing this here. Wait till you get home. It’ll be fine.” Anne feels her heart shatter a little as she hears you mumbling to yourself in the entryway, where she finds you with your bag over your shoulder and your phone clutched in your hand while a steady stream of tears make their way down your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry love.” Her voice is like a warm hug engulfing you as she appears in the entryway, you look at her and before you can say anything she is wrapping her arms around your shoulders and pulling you in for a gentle hug. “Do whatever you need to do for yourself okay? I promise he will respect whatever boundaries you need to set.” She reassures you as she gives you a small squeeze while your arms wrap around her to return the hug.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to stay longer.” You mumble between sniffles as Anne pulls away and she just brushes it off as she places a hand on your shoulder.

“Next time it’ll just be us.” She says with a smile as your phone goes off letting you know your ride is almost there. “Let me know if you need anything okay?” You just nod as she leans in for one more quick hug before she opens the front door for you, she stands there and watches you walk down the driveway and to the gate and she waves when you turn to and look at her before walking through the gate. It’s not until she sees the car you get in the passenger seat of drive off that she turns around and goes back inside.

Harry is chewing on his bottom lip while he waits for his mom to return to the backyard, he keeps replaying the last five minutes over and over in his head and he can’t believe he let himself get so caught up in his little tangent that he didn’t even notice you got up and left the table. He feels horrible because he doesn’t even know why he got so worked up over something so stupid. Because Harry knows he is going to have to tell the world he’s going to be a dad eventually, and he would much rather be the one to do it than to have a photo leaked of him with you leaving Dr. Andrews’s office or out shopping for baby things once the time comes for that. He wants it be something well thought out and personal not some rushed, shot from across the street, horrible angled pap photo that the both of you hate that ends up being how the world finds out about the Styles twins in the making.

His main thing is he just doesn’t want to deal with the questions of who you are because he doesn’t know how to answer them, because who even are you to him right now? Besides the obvious answer being the one doing all the hard work and carrying his children, the one he can’t seem to just have a normal conversation with, but also someone he clearly liked enough to give his actual personal number to and thought was cute enough to ask to have a mid night out romp in the bathroom with. For a moment Harry wishes the two of you could be those people again, the ones who met in that karaoke bar and were just having fun and enjoying each others company, before all the pregnancy chaos happened and he potentially ruined everything. Because something deep inside of him knows that if he just took the time to get to know you and stopped getting in his own way, he’d probably really like you and that kind of terrifies him.

“You are going to ensure that girl has a peaceful and smooth pregnancy from here on out do you understand me young man?” Anne’s stern voice makes Harry sit up straighter and knocks him out of his thoughts as he turns to give her all his attention as she stands at the end of the table with a disappointed look on her face.

“Yes ma’am.”

“You have such a way with words Harry and it’s a blessing as well as a curse because sometimes you just say the most hurtful things.” Harry swallows hard as his mom lets out a sigh and places a hand on her hip.

“I love you and you know I want to support you but I will not allow you to talk to her like that. You need to get your head out of your ass and treat her with a little respect or else you’re going to end up watching your babies be brought into this world over a phone because she won’t want you anywhere near her and that means not being in the delivery room and you’ll never forgive yourself if that’s how it ends up Harry.” He just nods as he feels his eyes begin to burn with unshed tears he can’t seem to blink away at the thought of you being so over him that you don’t even want him in the delivery room, something he would have no choice but to agree to.

“I keep-keep fucking it up.” He admits as he sniffles making Anne take a step over to him so she can place her hands on the tops of his shoulders over the chair. “I don’t know why I just-just keep hurting her.”

“Just give her some time and maybe while you’re doing that you should give your therapist a call?” She suggests as a few tears slip past Harry’s closed eyes as he just nods.

“Okay.” Anne smiles at his agreement and leans down and places a kiss to the top of his head before she gives his shoulders a nice squeeze.

“It’ll be okay Harry you just have to do better starting now.” She tells him before she lets go of his shoulders and heads back inside once again leaving Harry alone at the table in her backyard. He opens his eyes and wipes away the few stray tears that try to make their way down his cheeks, his head turns and his eyes land on your teacup and before he can stop himself he reaches over and grabs it so he can take a sip out of it.

“Still disgusting.” He mumbles to himself as he scrunches his nose while he places it back down on the table before he grabs a piece of toast off your plate. “That’s not bad though.” He says after he takes a bite out of a a piece with your favorite raspberry jam on it.

He sniffles a bit as he leans back in his chair to get comfortable with the toast in one hand and his phone in the other. He lets out a huff as he scrolls through his contacts until he finds his therapists’s number, figuring there no time like the present, ready to put his therapist’s whole “I’m here for you anytime” to the test as he hits the call icon while he takes another bite of your current pregnancy craving. All while trying not to think about what kind of emotional state you’re currently in all due to his irrational and hurtful outbursts because if he’s feeling this horrible and he’s the one who did the talking he can’t imagine how you must be feeling as the one who had to endure the hurtful words.

“So whose house was that?” Ethan, your neighbor who lives directly across from you asks after a few moments of you sniffling and silently wiping your face to try to rid your cheeks of any wetness due to your tears while stopped at a red light.

“Anne’s.” Is all you can manage to say before you feel your bottom lip start to tremble as you look down at your purse in your lap. Ethan just nods as he does his best to not let on to the fact he clearly knows you’re having a breakdown in his passenger seat because he also had to help you into that very same seat because your tears had made everything a little blurry by the time he got to the house to pick you up and you were a half step away from tripping on the curb before he caught your elbow.

“I met Niall Horan.” You mumble as the light turns green and Ethan lets out a chuckle as he lightly shakes his head before making his way down the street.

“How many members of One Direction are you currently seeing?” He jokes and that makes you turn to look at him with a raised brow as you rub your hand under your nose, not bothering to try to be polite and look cute in your current teary eyed and snotty state because Ethan has seen you look much worse.

“None.” You answer as you look down at your lap and place a hand over your bump. “But I did let one of them get me pregnant.” Ethan has to stop himself from accidentally slamming on the brakes as you casually let the information fall from your lips deciding that now is as good a time as any to let your neighbor who is also one of your very good friends know why you’ve been so emotional and a bit cranky lately.

“Please god let it be Zayn.” Ethan half whispers to himself making you reach over with your free hand and playfully swat at his arm with a chuckle making him smile at the sound of your laugh even if it is a bit watery and rough.

“It’s not Zayn.” You say with a playful sadness as Ethan pulls into the parking lot of the apartment complex.

“And obviously it’s not Niall if you just met him today.” You just nod as he pulls into his assigned spot and puts his car into park. You stare out the windshield as he turns to look at you, he lets out a sigh as he reaches over and places a hand on your forearm. “Well if it’s who’s been lurking around our hallway then let’s just hope this baby has your brains.”

“You mean babies.” Ethan’s eyes go a little wide but he’s quick to recover and just nods and lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug at the same time as if what you just said is the most normal thing he’s ever heard come out of your mouth.

“Twins?” You just nod as you look over at him and he gives you a smile that makes you feel like crying all over again but for a totally different reason. “Holy shit that’s-that’s amazing.” The excitement and genuine happiness you can feel practically radiating off of Ethan is the reaction you find yourself wishing Harry would’ve had when he found out instead of the one he gave you that ended with you alone in an exam room.

“You think so?” Ethan just nods as he gives your arm a squeeze. “They are the size of limes right now.” You inform him for no reason other than it’s one of the few facts you have to offer at the moment about the two humans growing in your tummy.

“Limes huh? That’s like my favorite fruit and I’m not just saying that because I’m a bartender.” You playfully roll your eyes at him before he just lets you sit in silence with him for a moment.

“I don’t think he likes me.” You whisper but Ethan is close enough that he hears you and you feel his grip on your arm tighten just slightly making you turn to look him in his green eyes that thankfully aren’t as big and dumb as Harry’s. “Like at all and I actually think he might-he might hate me?”

“Want me to kick his ass? He’s got like six or seven years on me so I’m pretty sure I can take him.”

“You may be younger than him but age has nothing to do with being able to beat someone up.”

“I mean come on he’s Harry Styles how much of a punch can the man pack? Besides I’ll let Paris get him in the ankles and I’ll just deck him in his pretty face and it’ll be easy and over with in a few seconds.” You just stare at him for a minute after he’s done explaining his plan of attack and when he lets out a sigh you know it’s one of defeat as he releases his hold on your forearm and runs a hand through his blonde hair.

“Fine because you’re an amazing neighbor and a good friend I won’t hit him. But I make no promises on being nice to him.” You give him a smile before you begin to unbuckle yourself and get out of the car while he takes the keys out of the ignition.

“Thank you Ethan. For everything.” He just smiles and grabs your purse from you before you can even try to put it over your shoulder and slings it over his as the two of you head inside the lobby of the complex.

“You’re welcome.” You lean into him as he tosses his arm over your shoulder while the two of you wait for the elevator. “I know you’re the one who usually drops the older sister advice on me but I just want to say that if he’s gonna act like a douchebag and make you upset like this all the time then fuck him. You don’t need him. You’ll be okay because I’ll make sure of it.” You know he means every word because Ethan isn’t one to just tell you something like this unless he feels he needs to. The two of you step into the elevator and press the number five before you decide to say anything in response.

“So the younger brother wisdom has finally hit you huh? I was wondering when that would happen. Only took two years of living across the hall from each other.” He laughs as he pulls you closer to his side making you smile. “I do appreciate the advice.”

“I just love and respect you too much to see you put up with bullshit from someone who has a god awful naked mermaid on his forearm.” You give Ethan’s chest a smack as the doors open and he lets you walk out first leading the way to your door. “Also you know old lady Sherry is going to fucking freak when she hears her favorite cat lady is having twins.” Ethan adds as the two of you walk by Sherry’s door and you laugh and nod because she does refer to you as a cat lady because she thinks at your age you should be married with babies not living alone with Paris.

“She’s not an old lady Ethan she’s not even in her sixties yet.” You correct him but he just rolls his eyes and brushes you off as the two of you walk up to your doors. You turn to him as he is digging through your bag that’s still over his shoulder, no doubt looking for your keys.

“I’m in my early twenties so I’m sorry everyone over fifty is old.” He teases as he fishes your keys out and hands them to you before he slides your purse off his shoulder and gently places the strap on top of yours making sure it doesn’t fall off. “So tell me what was he-”

“So much prettier in person.” You answer already knowing who he’s referring to and he laughs at how soft your voice goes as the memory of your brief encounter with Niall runs through your head. “The television doesn’t do him justice at all.” You explain since Ethan is the one you watch The Voice with sometimes along with Paris.

“But he looks so pretty on the screen already? How can he possibly be prettier in real life?” He asks with a quirked brow and you just shrug causing the strap of your purse to fall down into the crook of your elbow.

“Well I’m glad something good happened to you today.” You smile as he leans in and wraps his arms around you in a hug.

“Love you Ethan.” He smiles as he pulls away and you turn to unlock your front door.

“Love you too and please tell your little ankle biting boy that I said hello.” You laugh and just nod as you open your door, you turn around to close it and give Ethan a wave as you watch him walk into his own apartment and he waves back before closing his door.

You let out a heavy sigh as you lock the door and drop your bag at your feet. You hear the sound of a bell jingling and soon Paris is purring at your ankles as he rubs his head along your shins making you smile as you bend over and pick him up.

“Uncle Ethan says hello.” Paris just purrs in response as he nuzzles his head against your cheek as you make your way into the living room. “Oh Paris do I have some news for you.” You say with a sigh as you take a seat on your couch and get comfortable with your feet propped up on the coffee table. Paris moves so he’s resting in your lap with his head against your small bump and you bite your bottom lip as you get ready to spill all the events that happened during the few hours you were gone to him, and you’re thankful he isn’t looking at you because you’re not quite sure you could handle looking into his eyes right now since they remind you too much of the big dumb green ones that belong to the man that made you cry just half an hour ago.

[endearng]

Firsts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: You and Spencer navigate through your firsts throughout your life as childhood friends.

WC: 6k

Warnings: death, grief, use of drugs to cope with grief, uhhhh i guess that's it

A/N: HELLO!!! It's been so so long and I'm sorry I took forever to update — uni's kicking my ass but now I'll try to write a bit more during holidays season. I hope you guys enjoy this one <3 Feedbacks are highly appreciated!

| masterlist

"Do you think we'll stay friends?"

"I'm sure we'll stay friends."

For a genius, your best friend, Spencer Reid, never seemed to notice some of his speech patterns — he would echo you sometimes, which you honestly found adorably funny, and he also had a tendency for rambling, even if it wasn't that appropriate at times. When you two were alone, you didn't mind; in fact, you encouraged him and let him talk to you all the way. When there was someone else, like either of your parents or a teacher (these were your regular companions), you would try to tap him on the arm subtly so he would know when to stop. Although it broke your heart, he said himself once that he appreciated when you helped him look more normal.

Right now, things are everything but normal. Spencer had graduated high school at the age of 12 while you were still in seventh grade and he was leaving to study at Caltech. You didn't dare to compare yourself to him, but you would definitely miss him around, since he was the first person you saw everyday (besides your parents, of course) and the one who walked you to school and then went on the way to his. Right now, you are sitting on the floor of your front porch, while Spencer is laying his head on your lap and you have your hands on his hair. You always said to him that he's got nice hair, no matter how he styled or decided to cut it. He blushed every single time.

"You know… I'm gonna miss you, Spencer."

"I'm gonna miss you. But you'll still be in my life."

"Will I?"

"I'm leaving, but I'll try my best to keep in touch. We can call each other. I'll spare a couple hours of my week so you can talk to me." A small grin stretched on his lips when he mentioned talking to you. A crease made its way between your brows when you thought you'd only talk to him weekly.

Trying to play it cool, you asked, just to be sure, just to check if the pang in your heart felt less intense, less hurtful. "Will you?"

"Yes, I will."

Despite having him in your lap, you couldn't see his eyes, for they were closed in delight from your gentle touch. You saw him smile softly and you could see just how relaxed he seemed with this big change — honestly, if you were him, you'd be terrified. Quickly trying to get rid of your sad and fearful thoughts, as you ran your hands through his hair, you poorly fought the urge to chuckle when you thought about braiding his hair. He felt the air that left your lungs hit his face when you did.

Curious, as he always had been, he inquired, "What is it?"

"You'd look good with braids."

"I'm not letting you braid my hair," even if his tone was one of mock offense, a chuckle made its way out of him.

"I didn't ask to."

You saw as he bit back a grin. Little did you know, but he's is heaven, here in your presence. In dire need of some place safe to just be, without the expectations and the big things that are expected from him and to happen to him. As you unknowingly soothed his thoughts with your gentle touch, he thought about how strange it is having someone touch him and not being utterly opposed to the idea. He also thought about how, for one time in his life, he didn't know something, which was the feeling spreading on his chest. Nevertheless, there was a ghost of a small, shy smile on his face as his shoulders relaxed.

He was happy.

—

As you made your way home from your sixteenth birthday dinner, something felt odd. Looking out the window, the city lights seemed to run from how fast your dad is driving. In the backseat, all alone, you tried to figure out what made you feel so empty all night long. As the car went over a bump, you instinctively looked to the side, and then everything made sense. Spencer wasn't there. Usually, after whatever family celebration you'd go to, he would be there (because you'd insist on taking him with you), by your side in the backseat of your dad's car, laughing at whatever funny thing had happened during the event. He was your company to every single thing you did, and you had been missing him quite more often as the contact between you two became more and more scarce.

Turning to look out the window again, your mom saw the frown on your face and sighed quietly, knowing precisely why you weren't chatting like you normally did. The specific pair of ears that you wanted to be listened by were not here. And she didn't blame you one bit.

As you got home, your frown was quickly replaced by a hopeful feeling on your chest and in your features when you found a voicemail addressed to you.

Hey! I hope you get home before midnight so that you won't think, not even for a minute, that I have forgotten about you. I'm so sorry I couldn't make it! I'm really stressed right now because there are too many things happening at the same time and I'm here all by myself, so... I guess you know, better than myself, how I feel. You… You know me so well. It is nice to be known by you. Anyway... Um... I'd like to wish you a happy birthday and, ah, I also would like you to know that I wish I could have been with you today. I'm really sorry because I know how much you love your birthdays. I'm sending you a gift, but I'm not sure if it will arrive on time. I miss you. I miss you and whatever Taylor Swift song you were always humming when we were walking back from school.

Anyway, er... I miss you—hah—I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you how much I miss you. And how much I miss our time together. Uh, happy birthday!

You didn't know when, but you had teared up at some point listening to him. You didn't know whether the cause was hearing his voice again or because he remembered you or because he told you he missed your time together or that he remembered the silly songs you'd sing when you were walking back home together. Before going to bed, you let your bedside table lamp on, as you always did before so Spencer knew, from the house beside yours, that you were up or you didn't care if he called you in the middle of the night. Either way...

You were happy.

—

Underneath the Christmas tree, the glow of the warm white fairy lights you and your mom had picked out was almost blinding. Yet, you and Spencer couldn't care less. You were both too infatuated by the blinding brightness that punished your eyes to care about having problems later. Closing your eyes, you smiled to yourself, happy to be doing something so ordinary, so dumb, with your best friend. Behind your eyelids, the light was not as relentless and it granted some relief from the current sight, which sort of looked like a kaleidoscope of... white. You heard when Spencer turned his head to look at you, but you missed his soft grin.

"It was overwhelming me," you explained.

"I know." He replied, still looking at you.

Your profile, under the yellowish glow, looked almost ethereal. The slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, everything was forever ingrained into his memory. By now, Spencer could map out every single freckle on your face — especially the particular one on your lower lip. He sighed at the sheer thought of your lips. You were now seventeen and so was Spencer. Puberty had been way gentler on you than it was on him and he noticed with a blush that you were growing up, just as he was. You were a little taller, for sure, and you had put on some weight in all the right places, not to mention your style that matched your personality. As for him, he had that voice pitch swing that he hated greatly, still wore thick glasses and overall went with the nerdy stereotype that everyone picked on him for… while you looked like you were glowing.

You opened your eyes and turned to look at him. You were so close that it almost hurt. Inches separated Spencer from what he thought would be the best feeling of his life. From the person that had him lying awake for hours, tossing and turning on his bed until the sun began to rise. "I can't wait to give you your gift. I think you'll love it!"

He grinned. "I'll be happy with anything." From you, he meant to say, but he didn't finish.

You closed your eyes again, a grin of your own on your face. He wondered... What if he got closer? What if he kissed you? What if you pulled away? What if you didn't pull away? What if you cut him off?

Almost unconsciously, he inched closer and closer to the point your breaths mingled together. You didn't pull away, not even for a second. Instead, you leaned in, getting ever closer to him than you ever had been before. The fairy lights made you look even prettier than before. You looked like a dream.

"I was thinking..."

"About what?" He asked. Despite his gaze being lost in you, he was acutely aware of the words coming out of your mouth.

God, your mouth.

"It's stupid..." You muttered, looking away from his eyes.

"You know you can talk to me." It's not stupid if it's you.

"Okay... okay." You breathed in. "Me and the girls were talking about first kisses. And I felt so, so embarrassed because I haven't had mine yet."

Spencer felt dizzy. Even if he wasn't the best at social cues, if he was reading this right, you wanted him to kiss you too. He exhaled softly, trying to clear his thoughts. His voice was weak when he asked, "And?"

"Have you had yours yet? I know we talk about everything and all that, but... have you?"

He chuckled at your question. How could he, the scrawny little nerdy boy have had his kiss and you hadn't? "You're joking right?"

"I'm not! I'm genuinely curious."

He didn't know, but your heart was in your throat, too scared of a positive answer.

"I haven't had my first kiss yet."

Somehow, that did nothing to calm your racing heart. Inching even closer, you muttered, "we could have it together."

If Spencer didn't pass out with your words, he was sure he would be unshakable for the rest of his life. Whatever life threw at him, it wouldn't matter as much as this moment of sheer strength and self-control, because he didn't pull you in immediately. "Are you sure?"

"I'd be fine with kissing you. You're my best friend. I—I know you won't judge me and you know I won't judge you either. And—and... even if things are... embarrassing... i—it will still be a good memory in the… future." As your soft voice reached his ears, he felt like he was in heaven.

Your arguments for kissing him made him wonder if you had spent that much time considering it as he did. "Okay, you've got a few points. I'm—I'm not... opposed to the idea."

Your heart burned. You both inched closer and closer, a hair width separating your lips. As your eyes fluttered closed and you placed one of your hands on the back of his neck, both hesitantly and surely, Spencer mimicked you and pressed his lips to yours with the lightest pressure as his hand found your waist tentatively. Your lips felt so soft and sweet. He knew he would feel you for days — and hoped you'd feel him for days, too.

Encouraged by him, you pressed your lips a bit harder against him. He gasped softly and you took the opportunity to capture his lower lip between yours and kiss it gently. Spencer could feel his heartbeat drumming on his ears and he tightened his hold on your waist the tiniest bit. Internally, he thought he died and went to heaven and that's how he was welcomed there. Your lips fit together so nicely and he felt his heart burning for you and he knew back then that he would do anything you asked him to in a heartbeat.

You pulled back to lick your lips and fitted them into his again. He sighed, again, moving to your accord as he tried focusing on how good it felt to be kissed by you rather than how you could regret it later. Distancing yourself, your eyes slowly fluttered open, finding his dazed ones already looking back at you. You grinned at him. Another secret between the two of you; but this time, it wasn't an embarrassing one.

He smiled back.

Later that day, Spencer sat on his bed, touching his lips, feeling the tingle yours had left behind. Smiling like an idiot, he wrote that date on the wood of his nightstand, black marker holding the evidence that tonight had actually happened, if he were to ever forget. If anyone asked, well, he would have to come up with something to hide the fact that he was relentlessly in love with you, but he would replay the best memory of his life in the back of his mind as his mouth stuttered out a little white lie.

He was so confused. And screwed. And so utterly happy.

—

At Caltech, at the ripe age of eighteen, on a working day, as usual, Spencer typed aggressively on his keyboard, writing an academic paper on a topic that had come to his mind during one of his classes and later inspired fully by a conversation with this one professor. Looking at the time on his computer screen, he cursed. It was already time he was supposed to be on his way to class, which was unlike him. There was a reason, though.

Last night, he had gotten home late. He had lost track of time talking to a girl whose name was Alex. They were both at the university library, and they hit it off immediately talking about Literature and then more mundane things — he had found out that she was a high schooler having classes with grad students, just like himself a few years back. Getting home late, his entire schedule for the day ahead had been ruined, so everything felt odd as he tried to navigate through his last obligations. He had gone to bed later than usual and overslept for some reason unknown to him.

As he got up abruptly, he knocked his knee on the desk, which was now getting very small for the size he had grown into. Shutting his eyes and suppressing a whine, he breathed in. As he opened his eyes, his line of sight caught glance of one of the two only photos he had hung up on his wall. The first was him and his mother, Diana. The second was you and him.

It was short after your fifteenth birthday, and he finally had had the time to go visit. You had greeted him with a very warm hug. That very same day, you had dragged him to your bedroom, which now didn't have the pink walls and the posters of the bands you liked so much anymore. Now, the walls were a cool tone of sage green and your walls were cleaner, the posters being replaced by photos of you and your friends from school. He had felt a tinge of jealousy, noticing just how much he was missing out on your life. Despite the lingering feeling, he tried to not let it get to him.

You thanked him so much for the gift he had given you, one of those polaroid cameras. He had spent so much time saving money to get you that present. The excited, happy tone in your voice during the phone call you had made to thank him made him feel like it had been worth it to spend that much.

"Hey, here she is! I named her Marie. From Marie Curie, of course." You explained, holding your camera carefully as you both entered your bedroom

"You named 'her' Marie?"

"She has a special place on my heart."

He chuckled. "You're so material, sometimes."

"You gave it to me!"

"I gave it to you." He whispered, a hint of a smile dancing around his features.

You smiled. "Come on, let's take a picture. It's her first. I waited a whole month so you'd be here to take this photo with me. It's only fair you're the first person to be photographed with me by Marie."

"Oh... okay..."

Holding the camera with both of your hands, you held it out so that it would capture the two of you. "Smile." You said, and, without checking his pose, you pressed the button, a big grin on your face, for the photo, of course, but also from being so madly happy that you were with him again. Spencer didn't know what do to, frozen on the spot because you were so, so close. He just looked at you, dumbstruck gaze on him as he watched you smile so beautifully at the camera.

His heart was doing somersaults.

After the flash in your face, you blinked rapidly, chuckling to yourself. "Oooh. That's uncomfortable, heh." You open your eyes and the first thing you see are his beautiful hazel ones, looking straight at you, as if he didn't even blink upon the bothering aftermath of the light on your faces. You nearly had to gulp under the intensity of his gaze. Then, you quickly regained consciousness and started fanning the small piece so that the picture would appear faster.

The result was the one now stuck to his wall: you, with the biggest smile on your face and he, lovestruck, dumb, lost gaze as he looked at you.

Sigh.

Spencer quickly shook his head, not meaning to be later and even more stressed than he already was. He missed you, though. And he let himself relish in that feeling of longing for a minute. Glancing at the photo, he couldn't help but think you were already eighteen. And that he had loved you from the first time he saw you — when he was twelve.

He sat on his bed, having removed the photo from the wall. As he held it delicately between his fingers, he thought of you. He always did. In spite of being late, in spite of everything telling him he had to go through his days, he felt something tugging at his heartstrings, a longing feeling that he should be somewhere else, something that told him something, so he knew.

It was time to go.

—

Back in his hometown, even the air felt different, despite exuding an aroma that reminded him of his younger days. It had been some time since he had visited, and the distance between you and him only grew further. Driving past your house — the state of California had finally issued his license —, he saw a somewhat big crowd of people, all dressed in black.

He felt like the noise around him didn't fully reach his brain. Like he was under water.

Robotically stepping out of his car, he approached the house cautiously. Almost as instantly as your mom welcomed him, he saw you across the room, dressed in black. Bloodshot eyes found him instantly, and a flicker of relief passed your expression — unable to muster up a smile, but oh so willing to show him that you were grateful for his presence. You felt frozen to the spot and had been standing in that corner for hours. A man placed his hand on your shoulder and that's when you looked away from Spencer. He noticed it, of course, and was obliged to acknowledge the blonde man by your side. You didn't smile at him either.

Spencer approached, somewhat relieved that you were okay, but so confused and overwhelmed by the entire situation. Almost unwilling to believe whatever bad thing had happened, because he had been so happy with you in that house.

Once he was within your earshot, you greeted weakly, "Hi."

"Hi."

Silence.

"Can we talk?"

Something about the look in your eyes told him that you desperately wanted, no, needed, craved it from him, his presence. With a subtle nod, you excused yourself from the man and lead him to the backyard. Sitting on the same bench you did when it was too late and you talked about the stars together, you reveal softly as you stare into the distance, "Dad's gone."

Spencer felt like he had been punched and all the air had left his lungs after your confirmation of something he was suspecting already. Finally, he blurted out, sitting down by yourself, "W—what?"

"He didn't wake up."

"He didn't wake up?"

"No... Last night, Spencer..." You begun, your voice thick with emotion, "he said that everything was alright." You frowned, tears streaming down your face, "That he... loves... loved me and mom... and that... that had been his role on Earth."

He stood quiet, waiting for the rest of what you had to say, still shaken by the news. Your broken voice and distant gaze were enough to skyrocket the pain he felt. Spencer absolutely adored your dad, and he was one of the few that Spencer confided in wholeheartedly when things got too rough for him to bear by himself. Even though your dad was the quiet type, Spencer would go as far as saying that he was somehow his dad as well.

With your silence, he had a little time to see past the pain. Analyzing your figure, he knew. He knew you had to leave. If you decided to stay, you'd be rooted to the spot and you wouldn't be able to grow any further, forever stuck into the never ending, relentless force of grief. Spencer knew that because, besides knowing you better than anyone else, he had left in hopes to escape the person he thought he was doomed to become. Your voice brought him out of his reverie. "I laughed. I thought he was joking."

"Maybe he was joking."

"Maybe he knew he was leaving."

Silence.

You look up at him. Asking for answers. For something. For comfort.

Sitting down beside you, he held your shaking shoulders as you let tears fall freely and you lost your breath and you choked on your own saliva. An ugly, guttural, desolate crying. Spencer held you through it all — he was ready to scream at anyone on the garden if they had the nerve to go there, but, actually, in that moment, you didn't care that somebody could see or hear you. The effect of the pills your mother had given you had started to wear off and you felt things way more intensely than when she first broke the news.

Dad's gone, was all that you could hear her voice say as Spencer turned his body to fully embrace you, placing your head on his shoulder and sobbing your pain as an effort to quell the ache of your loss.

It took every single ounce of self-control for Spencer not to break down with you, because in that moment, he preferred to swallow his own pain so that he could be your safe space instead. As your sobs slowly subsided, you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make the pain that invaded your whole body go away.

"I think..." you started, but never finished.

Silence.

"I think you should move away."

You looked at him, baffled, puzzled, hopeful.

"What?" You whispered softly.

"I think staying won't do you any good. And you know I'm right." His gaze never faltered.

You took a deep breath. "M-my mom... Spencer... she doesn't have anyone else. I-I can't do that... to her..." You gulped. The meer thought of leaving felt exhilarating, but you had to stay. You were rooted.

"Your brothers are always around." He replied.

"Not anymore. Much has changed since… since you... left."

"I didn't leave." He said, defensively.

"I didn't accuse you. At least I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Would you consider it? Leaving, I mean?" Please, say yes. Please, say yes. Come with me.

"I would... I don't know, Spencer." Your voice was broken. "Too... too much is going on. I can't just... go."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"There's dad. And now mom. And that stupid college... I don't know where I fit." You fit next to me, he wanted to scream at you, but he realized it wasn't fair of him to demand anything from you at that moment. "I don't know what path to take without my dad here to guide me." A wet chuckle made its way out of you. He hugged you again.

On a sudden wave of boldness, he stated, "If you stay, this will be your life. If you go, you'll have somewhere to come back to if things go wrong. I—I… I know, um, that I sound very insensitive right now, but that's the truth. Why do you think I went away?"

"I can't." And your tears began again, even harder this time.

He sighed, holding you against his chest once again. Despite the unbearable pain of not being able to help, to persuade you, he decided to respect your decision.

“My father's in a casket. I have got no plans.” You muttered softly. His heart broke for you all over again.

“You've got me. And I've got you.”

Looking up at him, your eyes glimmered with hope. Desperate to believe him, desperate to leave. With him, if he'd have you.

But that wasn't how it worked.

You buried your face on his chest again, willing the tears to stop, to have some control over yourself again.

He held you through it all. He was there for you.

Spencer's stay didn't last long, even though it was filled with an unspoken, desperate beg for you to come with him, even if he didn't quite know how things would work once you accepted. After some thinking, he realized he was asking too much of you for the sake of trying to protect you from what he knew was going to happen. Losing his own father, albeit for a different reason, had changed him permanently and he was scared that you, losing yours, would turn into a different person too. The mere thought of losing you to grief was too much to handle, even if he understood that his pleas were unfair to you, not to mention absurd.

Spencer's brain was turned into a whirlwind of thoughts, all of them desperate to find a way out of this situation, to find a way out to get you out of that place — both physically and mentally. As he stood by your side during your dad's burial, he let you squeeze his hand as if that would somehow make the pain less intense for you. It didn't, but it felt nice to have someone to carry the weight with you.

—

Spencer had joined the FBI at the age of 23, when you were graduating from college. The difference was staggering and it made you laugh the same as it had when he was going to college and you were going to seventh grade. It had been years since you had last met in person, after all, Diana was the main reason he'd go to Vegas, and he didn't go there much because he was often too busy with his studies and his career. Once, he had confided in you, saying that he secretly wished that it would be enough of a good excuse to avoid seeing his mother in a facility and saving them both from the pain. Tonight, though, that would change. You were visiting him in Virginia.

A little nervous, you knocked on his door. Once he answered, you took in his appearance and your heart swelled at the sight. In your eyes, he'd always looked the prettiest, but now… It's like something had shifted: Spencer was all that you saw. And you didn't want to look at anything else anymore.

“Hi,” you greeted in a weak voice. Perhaps the intensity of your smile stole away your will to speak properly.

“You're here.” Spencer muttered, eyes filled with many emotions, but that you decided to read as relief.

“I am.”

“God, it's been so long,” he says, closing the gap between you and him, wrapping his arms around your torso, resting his head on your shoulder, not so subtly trying to smell your perfume. And failing to hide the overdrive when he noticed it was the same from all those years ago, from when you had first kissed.

Pulling away slightly, you cupped his cheeks with both hands and took in his shiny eyes, the ones that you adored so much and now met yours with a new perspective on everything. Once entering his apartment, you found that the place screamed his name, from the scattered books and the endless piles all over his living room. His TV had a documentary in a foreign language on, and you smiled to yourself. Spencer had never changed and, at his core, was still the boy you were once close friends with.

Spencer filled you in on the things you missed. You knew they were mostly about his job because he wasn't one to step out of his comfort zone — not that you'd judge him for it. “I miss having you around, tapping my arm so I know when to stop,” he revealed softly as you two shared a tub of ice cream.

Forget germs, forget pathogens, forget viruses, forget everything. She is here.

You giggled. It set his heart on fire. “Ah, Spencer… You know I only did it when other people were around. Other people are just other people. You're you. And rambling is part of who you are. Don't let that disappear.”

He smiled. You were still you.

“In fact, I have something to tell you.”

His heartbeat fastened, thinking of every possible scenario, reliving every single one of your experiences in the back of his mind. “You… you have something to tell me?” He echoed. He was still him.

Chuckling softly, “I'm glad you're still you, Spencer. I still say your name when people ask me who's my best friend. It's an excuse to relive our favorite stories as I tell them all about you.”

Spencer was left speechless, bashfully looking away from you as he resumed to talk about his days at the FBI. He told you all about his team, the people and what they found on a daily basis. “Do you think it's weird that I study what I do study?”

“No, Spence. You've always had a curious mind. Why do you ask?” You inquired back.

“I don't know… sometimes I think that people find me weird.”

“You're not,” you said, simply. “Your interests are very diverse, and anyone who talks to you will find that out. Being a profiler is not weird.”

He grinned. Your words or arguments about his insecurities throughout your friendship weren't always the most complex, but he always felt better by talking to you. He was never ashamed, never too scared of admitting something or voicing his needs. You made him feel like it was okay to speak, to want, to be. Whatever his limitations were and whatever words he left unspoken, they were never your fault. You'd never frowned at him, not once.

As the night progressed, he filled you in on what he had been doing for fun, mentioning his current readings — one of them on his nightstand. Giddily, you went over to his bedroom to find the novel that he was talking about, so that you could hear him talk about it and recite, by heart, quotes that illustrated his points and interpretation from the book. Upon entering his bedroom, you smiled to yourself. So Spencer. The sand-colored walls, the neat and clean floor, his slightly wrinkled bedsheets, a pile of laundry on top of his bed, a few scattered items on his nightstand — which, by the way, was the same in his mother's house. You had always found it amazingly pretty, the light wood and the black paint that covered the iron of the drawer pulls.

As you reached the piece of furniture and removed the book, you found something scribbled right under where the object had been lying. You were ready to give him a piece of your mind and you opened your mouth, ready to tell him not to ruin the perfect nightstand, but as you turned on the lamp to try and find out what was written there, the writing in black ink made you shiver. You fell silent. It was the date of your first kiss.

Time stopped. Why was that date written there? And why did the possibilities both scared and thrilled you so damn much? You felt someone behind you. “So, you found the book or what?” The question made its way out of his lips in a teasing tone. But, as you turned around softly, the book still clutched tightly in your hands, your eyes questioned him back. Not accusingly, only… curiously.

When he realized what you had discovered, the air left his lungs and he tried desperately to come up with an excuse. It turns out that he hadn't been asked by many people about the meaning of that date — and it's not like he had many visitors, anyway. “I… You… You… Did you… see it?” You managed to nod, weakly.

“What does it mean?” You asked, eyes never leaving his.

Looking away, he replied, “I was scared to forget.”

“Forget?” You inquired, shifting your weight.

“About it…. That night, I mean. about… us.” You gazed at him understandingly once he answered.

“About us?” Funnily enough, now you were the one parroting him. It would have made you chuckle if the situation wasn't that serious.

He breathes out, “Yeah, us.”

A beat of silence. You take a step towards him, and his breath hitches. “Have you forgotten?”

He searches your face. Upon finding nothing but support, he reveals, “There's not a single day I don't remember that moment.” You gulp and he takes a step closer, which makes your grip on the book tighten even more. You closed your eyes — a silent invitation, but it makes him falter once he doesn't have your eyes to navigate him through what he's supposed to do.

I'm glad you're still you, Spencer.

Encouraged by the memory of your words from moments ago and the presence of you, he closes the distance between you, once and for all. There's nothing that could hold him back from loving you once your lips touch and press together in a kiss that makes the book fall to your feet as your hands find their place on the back of his neck.

On any other day, Spencer Reid would be pissed upon seeing someone drop a book, let alone a considerably heavy one, on his feet — that's absurd. That moment, though, he couldn't care less as he squeezed your waist, as if trying to convince himself that you were there, that it was real, and that he finally got to do what he has always wanted.

Spencer and you had been through many firsts during the time you've known each other; some good firsts and some pretty bad firsts. But, there was a quote, from ‘Doctor Who’, that you always reminded him and yourself whenever things got too tough:

"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant."

As long as he had you to soften the bad things and had your company during the bad things that made the good ones unimportant, Spencer figured that life would be a pile of more good than bad things.