#it builds off of Life in Universe C

[carriagelamp]

very impressed by this author being able to make this children's pegasus book a completely intolerable christ allegory

[miraclewoozi]

DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs

the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome.  or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it. 

pairing ; vernon x gn!reader.  content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT.  content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c ; 9.6k note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3

“What was your first kiss like?”

Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song. 

All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong. 

But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.

“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”

You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”

“Oh.” 

He was right. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”

He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all. 

“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”

You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say. 

“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position. 

“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air. 

You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”

He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done. 

Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal. 

Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present. 

“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”

You snort. 

“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you. 

He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?

“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember. 

You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”

“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.  

He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter. 

You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again. 

He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary. 

The urge to just… lean in to you. 

It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—

Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees. 

True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?

“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again. 

“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.

“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”

“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”

He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly. 

Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.

“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop. 

It’s… devastatingly cute.

“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.

“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”

It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday. 

He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare. 

Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once. 

He swears. 

“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”

Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)

“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I’ll open it. Come on.”

His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure. 

“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting. 

“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway. 

You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t. 

Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.

And yet—

“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances. 

Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.

You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise. 

When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that. 

His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come. 

Eight seconds later… still nothing. 

“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”

“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”

It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light. 

“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”

It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”

You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug. 

His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again. 

You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?” 

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”

“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue. 

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“

You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before. 

He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.

“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”

“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”

He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip. 

“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter. 

“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”

You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh. 

Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair. 

He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop. 

Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders. 

Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help. 

“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place. 

“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”

When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head. 

“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…

He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”

“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?

He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in. 

I love them. Thank you, you said. 

It’s perfect. 

He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.

“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”

Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double. 

He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.

“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.

“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead. 

“I don’t know-…”

“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”

Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”

Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.

Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue. 

On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.

“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”

Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose. 

“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.

But… It's too late. 

Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to. 

And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are. 

Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob. 

Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum. 

But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him. 

Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen. 

It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door. 

Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important. 

You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.

When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair. 

You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath. 

“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright. 

“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”

He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened. 

“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head. 

His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop. 

“He what?”

Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together. 

He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said. 

I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)

So… you were in love. 

With someone who wasn’t him. 

He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt.  And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.

Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.

“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”

You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”

Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before. 

“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”

Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.

“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”

Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?

He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder. 

“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it. 

“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush. 

“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head. 

“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth. 

It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you. 

He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too. 

“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”

With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure. 

“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together. 

Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try. 

But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could. 

“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down. 

He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better. 

When you bumped your head in the playground, the same. 

He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved. 

And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person. 

“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”

He’s so proud of you.

Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say. 

[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]

Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here. 

He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no. 

[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]

[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]

So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.

With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline. 

Not enough, but some. 

With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin. 

7. 6. 5.

The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky. 

Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?

4. 3.

Maybe I don’t need to see in colour. 

2.

For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough. 

1.

Happy New Year. 

As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes. 

For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you. 

You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”

“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow… 

Like you’re searching for something that might not be there. 

He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you. 

You could do it, his brain tells him. 

So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter? 

But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside. 

One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He’s happy, though. It’s like you said. 

Being in love is enough.

“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in. 

He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”

In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule. 

His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all. 

But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday. 

To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you. 

You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change. 

This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant. 

The pouting continued. 

Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table. 

All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right? 

He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling. 

“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together. 

“This way.”

You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features. 

“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?”

You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road. 

“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.

“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess, 

He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks. 

You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer. 

“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks. 

“Close your eyes.”

You know.

Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick. 

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”

Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?

He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone. 

“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.

“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”

“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”

Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.

It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own. 

He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block. 

Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…

“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths. 

“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.

You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…

There it all is, when you finally pull away.

Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too. 

“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”

A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again. 

“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”

thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

[penvisions]

by the grit of sandpaper {epilogue}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Summary: As time passes, you and Joel settle into a new life together.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, light angst, hurt and comfort, mentions of past lost loved ones, mentions of child loss (both joel and reader), joel miller's hands need their own warning, adult content, sexual content, smut, piv, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), creampie (reader is unable to get pregnant so you know lol), dry humping, bulge mention, sensual makeout session, one (1) instance of squirting, reader and joel are down bad for each other, lemme know if i missed any!

A/N: i missed them and the document that only had a few dozen words flourished into this! i realized i could write for these two until the end of time because i love them so much and this little universe, so if there's something you're curious about or want to see of them, send an ask and a one shot might be written c;

love y'all and hope this brings you some joy today ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

You stir long before the other body in your bed, dreamworld of your sleeping mind slipping from you as consciousness takes hold. But it leaves behind a melancholia you were all too familiar with. Today would be a hard day, tomorrow even more so. The loss of your friend weighing heavy on your soul even as you lay tangled with a man who helped to brighten and fill your days with a new purpose.

“We’ve gotta get up,” You quietly remind him even as you snuggle closer, basking in the warmth of him so close and comforting. You don’t feel very compelled to heed your own words, if you’re honest.

“Ten more minutes.” He’s pressing his body to yours, the hard line of him jutting into your lower back and his teeth nipping as your shoulder. You were both bare from the strokes of pleasure you had pulled from each other’s bodies the evening before. His voice gravelly from both the way he had shouted out, moaned loud enough for it to bounce off the walls last night and his waking body this morning.

“You said that yesterday and I was late for my shift at the mess hall.”

“You run the mess hall, can’t be late if you’re the boss.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm, trust me.” He rumbles as he begins to lazily shift his dribbling cock against the plush skin of your backside. You have nothing but a breathy moan as he shifts your bodies, laying over your back as he presses you into the soft mattress and tangled sheets, slipping inside of your aching core with an easy glide. It’s splitting the way he fills you so fully, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he simply rolls his hips to help ease you open a little more. His hands are reaching to interlock fingers with yours that grab at the sheets.

After a few moments of slowness, he’s shifting his weight up onto his knees a bit more, nudging your legs open for him rest between them as he holds tight to the flare of your hips to angle them perfectly for you to feel every hard inch of him. Slow and sensual turns into frantic and hard thrusts, punching sounds out from your lungs as the drag of him through your center ignites your body.

Praises for you fall from his mouth in deep, guttural sounds as he feels you begin to arch your back and lean your hips back to meet his every move. Fingers dip below your body to circle your throbbing clit and his words give way to harsh pants as you clench around him, your release quick and numbing.

His body is singing, trying to match the tune of yours as he works you through it, the squelch of him dragging out and slamming back in making your stomach flutter. It’s both unfamiliar and new, the way pressure builds in your middle so soon after, but it’s not unwelcome as you realize his hand is now pressed firmly to the soft give of your lower stomach right above the patch of curls your keep trimmed.

You try to warn him as it grows in intensity, but you don’t think words form around the warbling cries of your voice. Drowned out by the desperate sounds he’s beginning to make as he feels a warm splash of wet soak the sheets and the fronts of his muscled thighs, he falters for just a moment before he’s slamming in as deep as he can and filling you with hot spurts. You feel him, all of him from the twitching of his cock to the soft pudge of his middle on your back as he stills, draping back over you and brushing his nose over your ear.

“Such a good girl for me, sweetheart. Didn’t even know you could do that.” Your hips jerk as you preen under his words, his rapt attention, the feeling of him still nestled deep in your fluttering core. He’s choking on the breath he had just taken as he feels the way your body holds him where he his, refusing to let him go. And it’s with almost reverent touches, that he’s swiping thick fingers around where you’re connected as he leans back to take in the sight of his cum leaking out. As your body finally relaxes, he’s slipping from you with a held breath, exhaling only when he sees the milky mix of your combined releases dripping from your puffy seam.

His weight is suddenly gone from over and behind you, causing you to turn your head as best you could where your cheek is pressed to the sheets only for your breath to hitch at the sight of him lowering down onto his chest between your still propped up legs.

“Can’t give it to you again so soon, sweet, needy girl, but I can taste you,” He’s growling out before his hands are back on your hips and pulling you to his waiting, open mouth. It should be dirty, the way he makes out with your puffy lips and sensitive core, teeth gently nipping at the almost pained bundle of nerves right at your crux, facial hair scraping against silken skin, but it’s only fueling the heat that hadn’t seemed to dissipate as it begins to crawl across your skin once again.

“We…um, we should do something for Aiden’s birthday this year.” Millie was behind you on a horse of her own, Lowry helping you to lead the typical patrol you did twice a week. It had been a long conversation between you and Joel many months ago, when winter was still chilling the air and frosting the ground overnight. But it was now warm, bordering on hot as the sun simmered over the Wyoming landscape. But today, he was busy in town helping to finish repairs that a spring storm had ravaged on a few of the powerlines. New posts being installed and a patrol gone out to the water plant nestled by the dam that allows for life to flourish here.

“We should.” You agree, mind lost in thoughts of the man already, the day he lost his life the one right before it. “Maybe we could have a little picnic at the cemetery, make his favorite foods and clean it up a bit.”

“That sounds perfect, Olive.”

The rest of the patrol is spent in easy comfortability, even as the younger girl tells you of her intentions to move into the house Joel had once occupied alongside Callie and Nolan. She had hesitantly taken up the brother of her new close friend on his offer for a drink one day, the memory of her past love giving her pause. But when she had told you of her trepidation, you had gently urged her to listen to her heart because she deserved the kind of life in which she could love and be loved in return. Everyone did, even the once ostracized and solemn soul you had been.

She had become a somewhat staple in your life now, and not one born of anxiety and constant worry of occasional interaction. Now she was right there beside you as you helped Callie to navigate the exciting early months of her baby’s life, giving her advice on how to keep them from getting too fussy over hunger and bouts of bad sleep. She had named the girl after you, your actual name something you seldom used even with new people. The nickname Tommy had given you sticking far better than it ever had, and to be honest you didn’t much feel like the woman who had carried that name throughout the early stages of your life.

Jackson giving you a second chance, an environment to change from the ways you had been forced to fight for survival. Just as the nickname had allowed you to feel like a better version of yourself, you smiled as it was muttered from the yawning mouth of a slowly waking Joel every morning. His arms curled around your middle, pulling you flush to him as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck. His gravely good morning pressed to your skin through his soft lips this morning. Feeling more like the person you wanted to be alongside him, thanking the heavens and stars for aligning and allowing you two to cross paths.

Millie deserved that and you had told her as much. Neither of you mentioned how it almost seemed like she had wanted your approval and blessing to move on from the person that bonded you both.

Easy conversation flows between you both as you circle the wide perimeter of the settlement’s land. The sun now fully up in the bright blue sky. Birds and small mammals sing and chitter away as the horses make their way on the unmarked path, making you feel at ease almost as much as being out here with Joel does.

Once you’re back within the gates, the horses settled back in their stables, and Millie waving in parting do you feel the enormity of the day once away. The promise of meeting tomorrow for an early lunch at the cemetery lingers in the air. Sighing, you adjust the wide-brimmed hat atop your head and the button up shirt where it had rucked up slightly before pivoting your steps from the direction of your street to the front of the settlement.

Maria is overlooking papers set out before her, a fussy Macon in her lap covered in crumbs and remnants of her attempt at breakfast. He was beginning to eat solids, but he was a picky fellow much to your chagrin and his parents’ exasperation. Motherhood looked good on the woman, though you knew she had always carried that label. Fatherhood looked good on your dear friend Tommy, despite the worries and anxieties he had trusted you to keep to yourself when he shared them with you. He was in the line to get some food of his own, a plate that looked to be filled with the favorites of his wife’s directly from the kitchen beside his own empty one.

You sneak into the kitchen from the door by the buffet line up, steps quiet as you moved toward the back corner of the space that housed your little desk and stool by the dry goods storage. The mug you favored, one made of speckled ceramic and stained a faded orange was pulled from behind the recipe books you had been browsing the day before. The crops were different this year, the farmer’s almanac that had been saved from the actual city of Jackson before the world fell not accounting for the lack of carbon emissions and changed acidity of the soil. Planting would look different this year from last, and with it a new menu needed to be planned.

Even as you rifle through the papers with half a focused mind, you’re aware of the few in the kitchen remarking about your unusual midday visit. As your coffee dwindles down, an older teen who had approached you the other day asking if he could be on your service in the kitchen for his first assignment silently refills it and adds the cream he knows you favor in it. You offer him a small smile as he looks up from where he’s mixing it together in a perfect caramel color. He seems momentarily stunned as pink dusts his freckled cheeks and then he’s moving back to focus on his tasks for the day.

Tommy is popping his head in a few hours later, the scent of pine and the metallic of nails thick on him as he approaches. His hand clamps over your shoulder, a laugh tumbling from him as he notices the switch from coffee to a few fingers of whiskey you had made about an hour back.

“Workin’ hard, Olive?”

“Should ask you the same thing, all finished with the repairs?”

“Yeah, your old man headed home, might’ve worked him too hard today.”

“Hush, he probably did circles around you, and you know it.” You lightly tease as you bookmark the page your on with an old scrap of paper and shut the thick book. You turn to see him watching you with a soft expression, knowing that he’s done the right thing by checking up on you. You know he had seen you slip into the kitchen earlier, but he had let you be, figuring you would know best how to handle your emotions.

“Yeah, if my brother’s good at anything, it’s working himself to the bone. Did it a ton to support himself and Sarah, and me for that matter. Took any and every job he could get. Then didn’t want to bring anyone else on to cut the work because of the wages it would cost him.” He’s chiding the past version of his brother, knowing that for that moment in time, he would’ve done anything for his family. The harsh truth of that sentiment only flourished in the outbreak and subsequent loss of their third member. But you both know that Joel worked so hard to overcome what he had been transformed into because of that loss and the state of the world, you both see it every day how much he’s changed.

“She was lucky to have him as her father, he cares so much for her even now.” You feel his hand slip from your shoulder as you stand, his eyes watching you as you down the remainder of your drink. The ice clinks in the empty glass and you take it over to the industrial sink.

“He took that part of his life seriously, don’t think he ever rested unless she had everything she needed and wanted. I’m sure you were much the same, even if the circumstances were different.”

“He’s good like that, even if he doesn’t realize taking care of himself is just as important as taking care of others sometimes.”

“Sounds an awful lot like someone else I know.”

“Go blow smoke up someone else’s butt, I’m already makin’ you dinner.” You stick your tongue out at him, hoping he realizes just how grateful you are to have him in your life, a true friend.

“Just wanted to check if we were still on for that, I know today is…a lot and didn’t want to force anything if you weren’t up for it.” His eyes glint in the sunlight that takes over the kitchen as you hit the switch and turn off the artificial ones. You gather the casual button up you had shucked from your shoulders as the crew shut down the line for the afternoon, once the last of the food served, and began to clean. You had helped to wash some of the larger dish pans, not wanting them to feel like you were watching them without being obvious about it. No, you had willingly helped them to close down the kitchen for the day, thanking them all when they signed the sheet you reported to the council at each week’s end.

“It’ll make me feel better, to make food for those I care about. To share a meal at a full table, wallowing won’t do me any good.” The assurance is as much for you as it is for him as you both walk through the door and out into the back of the building. He walks you home in a comfortable silence, a grin taking over his lips as people call out your nickname and wave at you in greeting as they walk home themselves or sit out on their porches.

You feel a tug on your heartstrings as you turn onto your street and see the shadow of something on your porch steps. As you and Tommy get closer, it appears to be a basket full of daily essentials and a few jars of jam, butter, and one that suspiciously looked like malt liquor. A few letters are made out to you, your nickname written in looping scrawls and a casserole in a covered pan. Small things to help ease the pain of the day, the loss of someone in your life. A well-known fact around the settlement, the date marking one of the few tragedies it had encountered.

Tommy’s arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you to him as he hears the hitch of your breath before a sob wracks through your body. It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to gather yourself, blubbering words of gratitude and appreciation at being seen and cared for as he guides you into your home and helps to put the basket up on the kitchen hutch and the casserole in the fridge. With a kiss to your temple and reassurance in the form of a watery smile, he leaves you to get ready for dinner and fetch the rest of the family.

You piddle around the house as you contemplate opening the letters, leaving them for later in the evening to sit in bed with Joel for him to read them to you. The attitude and negative attention on you still too fresh and tender for you to handle seeing what they had to say on your own, though you doubted any of it would have ill-intent. A shower calmed you down, allowing you to wash away the dried tears and the sweat that had soaked into your skin throughout the day. Giving you a moment to yourself before Ellie would be beside you in the kitchen, so willing to learn what you could teach her.

It’s a little too hot as the sun begins its descent to kiss the horizon, beating down on your exposed shoulders as you cross the expansive backyard to the workshop Joel had built for himself on the property. He had left a note for you to fetch him once dinner was done and you were doing just that. You rather liked the domesticity of sharing your home and your life with the man, something that only once been a deep seeded daydream but not it was your reality.

Ellie was busy plating up portions for everyone, a record playing softly in the living room. She was blossoming as well, her time spent here allowing her the chance to lead the later years of her teenage life as she should’ve been able to beforehand. Joel had made that possible, everything he had done and sacrificed allowing for a slice of peace for both of them. She resided on your property too, the dilapidated shed turned into a space for her to thrive on her own but still close enough to what she  knew as a guardian and mentor in Joel.

He had shared with you one night the choices he had made to ensure she would be able to live, to continue to live. He had choked up, lamenting that he didn’t feel like he was a bad man for the things he did and chose to do if it paid off for them to have the life they have now. You had listened with an open mind and heart, knowing the turmoil he must feel all too well. You had done bad things as well, to ensure the life of Aiden, both of you determined to change as a second chance of redemption was offered.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got somethin’ for you.” He greeted you with a sweaty kiss to your cheek, his large hands guiding you to stand in front of the desk he had been seated at. The scent of wood shavings and his earthy body wash filling your senses. “I finally got it finished up for you, forgive me for the time it took and the well, you know.”

You look from his sheepish smile to the top of the desk when he nudged his head toward it. The months that had drawn on long and with too much communication hang heavy in the air as he references them, you try to blink them away, not wanting to dwell on what was but take the shift of time for what it is now, contentment and happiness. Loving and being loved in return. He presses himself against your back, his body comforting even despite the heat that still lingered in the evening air, as if he knows you’re lingering just as he does sometimes, on the additional months you both could’ve been wrapped around each other at night, share morning kisses as you wake up and wait for the coffee machine to putter, of patrols that are now almost like bi-weekly dates.

Atop the desk is two completed cutting boards made of olive wood. Sturdy, set on four little wooden legs that allow for them to be slightly raised from the desktop. Sandpaper lays to the side, the dust of his actions neatly swept away as you take in the carvings he had engraved, olive blossoms. You reach out a tentative hand, looking at him out of the corner of your eye for permission.

He presses a kiss to your neck, the soft hairs of his thick moustache tickling and pulling a giggle from your chest. He gently takes both your hands in his and lays them flat over the closest one, palms a calming weight over the backs of your hands. His arms are supportive around yours as he noses against your hair, still up in a messy bun once you had returned to town and removed your wide brimmed hat for the day. He breaths you in, quiet and waiting as you caress the gift he presented. The wood is dry, though you can see the slight shine of the sealant he had painted over them. The carvings are beautiful, a testament to his focus and devotion as he spends so much time out here after working to earn his place in the settlement.

“Joel…” Tears prickle behind your eyes, overwhelmed with the sight of the beautiful, crafted gifts being presented to you.

“Wanted them to be perfect, sweetheart. Know today isn’t the easiest for you and I wanted to try and cheer you up with ‘em.” His voice is a low timbre, shy almost as he shows you a part of his heart. Each time he does, it makes your own melt. He’s such a good man, even if he thinks he needs to work on it, to try at it, to actively change the chemistry of who he is to be so. But he was always good, deep down in the very core of who he is, it just got lost for a little bit and that’s okay. Because now he gets to be that good man once again, unapologetically. You’re turning in his arms, hands cupping his jaw to feel the patchy scruff that’s more grey than the brown that still peaks through and press your lips to his.

He's shifting too, hands trailing down from your bare shoulders and your back, following the curves of your hips to the outside of your thighs. Your breath hitches and the kiss breaks as he bears your weight to lift you up onto the desk, closing in to slip his tongue into your open mouth and his body between your legs. You feel the smile pulling at his lips, his favorite sound spurring him on. Kissing him is one of your favorite things in this broken world, he’s so soft, so responsive. His full lips plush and soft as they move against your own in a dance of adoration.

He preens underneath the soft touch, the gently exploration of your hands over his face. Telling you more than his words and actions that he had yearned for your touch long before he had felt it. Even now, it softened him, a light dusting of pink bloomed across his cheeks as he looses a breathy moan. His hands shift up from around your hips to cradle your face as you tangle yours in the tresses of his curls. Dizziness overtakes you as his lips press against yours again and again, the simple act to intimate and all encompassing. He kisses so deeply, passionately, hungrily, earning a whimper as his lips close around your bottom one to gently bite down.

He's breathless when he pulls back, tugging slightly on it before releasing it. His eyes are shadowed dark as they gaze into your own, lashes fluttering as his thumbs caress the tops of your cheeks. A different kind of heat flares in your chest and you stifle a giddy sound with your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Dinner’s ready,” You halfheartedly say, not sure why nervous energy flows through you at the heated gaze he pins you with. Hooded eyes full of emotion as he leans forward with a rock of his hips against you for you to feel the bulge he’s doing nothing to conceal. Your legs rise to hook around his waist of their own accord and you feel the hardened thickness of him as he lazily ruts against you. The weight and thickness of him apparent even beneath the fabric as he shows you how much you affect him. The seam of your jeans is pressed just right by his movements and your head swims.

“Hungry for somethin’ else, baby.” He’s pulling the thin straps of your tank top down, warm mouth and slick tongue taking an exposed nipple into his mouth. Keening at the tug of his teeth, your hands tangle in his curls and your hips begin to move in tandem with his. Sawdust and dust mites explode into the air as the desk begins to rock along with your combined movements.

“J-Joel, please.”

He only hums around the bud between his teeth, nibbling before he moves to the other and does the same. His hand grip your ribs tight, the fabric bunched beneath your breasts doing nothing to dispel the heavy press of his fingers against your skin as he begins to move faster, desperately against you.

“C’mon, let go for me, sweetheart,” His tongue laves over your neck, teeth biting into the skin as he moves up to catch your swollen lips once again. He swallows down the whimpers and moans as if they’re the only thing he wants to consume, as if they could sustain him from now until the end of his days. His teeth clack against yours in the sloppy way you try to return the kiss, body rocking against his.

Suddenly, pleasure ripples through you, the bundle of nerves he’s thrusting against twitching as your body tenses around him. He groans his own sound against your chin as he feels the convulses of your release cascade through your body. His own so close, his hips stutter before he’s biting into the juncture of your jaw as you feel him twitch and dampen the front of his own jeans.

“You’re so good for me, always sound so sweet, love you so much,” He’s peppering kisses all over your dazed face, the corners of your eyes, the tip of you nose, the top of your forehead, your heated cheeks, everywhere he could reach without fulling back completely. His scruff tickles and scrapes lightly at your skin, pulling breathy giggles from you even as he fixes your top back the way it was. You’re gasping as his thumbs trail over your nipples through the fabric, body still singing from the orgasm he easily pulled from you.

His own chuckle is raspy, as he helps you to stand on wobbling legs. A hand around your waist as he walks along with you through the backyard, eyes lingering on the olive trees beginning to bloom their precious, white flowers. Cascading golden hour sunlight fills the sky as you hold tight to Joel’s hand and press a quiet ‘I love you’ into his skin. The smile he catches on your lips brings out one of his own and he’s pressing it to your temple as he ushers you up the few back steps to the house.

“Started without you,” Ellie’s voice calls from the kitchen as she hears you both enter through the back door from the enclosed porch.

“We’ll be right there.” Joel calls his answer before he’s ushering you into your shared room. A change of clothes and a couple of quick stolen kisses later and all three of you are sitting around the table in front of a big spread of different dishes. All put together by you with the help of the interested teen even if her attention span wasn’t exactly fit for keeping up with boiling and stirring as she had excitedly told you of the new comic she was reading curtesy of yours and Joel’s last overnight patrol to Teton. Tommy and Maria corralling a toddling Macon through the front of the house are the last puzzle pieces of a perfect evening.

taglist:

@joelsgreys @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk @littlemisspascal

@merz-8 @orcasoul @sabmat @dreamingofleon @keylimebeag

@picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @joeloverture

@joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @corazondebeskar

@honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @hiroikegawa @dugiioh

@persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc

@part2joelmiller @formulafun @noisynightmarepoetry @sofiparallel

@blueberrylemon7 @maryrhodalouandted @joelsdagger @fluff-lover

@communism-bitches @slugz-writes-shit @mosssbawls @vie-is-punk

@ohhellotherebumblebee @koshkaj-blog @amyispxnk @wand-erer5

dividers by the lovely: @/cafekitsune and /saradika-graphics

[theapangea]

Hanging on the Telephone

Lip Gallagher x innocent!reader

Part of the Every Little Touch Series

Summary: Phone sex with Lip Gallagher

W/C: 2k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI!!! Male and female masturbation

A/N: I know I've been MIA but here is a little Lip smut for making you wait so long you little pervs ;). This was a fun one to write and maybe there will be a part two to this story! This is part of my Every Little Touch Series with Lip x innocent!reader. My requests is currently closed but when it does open please feel free to suggest any ideas you have for this story or another one. Love you cuties!! <3

Finally you murmur, shuffling your snow covered boots through the carpeted floor. Struggling to strip your coat and shoes off at the same time. Trying to work quickly as the stale air of the house makes you start to sweat under your several layers.

Eyes sleepy, heavy, ready to collapse onto themselves as the coat and boots are soon forgotten about, taking the last several steps to your bed before plopping face first into the mattress. The plush blanket muffling your scream as you release all the built up stress from the stupid little day you are having. Though the scream seems not to be working.

Rolling over onto your back, arms laying delicately over your mid section. Eyes fixated on the ceiling, the weight on your shoulders grows heavy as the strain builds behind your eyes making it tougher to breathe. Cursing silently at your stupid, sad, pathetic fucking life. A small stream of tears trickle down your temples, squeezing your eyes sharply together, wishing everything and everyone away. 

Just need a little peace.

Just need a little release.

Taking a deep, slow breath as you let your mind wander. Rubbing your thighs together, the buzzing runs through your thoughts, suddenly landing on Lip. His causoled fingers running down your delicate skin. Absentmindedly touching the same spots he did while you continue to let your mind run wild. 

Breath hitches as your fingers grace the lining of your jeans. Arching your back as you imagine Lip placing small kisses down the side of your neck, a trail of wet warmth and deep bruising. Not really thinking much into what you are actually doing. But you missed his touch, even if you have only felt it once. Missed the way he made you feel, wanting to feel that way every single day of your life. Desperately wanting to feel that release again, wanting him to send you over the edge. 

The vibrating in your back pocket makes you jump from your skin. Almost as if someone has caught you in the act of thinking about the shared moment with Lip and what that would ultimately lead to. 

Lifting your hips in the air, your toes digging into the carpet as your hand struggles to grip the small device from the bottom of your pocket. The vibration is still buzzing, sending a quivering through your body. Finally pulling the device free, flipping the phone open to see Lip’s name displayed on the small screen and behind it a blurry picture you took of him on last year’s school trip to Cloud Gate (the big shiny bean in Chicago).

Instantly pushing the answer button and placing the phone to your ear. A half-whisper greeting escapes you as you wiggle your way to the top of your bed. Feeling a little embarrassed to be talking to Lip after you almost let yourself get off on the thought of him.

“Whatcha doing?’ Lip questions from the other end, you can hear the brush of smoke that hits the receiver.

“Currently,” Pausing for dramatic effect, “Succumbing to my self loathing, waiting for the universe to end it all.” You force out a life to make light of the situation.

His low chuckle as a response sends a shiver through your body, igniting the fire that grows between your legs. 

A smile lamenting itself firming onto your face. Lip has that effect on you, making this life feel a little less lonely. “And what might the famous Lip Gallagher be doing right now?” You ask, picking at the dirt underneath your nails. 

“Ya’know, just been thinking.”

“About what?” You inquire, hoping you already know the answer.

Stuttering over his words as he tries to form them into sentences, feeling a bump in his throat as he doesn’t know exactly how to say it, “Ab-about the other d-day…about you.”

Heat rises immediately to your cheeks, a full breath filling your lungs until they burn. A huge smile engulfing your features as you silently giggle to yourself. Happy beyond belief that he was thinking about you. 

“Yeah?” Is all you can muster to say as the air has fully exited your chest, leaving you laying there, basking in the bliss.

Carding a hand through his messy hair as he takes another drag of his cigarette. Lip’s body sprawled out over his bed as his voice hitches, “Can’t stop thinking about it.”

The words are music to your ears as you happily tap your feets against the soft comforter. He’s been thinking about you, thinking about what you both did together and he’s talking to you about it. 

“Have you been thinking about it?” He speaks softly into the phone, finally realizing that you have been silent a little too long.

“Maybe…” You’re a little embarrassed to admit it. Not because you didn’t want it to happen or that you are embarrassed of Lip in any way. You’ve just never been comfortable talking about any form of sex or pleasure before, especially talking about it with someone else. 

Another puff of smoke hits the receiver as you can hear Lip shift on the other end, “Any particular part?” He hums.

You’re hesitant at first, doing this stuff in person is one thing but having to talk about it is a whole other beast you’d never thought you’d have to overcome. But you want to talk about it with Lip, he makes you feel comfortable and wanted. He makes this experience way less scary than you had originally thought.

“Your hands,” You finally confess, the heat rising rapidly to your cheeks as you pull your legs to your chest, doing anything to hide.

He purrs against the receiver. “Where? Deep inside of you?”

“Lip.” You whine, embarrassed that he just said that out loud. He speaks about this stuff so plainly and bluntly that you almost don’t know how to act. Almost as if he gets a kick out of seeing you embarrassed.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about.” The words are heaven, laced in pure silk running perfectly over your body as the thought of Lip thinking about the way you felt under his grasp, the way his fingers curled expertly inside of you, the way you tasted, all innocent and pure. He can’t help not thinking about the way you relaxed under his touch and how he desperately wants to do it again. “Do you still feel that itch?”

The heat has not subsided yet from your cheeks as he keeps talking about it and you have to admit that the itch has truly never gone away. It was just in a deep little part of your brain, eagerly waiting for Lip to let it out. 

You hum as you stretch your legs out in front of you, squeezing your thighs together again.

“Like right now?”

Especially now.

“Are you going to do anything about it?” He questions. 

You huff, “I’m not really sure what to do.” You have to admit out loud which seems so silly at the moment. 

“It’s okay,” his tone is subtle, “‘member what I showed you?” 

Closing your eyes as his words whisper your mind into the amazing memory that you two share together. You could swear that you are currently there now, wrapped in Lip’s arms as he rubs your core into ecstasy. 

You hum against the phone, your tone is whiny as your other hand grabs at the rough fabric of your jeans. 

“Just touch yourself like that, tell me what you’re doing, how you’re feeling.” His voice calms you down.

Shaking your head as you murmur over the line, “Ok.”

Stumbling over your words as you struggle to take off your jeans while laying in bed, “I-I’m taking off m-my je-jeans…come on.” You angrily whisper to your jeans as you push them off.

Lip laughs on the other end at your struggle, able to picture you perfectly as the sounds of muffling come over the receiver. 

“I’m in my panties now.” You say to him.

He laughs again, this time more from the chest.

“Don’t laugh at me.” You whine, “I’m new to this.”

“Do you want me to talk instead?” He suggests.

“Yes, please,” You breathe a sigh of relief. Blessing that you won’t embarrass yourself any further. 

“One sec then,” Lip says before the phone goes silent. Jumping up quickly to rip off his shirt and jeans before grabbing the phone again, relaxing into the mattress. Lip’s hand is instantly on his cock when he gets back on the phone with you. “Ready.” He’s barely able to get out his words as his touch sends electricity through his body.

The pre-cum dripping slightly from his pulsing tip onto his stomach. He doesn't know how long he will last, his imagination has been getting him through the days, desperately wanting to touch every part of you, know every single detail.

You lightly breath out the word yeah, biting your lip in anticipation of what's to come next. 

“Slip your hand under your panties.” His almost demanding tone falls delicately on your ears. 

Your hand slips underneath your white, cotton panties. Fingers trailing over your mound, hesitant to touch too close to your burning center. A single whimper escapes you as you stop just short on meeting your needs.

“Good girl. Now touch that pretty little clit of yours for me.” Lip’s voice is paradise, guiding you on this journey of self-discovery. Begging, pleading for you to just slip your finger between your folds. 

The electric jolt of pleasure bursts through your body as your middle finger grazes over your sensitive nub. You whine heavily into the phone. Lip returns with a groan of his own, happily pleasuring himself, your whimpers are addicting as he strokes his aching cock. 

“How does it feel?” He purrs.

“Amazing.” Your chest falls as you sink a finger deeper between your folds, delicately teasing your entrance like Lip did before. Imagining that it’s his finger dipping graciously into your burning core. 

“But not as good as when I do it?” He questions, his words teasing you.

“Definitely not.” Grinding against your fingers, the confidence begins to trickle in as you try to talk dirty to him, “I wish it was you…touching me, your fingers deep inside of me.” Curling a finger into your dripping hole, struggling to accommodate your own finger this time. 

Adding more pressure to his grip as Lip’s hand falls down his length. Buckling his hips as he groans when you call his name, knowing that your holes are filled because of him. 

Lip’s name whispers from your mouth, between moans, whimper after whimper as he tells you to pick up speed, pumping your fingers deeper inside of your burning core. Back arching, fingers losing rhythm as you gasp one final time. White, hot flames filling your bloodstream as you scream Lip’s name into your empty room, cumming intensely onto your soaked fingers.

Lip follows you as he pumps faster and more rapidly as you say you’re picking up speed, face contorting into pure pleasure as one last pump sends him over the edge. The perfect white liquid shooting from his cock, landing onto his stomach. Stroking a couple more times as his breathes even out and a small laugh departs his lips

Your chest is heavy when the world starts to fall into place again. Cumming with you was absolutely the best sexual experience Lip has ever had.

The phone is quiet for a couple beats, neither of you knowing what to say or how to continue. 

And before either of you can continue a conversation, banging on the door from Lip’s end pulls you back to reality, “Lip, you're wastin’ all the minutes.” Fiona loudly calls from the other side of his locked door.

“Shit,” Lip curses from the other end, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, ‘kay?” 

He hangs up with a quick goodbye.

And then it was reality staring you right in the face when you realized that you’d have to face Lip at school tomorrow. Fuck. 

~~~

Let me know what you think!! My replies don't work but I am more than happy to talk to you in my inbox or messages. Thank you for supporting me !! I LOVE YOU!!!

[tobi-smp]

you know, with hindsight now what it is I really do think a more literal reading of c!techno's chat would have helped his characterization a Lot

and mind you, this was originally intended to be the case, and very well may have been intended all along even if it wasn't usually emphasized within the lore

and don't get me wrong, I Get why it fell out of favor within the fandom. it coincides with a Very storied ableist trope that demonizes DID and disorders adjacent to it, and Can be spoken about in a way that is essentially indistinguishable from it depending on the word choice.

but the thing is ! not only does it not Have to be an allegory for DID, I straight up don't think it is At All.

because we Know what it's an allegory for. It's His Chat. there's technoblade playing the game, and there's the thousands of people watching with expectations and wants that he's compelled to meet (or, at the very least, pacify through Entertainment).

and this makes much Much more sense when conceived of as Supernatural. be that spirits, gods, demons, or anything that could fill that role. separate entities that, for whatever reason, only techno can sense the presence of and be affected by.

and of course, to an extent this is true for all creators. everyone had an audience that they were meant to entertain and the choices they made were influenced by that fact.

but technoblade came in with a Very distinct set of expectations that heavily impacted the choices he was Expected to make and the kinds of stories that he could tell. he was more or less a living legend in real life just as much as he was in roleplay, and these things were inherently connected.

and it's like !

when c!technoblade says he was peer pressured into killing tubbo at the red festival he Is technically talking about what happened within the roleplay. schlatt was demanding it from him, there's a sort of pressure there. but schlatt was also the dictator they were set to kill, and techno has never had any trouble fighting people he considered a dictator before, and certainly not Schlatt of all people.

but he WAS being peer pressured By His Audience. by thousands of people, most of which were demanding blood Because It Was The Expectation, because it'd be Fun.

out of universe technoblade made the decision he thought would be the most Entertaining, and he was right! consistently he made choices that would let him do the most bombastic Spectacles possible. And It's Great. he's Excellent at pulling dramatics and making a compelling scene that give other people room to work off of. in that sense I'd consider techno an Excellent actor, and I have to imagine that he was fun to work with.

the problem is when you then have to justify it from an in character perspective, grounded in those mushy things like Feelings with characters that can be traumatized and sustain lasting damage, Especially Without acknowledging the out of character incentive.

mind you, it's not Impossible to Create a backstory that could justify it. why a character as consistently powerful and feared as technoblade would feel pressured to kill an ally by someone he not only Can kill but Wanted To Kill. why a character as seemingly secure and in control as technoblade would lash out the way that he does to perceived betrayal, and yet consistently puts no weight onto having killed and permanently scarred an ally that trusted him.

what that'd need is tragedy. a storied history of being hurt and having to survive. building up To an untouchable god from a much much more vulnerable position. Long Lasting trauma that's lead to this deep insecurity and paranoia. and that's Possible and that's Compelling.

but it's just not in the text.

not only did we never learn basically Anything that c!technoblade was up to pre-series, we actually know Less by the end than when we started because of the sbi retconning.

it's a Theoretically Possible interpretation that's technically never Contradicted by canon, but would have to be created by scratch. it's a compelling idea for a fan fic (and one I'd like to read) and it's compelling for a theoretical recontextualization of the character, but it's just not In The Text.

meanwhile, we have the video above.

we have the Objective Fact that technoblade's decision making was often subject to the rule of cool (very Very effectively) to entertain his audience.

and most compellingly, these concepts Don't Need To Be Separate. in fact, in my opinion they're Stronger when you put them together.

because the thing is. it's Difficult to imagine techno as ever being in a vulnerable position. he is just Objectively more powerful than everyone else on the server, both in real life And within the lore. How could he have ever been afraid when he was stronger than anyone and everyone combined? when we saw with our own eyes that techno could face nearly the whole server at once and win.

but he Is a tragic character, at least he's meant to be. and that tragedy makes much Much more sense as something Inward.

technoblade as a character who Needs connection, who Needs stability, who Needs security, who Needs friendship and community and Love. but Lashes Out, Obliterates to the core of the earth, because of something that's not only out of his control but that other people Cannot Understand.

how do you explain to a child that you killed their best friend because a chorus of the undead called for his blood and you (in all the glory that he'd idolized) were unable to do anything but comply? how do you explain to that child that you beat him senseless in a pit as the restless dead jeered and laughed?

That's interesting. That's Compelling.

technoblade is idolized like a god, feared like a force of nature, and in an instant cut himself off from nearly everyone who'd considered him an ally. and that seems to be a pattern, over and over and over again. he's left isolated, and in return he faces retaliation, and in return he's always Waiting for retaliation.

and what do you say to someone who wants to kill you for being a monster? that it's Fine Actually because you only did what you did because you have a curse that compels you to? that the supernatural guided you to destroy their homes and kill their people? (rip jack manifold you will be missed)?

That Doesn't Quite Help Your Case.

technoblade as someone who is beholden to this literal cycle of violence and Loses those things that could ground him, community, stability, People, as a result. who Tries to overcome this very fact (to become a better person, in his own words as per the clip above), but is pulled back into it as a consequence of his own actions.

that's a tragedy !! that Makes Sense. that allows him to be Both this force of nature that other characters have to survive And A Person Who Is Hurt By The Same Conflict.

"I'm a person!" that fear of dehumanization makes So So Much More Sense when you see technoblade as someone who Already fears himself. who fears being a monster, who fears losing control, who has faced isolation again and again and again.

and, importantly, it doesn't have to be anyone else's Fault.

by making the source both Internal and Completely External (something that none of the other characters have any awareness or control over), you can Have techno as a tragic character without demonizing anyone else Or erasing the impact that c!techno had on them.

and in that sense, it Can be an allegory for mental illness, but not in that direct "oooooh how scary he hears voices" kind of way that people fear it looks. but in that sometimes people Will do things that can hurt others while not feeling in control. anger and mania and paranoia, things that you can't always Control and yet that impact that you have on other people still Matters.

and the answer to that is, often, vulnerability and accountability.

I think a lot about technoblade isolating himself so near entirely from the rest of the server, and slowly gathering a support system Back by the end. and I Really Do think that framing of it through this lens is a Very impactful way of breaking it down.

tubbo, tommy, wilbur, ranboo, niki, I think they'd All understand not feeling in control. lashing out, maybe even feeling justified in the moment, but hurting people they care about and furthering their own isolation.

There's Something There, and it's already In The Text. it just needs to be expanded on.

and why not do that ourselves now?

[redroomreflections]

Behind Closed Doors: A New Chapter of Natasha Romanoff and Y/N Y/LN on Love, Family, and Redemption

Time Magazine Exclusive Interview

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

The Loud House Universe | Masterlist

Summary: Natasha and R sit for their first ever interview with Time Magazine

Note: This has spoilers so if you don't like those don't read. In my free time I world build. So if this sucks just know it was for me lol

w/c: 3.7k

Nestled in a nondescript town, hidden from the public eye for safety reasons, Time Magazine is granted an exclusive and rare glimpse into the lives of two individuals whose personal journeys have both inspired and intrigued. Natasha Romanoff, once known as the enigmatic Black Widow, and her partner Y/n —a woman whose own story of resilience and love complements Natasha’s—welcome us into their private sanctuary.

This unassuming town, chosen for its calmness and discretion, is a stark contrast to the high-profile lives these two have led. Here, amidst the quiet, Natasha and y/n are building a life together, raising six children, and embracing the everyday joys and challenges of having such a big family.

In this intimate conversation, Natasha and Reader open up about their journey of love and marriage, sharing the evolution of their bond as they navigate the complexities of a large family. They candidly discuss one of their children’s recent diagnosis, a profound experience that has tested their strength and deepened their connection

Join us as we delve into the personal and poignant, revealing the human stories behind the headlines and the remarkable journey of Natasha and Reader in their serene, hidden haven

***********

As I step into the living room of Natasha Romanoff and y/n, I’m immediately struck by the serene atmosphere that contrasts sharply with their high-profile pasts and celebrity. The space is meticulously curated, with soft hues and tasteful decor creating an environment that feels both intimate and inviting. All around us, there are subtle hints of their life with children, including the American Girl doll seated directly in front of me.

Natasha and y/n are seated on a large, comfortable sectional sofa, their closeness evident yet subtly restrained. They are dressed in coordinating outfits—Natasha in a sleek navy blouse and dark jeans, y/n in a navy dress that complements Natasha’s attire without matching exactly. It’s an understated coordination that feels more like an effortless choice rather than a deliberate statement.

They sit close enough to show their connection but maintain just enough space to breathe. Natasha’s posture is upright, her demeanor calm but attentive, while y/n exudes a quiet, steady presence beside her. There’s a natural ease in their interaction, a palpable mutual respect.

I take my seat across from them, feeling the gentle shift in the room’s energy as I prepare to dive into the questions. With a quick glance at my notes and a brief check of my recorder, I open the conversation. "First of all, I want to start off by saying thank you for accepting Time Magazine's interview request. It's a pleasure being able to be in your presence and get to know you a little more. Can I ask what made you think this was finally the time to do a sit-down interview?"

"Thank you. You're welcome. It's critical that we show our children how important the truth is and the importance of telling it," Natasha says, her gaze unwavering. "We felt that, now, after everything, it was the right time. I am being honored for my transformation and redemption so of course I wanted everything to be in my words."

Y/n smiles, nodding her head as she turns to face me. "We've always been open and honest with our kids about who we are. We didn't want to have some magazine or journalist telling them something about us that was untrue, so we figured why not do it ourselves."

"The last few years have been... a lot," Natasha adds, her voice softening slightly. "We've had some ups and downs, and we thought it would be a good way to tell our side of the story."

"That's wonderful and I definitely agree with getting your side of things out there," I say. "How did you two first meet, and what drew you to each other despite your very different backgrounds?"

"We met in a coffee shop actually," Y/n begins with a subtle smile. "It was about thirteen years ago give or take a year. I was sitting and studying for a law exam. I was in law school at the time. Natasha frequented the coffee shop but I never noticed her until one day I decided to look up and there she was. She caught my attention immediately. We didn't speak until the next time she'd come in and sat at my table. I was her cover."

Natasha nodded her head with a smirk. "I was on a mission and I had to use her. I was supposed to be subtle but I wasn't and I got made. So I sat with her to pretend to study and the rest is history."

"What do you mean by 'the rest is history'?"

"After she'd realized I wasn't going to hurt her, which was obvious because she was a civilian, we began to talk and we just hit it off," Natasha explained.

"She was the most interesting person I'd ever spoken to. She was different, a breath of fresh air," Y/n said. "It was an immediate connection."

"So you've always felt this instant connection between you?" I asked.

"Yes," Natasha responded. "From the moment we met, there was something special between us."

"We both knew it was more than just a physical attraction. There was an instant emotional connection as well," Y/n added.

"What would you say is the biggest challenge of being married to someone who's faced the kinds of hardships and challenges you've faced, y/n? You're a lawyer. How has it affected you both to be on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to the law?"

"It's been difficult," Y/n started, her hand sliding closer to Natasha's. "I've had to watch her go through a lot. The media portrayed her as this monster, but they don't know her. Of course, I don't make excuses or ignore what's in her past. I'm not a person that can simply weigh in on someone's life when it was basically laid out for her."

"There were times that I thought I wouldn't come home to her, but I was lucky enough that she's seen past all of that," Natasha explained.

"She's done a lot of work on herself, and she's changed so much."

"Which brings me to our next question, In what ways has your relationship evolved since you first started dating?"

"We're still best friends," Y/n replied, looking over at Natasha with a soft smile. "Our relationship is stronger than ever. I'd like to think that we've grown up together, and that's been a great gift."

"I agree," Natasha said, returning her smile. "Our relationship is still growing and changing, but I think that's normal and healthy. We've gone through a lot, and we've grown together."

"What are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced together, and how have you overcome them? Within reason of course," I assured them there was no need to get too personal if it wasn't necessary to the conversation.

"Well, we've lost a child, my best friend too," Y/n said.

"It's been a lot of trial and error," Natasha stated.

"There are ups and downs with every relationship. It's a journey, and it's about figuring out how to grow and evolve together," y/n explained. "So in the beginning we were both these strong women who didn't really understand the magnitude of what our love meant. So we struggled a lot. I'd like to think we figured things out."

"We're working on it," Natasha laughed. "We've come a long way. It hasn't been easy, but we're working on it."

As the conversation delves into their relationship's evolution and the challenges they've faced, a lighthearted interruption brings a touch of domestic warmth to the interview. The soft chime of a phone ringing cuts through the room’s calm. Natasha glances at the screen, a tender smile spreading across her face as she sees the caller ID.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Natasha says, her voice gentle as she answers the call. "Paige, what's up baby?"

On the other end, a small voice can be heard, clear and earnest. “Mama, can we have ice cream?”

Natasha’s smile broadens, and she exchanges a quick, knowing glance with Y/n before responding with a playful, “We’ll see, sweetheart. What kind of ice cream are you thinking about? Chocolate chip cookie dough. Don't you think three scoops is a lot?”

The response of the child must be one aligned with their personality as Y/n chuckles softly beside her, the sound rich with affection. The brief call, though mundane, offers a glimpse into their everyday life—a moment that underscores the balance they’ve struck between their public personas and their private family world.

As Natasha hangs up and returns her focus to the interview, the atmosphere in the room shifts slightly. The interruption, though brief, adds a layer of intimacy to the conversation.

“It’s these small moments, like a child’s call for ice cream, that remind us of the everyday joys of family life. How have your relationship and your experiences influenced your approach to parenting and managing your family? Especially given your background in the Red Room, Natasha. Has that affected it at all?”

Natasha and y/n exchanged looks, a silent communication passing between them. Y/n reached for Natasha's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "My experiences have definitely shaped me and helped me grow as a parent. I think for a while, I was afraid to be stern. I was afraid to be anything but gentle. That was an issue, and we had to work through it," Natasha began. "I had to understand what each of my children needs and listen to them. I had to stop walking on eggshells and set boundaries. We had to find our flow."

"But once we did, we were able to find our balance and our rhythm as parents. We're very much a team," Y/n continued.

"You've said you're a team. What do you mean by that? What is the dynamic like between the two of you?"

"We support each other, and we communicate. We're both involved in all aspects of our children's lives. We're both present and involved, and we make decisions together. That's the most important thing to us."

"Do you agree with that, Y/n? Do you feel like the two of you work well together as parents?"

"Yes, I think we work really well together. We're both invested in our children, and we're both committed to giving them the best life possible. We've worked through a lot, and I think that's made us stronger as parents and as a couple." Y/n said. "As for being working parents, it's easy for us to feel guilty when we have to be away. I work corporate now and the hours are much more lax than being ADA in New York but they still keep me busy. I try to be home every night for dinner. We trade off on pickups and drop-offs. We help with extracurriculars. It was important to us to not have nannies in their first few years of life. Natasha's parents help us out a lot. With four adults tackling six kids, it's been a pretty successful journey."

"It sounds like you've both been through a lot, but that you've managed to find strength and comfort in each other. What do you think has enabled you to endure these challenges, and what advice would you give other couples facing similar situations?"

Natasha's expression is thoughtful, her voice warm as she speaks. "I think we are the wrong couple. We would give the advice not to have six kids. I'm only half joking. Truthfully, don't bite off more than you can chew. Laugh sometimes. Understand that your children have their own personalities and lives. "

"We would advise you to communicate. Find ways to laugh and find balance. It's important to spend quality time together, and it's also important to prioritize individuality and personal space," Y/n advised.

"One of your children was recently diagnosed with autism. How has this affected your family, and what steps are you taking to support them?"

"Our youngest son was around two when he was diagnosed as level 1." Y/n began. "We've had a lot of support from the community, and we've found that having a network of people who understand has been invaluable. Our older children are incredibly supportive and understanding. They're doing their best to adapt, and they're learning about autism and how to support their brother."

"For you what were the signs you'd noticed in the beginning?"

"We noticed his lack of speech and the fact that he wouldn't make eye contact sometimes," Y/n answered. "A lot of his story is his to tell when he's old enough. We simply noticed that the way he sees the world and how he navigates it was different than what we had encountered previously. The speech was a big indicator for us. He wasn't necessarily delayed. He did have words later than we've seen but he started talking a little after his first birthday. Then the progress was stagnant for a while."

"It was an uphill battle to get him diagnosed," Natasha added. "A doctor we had seen referred us for an evaluation but then there was a process of everyone denying services simply because he seemed "normal". Their words, not mine. So we had to push for second and even third opinions."

"Once he was finally diagnosed we had to wait and then get a referral. So it was a long journey. But we are happy with his care and happy that we got it." Y/n explained. "He's such a happy kid. His favorite thing to do now is drive. So we got him a little electric car."

"We're lucky. He's been given a diagnosis at such a young age. It's given us a lot of time to prepare and get him the help he needs. There are still some struggles, and we're learning how to best support him, but he's a happy and healthy kid. That's the most important thing."

As they both pause, reflecting on their son’s progress, a quiet sense of gratitude fills the room. I notice the subtle shift in their expressions—while the joy they share in their child’s growth is evident, there’s also a deeper awareness lingering beneath their words.

“It sounds like you’ve worked hard to get him the care he deserves. But I imagine not every family can navigate that journey as successfully. Have your personal experiences influenced your involvement in advocating for children who aren’t able to receive such services as easily?”

Natasha speaks first. “Absolutely. We know that not every family has access to the resources we’ve been fortunate enough to find. And we’re deeply aware of how broken the system can be—how difficult it can be to get a diagnosis, let alone services.”

“That’s a huge part of why we’ve become so involved in local charities and programs. We wanted to find ways to give back and support those who might not have the same opportunities we’ve had. Some so many children go undiagnosed or whose families can’t afford the therapy or services they need. It’s heartbreaking.” Y/n added. “We’ve partnered with a few organizations that focus on providing evaluations and therapy to kids from low-income families. No child should be left behind because of a lack of resources.”

“It’s about creating equity in care. We’ve also started working with a program that connects families with community support, helping them navigate the same bureaucratic challenges we faced. It’s so important that families don’t feel isolated in these experiences.”

"I imagine there are times when it can be difficult to balance your activism and advocacy work with your responsibilities as parents. How do you strike a balance between being hands-on and present for your children and the work you do for children who aren't yours?"

Natasha nods, her eyes softening. "I've had the opportunity to meet a lot of amazing people over the years, and I've learned a lot from the mothers I've met."

The interview continues for a while after this, they are willing to offer more than we thought at this point.

"Natasha, you’ve made a significant transition from being a covert operative to becoming a beloved public figure. How has this shift impacted your personal identity and daily life? Are there any changes you feel are still needed to create a more balanced world?"

"I'd say I'm more grounded. My priorities are my family, and I've made peace with who I was," Natasha said.

"What has been the most challenging aspect of your reformation, and what have you learned about yourself through this process?"

"Honestly, learning to be comfortable in my own skin," Natasha replied, her tone thoughtful. "I spent so many years trying to run away from who I was, and now I'm learning how to accept myself for who I am. It's a process, and it's not always easy, but it's worth it."

"Do you see yourself as a different person today than you were a few years ago? It's really a task to go from Avenger and spy to mother and housewife. If so, how would you describe those changes, and what role have your personal experiences played in shaping them?"

“Absolutely, I’m a different person now,” Natasha said, her gaze thoughtful. “The shift from a life of constant action and secrecy to one focused on family and personal growth has been profound. I’ve gone from being a figure in the shadows to someone who finds joy in the simplicity of daily life. The experiences I’ve had, both the triumphs and the struggles, have shaped me into someone who values authenticity and connection over secrecy and solitude.”

“It’s been a journey of rediscovering who Natasha is beyond her past roles. I’ve seen her grow into someone who truly cherishes family life and finds purpose in being present. The transformation hasn’t been easy, but it’s been incredibly rewarding.”

As Natasha finishes her thought, there’s a brief silence, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Her transformation has clearly been a deeply personal journey, but it's one that also impacts the life she and Y/n have built together.

“Your personal growth is so evident, and it's clear that family plays a huge role in that. Speaking of family, you’ve chosen to live in a nondescript town for safety reasons. How has this decision affected your family life and your sense of community?”

Natasha and Y/n exchange a quick look, both understanding the unique circumstances that brought them to this quiet, unassuming place.

“It’s been a big adjustment, honestly. We chose this town because it offers us a level of privacy and security that’s hard to come by, given Natasha’s past and our family’s unique needs.”

Natasha: “At first, it was difficult. I mean, going from the world we knew—constantly on the move, always in high-pressure situations—to a quiet, suburban life was a huge shift,” she admitted, her expression softening. “But it’s given us a chance to just... breathe. To focus on our kids and our life together without the constant worry of the spotlight or danger.”

“And as for the sense of community, it’s been surprisingly strong. People here don’t pry. They respect our privacy, but they’ve been incredibly supportive. Our children are growing up with a sense of normalcy that we never really had back in New York."

“It sounds like this decision has given you a lot—both the space to focus on your family and a deeper connection to your community. Looking ahead, what are your goals and aspirations for your family and your individual careers?” I commented.

“For our family, I think the biggest goal is to continue creating a stable, loving environment for our kids. We want them to grow up feeling safe, supported, and like they can be whoever they want to be. We’ve faced so many challenges together, but our focus is on moving forward as a unit.”

“Yeah, it’s all about giving them the opportunities we didn’t have growing up. Whether that’s through education, or just being there for them every day. As for careers, I’m still figuring it out, honestly,” Natasha added with a laugh. “I’ve spent most of my life doing one thing, and now that chapter’s closed. But I’m not in a rush. I’m more focused on being present for the kids, supporting Y/n, and maybe finding ways to give back—whether through advocacy or community work.”

“I’m continuing with my legal work, but the focus is more on balancing that with family. We’ve talked about doing more together, maybe starting a foundation to support families with children who need additional services, like our son. That’s something we’re both passionate about.”

Natasha: “We’ve both changed so much over the years, and I think our goals have evolved too. Right now, it’s about keeping our family grounded and finding meaningful ways to contribute to the world.”

As our conversation wound down, Natasha and Y/n shared a look that spoke volumes—an unspoken understanding that their lives, once dominated by secrecy and survival, had shifted into something more tender, more hopeful. They thanked me for the thoughtful questions, and I couldn't help but admire the quiet strength that radiated between them. It was clear that their bond had weathered many storms and that their family was the center of everything they did.

As I left their nondescript home, nestled safely away from the chaos that defined much of Natasha’s earlier years, I couldn’t help but think of the millions of fans who’ve followed her journey from mysterious spy to dedicated mother and advocate. Online, the love for Natasha and Y/n is as strong as it is in person, with fans showing unwavering support for their family.

On Twitter, the response to their candidness in interviews like this one is overwhelming:

@MarvelFanGirl99: “Natasha Romanoff’s transformation is so inspiring. From Avenger to mom of six? She’s proof you can rebuild your life no matter where you start. #RoleModel”*

@JusticeForNatasha: “Hearing Natasha talk about her family is everything. She deserves all the happiness in the world after everything she’s been through. So proud of her! ❤️ #StrongMom”*

@YNatasha4Life: “Y/n and Natasha are the definition of power couple goals. The way they’ve built a life together and support each other? I’m emotional. #LoveWins”*

@AutismAdvocates: *“Kudos to Natasha and Y/n for speaking openly about their son’s autism diagnosis. Representation matters, and their advocacy for services is so important. #Awareness”*

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #11.5 SPECIAL

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Let’s start from the beginning one last time.

Word count: 5,800

Warning: Heavy angst and character death. Dead Dove do not eat.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Let’s start from the beginning one last time. 

My name is Miguel O’Hara, and in an experiment gone wrong, my genetic code was partially rewritten with Spider DNA, giving me superpowers.

My home is Earth 928-C where I was the one and only Spiderman... of my home dimension at least.

I invented and built a dimensional travel device that allowed me to jump between universes with the goal of exploring the limits of the multiverse. 

And then I met a woman in this other world who nearly died from a crazy freak accident.

I saved her of course.

Then I saved her again.

And again, and again.

... And again.

We fell in love, and I decided to stay with her in her world.

You know the rest. We got married. We had a life together.

I was happy. Really happy. 

For a while.

[Earth 383-D]

3 YEARS AGO

"Goddamn idiot bird," Miguel mutters under his breath.

Vulture is on the loose again, wreaking havoc on the city. The maniac is flying high above the city grounds, leaving a trail of mayhem in his wake. 

Miguel's been in pursuit for the better half of two hours. In that time, the bird has derailed the High Line, literally hit a traffic light and managed to knock over the spire on the Statue of Liberty as if he was flying under the influence.

Then somehow flew across town through Tribeca, along Lower Manhattan and Greenwich Village and now reached all the way to Midtown Manhattan. 

Dumbass ugly stupid bird. 

Miguel digs his claws into the exterior of the limestone and granite of the Empire State Building to steady himself, using the momentum to leap forward.

The Vulture crashes into a skyscraper 50 feet ahead of Miguel, and in the mad dash, he can see a man tumble out of the building head first to the ground from the 30th floor. 

Swinging forward, Miguel slings out a web from his palm, catching the screaming and sobbing office worker in midair and lands briefly against the windowpane. He ensures the man is secured to the building in a cocoon of webbing until the fire department can get him to safer grounds.

Miguel doesn't even get a second to catch his breath. From afar, he can pick up the sound of another window being crashed into by the unwieldy metal bird. 

Crap. 

It's impossible for Miguel to both chase the Vulture and keep everyone else in his path of destruction safe. One superhero can't be in two places at once (none that he has encountered).

Gritting his teeth, Miguel leaps off the building swinging freely into the air to make up on the lost ground between him and the metallic cuckoo bird.

He needs backup, and the backup is unfortunately running late.

Where is he? Why is he always late?

Does that man not understand that when someone calls for backup because of an emergency, the emergency part indicates that there's some urgency to it?

Flying through the air 100 feet above the ground, from the corner of his eyes, Miguel catches the familiar garish red flowing cape that billows from the cowl of the grand cloak and suit. 

Miguel would know that weird wizard get-up anywhere. 

"Strange!" Miguel calls out, and he can feel irritation rattle in his chest. "You're late! Where the shock were you?"

"The word you're looking for is 'fuck.' Where the fuck was I," the man responds with a sarcastic drawl.

Strange levitates through the air, effortlessly without expending any energy at all as he catches up with Miguel. "You gave me no notice. Be happy I showed up at all."

From a distance he sees the dumb bird soar high up into the sky and towards the all too familiar crowned roof of the Chrysler building. 

No. nononono. 

Why is he there? What is he doing there? Anywhere but there. 

His back flashes cold then burning hot as the Vulture makes a straight beeline for the familiar building.

It’s fine. Maybe he’s not going to fly in there. Maybe he’s just going to fly past it.

Miguel watches as the metallic bird soars up and up and up, past the midpoint of the building, past the 40th floor of your office and up to the 50th floor. The tight squeeze in his chest eases.

Then the vulture stops, mid-flight and looks down below, as if he changed his mind, before he descends again. 

Shit! Shit! SHIT!

He dives into one of the windows between the 40th and 50th floor. The sound of broken glass and shrill screams can be heard even from where Miguel is. 

Blood freezes in his veins and nausea overtakes him. Calm down. Breathe.. Maybe you’re not in. After all, Lyla’s security protocols would’ve been activated by now if you were. He would’ve been alerted. 

Soaring through the skies, Miguel reaches over to his wrist to punch in the dial for Lyla to check in and reassure himself you're safe. But his tracker blinks back in an alarming red, and he darts down his head towards the display.  

Error. 

His heart stops. 

The flying silhouette reappears through the shattered windows and the metallic harness strapped onto the vulture gleams bright against the sun.

It’s only then it hits him. Lyla's been deactivated by the madman's stupid Electro-Magnetic Harness. 

Why hadn't he foreseen that as a technical flaw?

Against the reflective glass panes, Miguel sees you, caught in the Vulture talons like a mouse captured by a large predatory bird. Every hair on his neck stands on end. His vision bleeds into red, blood roaring at the sight of it.

Kill him.

Miguel's gonna murder that freak for touching you. Crush his windpipe so he can't ever squawk again, then rip his throat out with his claws and feed it to the street pigeons for good measure.

Launching himself through the air, Miguel tears up the side of the building. The tempered glass beneath his claws and feet, shatters into sharp jagged pieces as he closes the distance. 

He is almost within reach. Only some 30 feet that still separates you from him. Leaping the final distance he slams hard into the side of the Vulture until metal crunches beneath his feet. 

Miguel roars until his throat burns with it. Palms gripping at the man’s jaw and prying it back to get at his bare throat. His fangs are ready to sink into the jugular. He can see the dark pupil of Vulture's eyes dilate with fear. 

Good. Miguel's anger will be the last thing this freak sees.

"Miguel calm down," Strange shouts at him from behind. "You're gonna knock her off."

Miguel freezes at the warning, forcing himself to hold still as he looks down to where you are dangling precariously from the Vulture's claws.

"Be ready," Strange shouts, and Miguel looks to him, not understanding what the hell he means. 

Strange rests his hand over the shiny blue gem hanging around a chain from his neck.

What does he mean by be ready? What is Strange going to do?

"What'd you mea–"

Miguel doesn't have a chance to finish the rest of his sentence. An unnatural force vibrates through him. A pulsating wave that pervades his senses, punching through his lungs and knocks him back. 

In an instance, you're propelled away from Strange and the Vulture, and you are freefalling towards the ground below.

Miguel leaps mid-air, arms outstretched to catch you as you plummet towards the ground below. His fingers clasps around your wrists, your warm skin against his fingertips.

He's got you!

Taking hold of you by the arm, Miguel pulls you into his chest as he wraps one arm securely around your waist.

Immediate relief fills him from the inside out as the adrenaline and the searing anger is already starting to fade now that he knows you're safe.

"You okay, nena?" he asks.

You nod, arms finding purchase around the back of his neck, and squeeze down tight. He swings you both to the safety of a nearby rooftop.

There's barely time for him to touch the surface, he hears the nearby explosion and sees Vulture crash into the concrete wall of the nearest building. 

Strange is levitating nearby, hands making wild gestures, presumably to perform some hocus pocus ritual. There’s a magical glow as strobes of light manifest out of thin air surrounding the Vulture from all sides and wrapping around him in a restraining bind.

Miguel sets you down. You're a little bit wobbly on your feet, and seeing you stumble the way you do has that protective streak spark anew in his chest.

Stupid Strange. He can't just do shit like that. 

What if Miguel hadn't reacted in time? What if you had fallen? 

This is why Miguel hates working with the guy, even if they’re friends. Always on his moral high horse about Miguel being reckless, then he pulls shit like this.

"Everyone alright?" Strange asks as he levitates through the sky to set feet close to you both on the rooftop.

Miguel grits his teeth with annoyance at the man’s casual demeanor when he nearly threw you out of the sky.

"Shock you, Strange," he spits out.

"Miggy..." you sigh in a reprimanding tone next to him. 

Stephen shakes his head at him. "I told you. It's fuck"

"Fuck you, Strange."

Sanctum Sanctorum is closer than home and Strange has, comfortable sofas in his ridiculously big mansion. Big enough sofas that Miguel can actually lounge in them comfortably without it feeling cramped. It's why, given the choice, he always prefer to regroup there, over your tiny apartment.

Besides, while the man's control over his magical powers can be suspect at times, he used to be a doctor. Supposedly one of the leading brain surgeons in the world, and Miguel is a lot more comfortable at the prospect of Strange giving you a checkover to make sure you don't need further medical attention than trying your luck at one of the local ERs.

"Follow my finger," Strange says as he shines a little flashlight into your eyes and moves his index from side to side. 

Your eyes follow him dutifully, and Strange proceeds with the rest of his medical check, asking you the boring standard questions. "Any symptoms of dizziness, lightheadedness, or a sense of vertigo?"

He fires them out in rapid succession, and a bit too perfunctory for Miguel's liking.

"Noticed any changes in your vision, blurriness or double vision, etcetera etcetera?"

Miguel's jaw tic in irritation at how Strange is putting in minimal effort and just going through the motions.

"Yeah, you're fine." Strange pats your knees, then whisks the flashlight away into nothingness with his cape.

That medical check wasn't anything close to thorough. Miguel crosses his arms over his chest. "Are you sure? Her feet were wobbly before, I wanted to make sure she didn't sprain her ankle."

"A little bit overprotective as always aren't we?" Strange says.

Miguel shoots the man a glare and Stephen sighs, "Her reflexes are fine, I don't think anything's sprained."

"Check again, you seemed sloppy," Miguel accuses.

"You know, I'm doing this as a favor because you’re a friend. Do you have any idea how much a medical examination by one of the leading neurological surgeons in the world would cost you normally?"

"I'll have Lyla transfer the money."

“No, it’s not actually about money just–" Stephen shakes his head, then sighs. "Nevermind.”

He gestures for you to drape your leg across his lap, then he reaches over to gently assess your ankle as requested.

"What is this necklace?" You ask. You lean closer to Strange, inspecting the blue gem where it rests against his chest.

Strange swats at your hand, the way an adult scolds a child with sticky chocolate smeared hands trying to touch the fine china.

"It's a protection amulet. When activated it forms a protective barrier that forcibly repels everything within ten feet of you."

"Huh," you reach back for the amulet undaunted by the earlier reprimand, fascinated and clearly enamored by it. "I'll give you fifty bucks for it."

Strange looks offended. "It's not for sale, and if it was it would certainly be worth a lot more than fifty dollars. It's a genuine magical artifact, not fake costume jewelry from the theater department."

You purse your lips, considering the amulet.

"Forty," you offer.

Miguel has to choke back a snorting laughter in his throat at the way Stephen's eyes goes wide in confused outrage.

"Wait, why is the price going down?"

“We’re in the middle of an economic crisis, Stephen,” you counter.  

Strange's head darts over to where Miguel sits, presumably for backup, but he's knocked on the wrong door. The man must be mad if he thinks that there is ever a world where Miguel would side against you.

"Strange, we both know it’s easier if you just give her the amulet." Miguel says. 

The man sighs, shaking his head in defeat.

"Be careful with it," he says as he drags the chain over his head to place it in your awaiting palms. "And don't lose it like the invisibility amulet with Mysterio. Had to spend a whole month clearing up your mess when that creep used it to get into the women's locker rooms at every local gym in Greenwich!"

"That wasn’t my mess! Miggy lost that one during an aerial fight. You can't blame that on me."

"You married him, so you're responsible for him. I consider you two jointly to blame."

"Now you're just lashing out," you shoot back.

Miguel watches the two of you in patient boredom, his head propped up by an elbow on the arm of the sofa. He expended way too much energy during the fight, and now he needs to refuel. 

If Miguel leaves you two to it, you'll spend an eternity bantering, the way you do. His stomach growls. He wants food. Wants wantons and beef ho fun and a dozen custard salted egg buns for dessert. And the longer you two are at it, the longer it's going to take for him to get it.

"Nena," he calls out, "I'm hungry. Are you two done? I want to go for dinner."

You shoot Miguel a quick smile, pulling out your wallet and take out a wad of green bills then fold it into Strange's hand with a happy grin.

Strange looks down at the crumpled up money in his hand. "Wait, you're only giving me thirty? I thought we said forty."

"You still owe me like ten bucks from mini golf last week."

Strange pockets the money with a grumble. "Unbelievable." 

“C’mon,” Miguel says as he stands up and gestures to the both of you with a curt nod of his head towards the door. “Let’s go. I’ll pay for dinner this time,” Miguel says, and that seems to abate Strange’s outrage somewhat as the man grabs your coat from the sofa cushions and offers it to you.

Life on Earth 383-D is strange.

Life here is borderline primitive. The technology is something out of the stone ages.

Social media is a wasteland. Reality TV is a dystopian concept. And he doesn't understand who Kardashian is or why everyone is obsessed with her and her family. 

He does like fax machines though. They are basically teleportation machines and it boggles him that the people of your dimension do not seem to understand its potential.

The one thing he will give this version of earth credit for is that the food here is nice. Everyone in his home dimension is too health conscious, and fried food has long been banned by the government for the long term damage it does to the cardiovascular system. 

He also likes the life that the two of you have built together here. You have a home in that tiny shoebox apartment. You have friends. Strange friends. Like the Doctor who flies around with the help of a magic cape and now practices the mystic arts after a gap year in Asia. A young girl whose main superpower is the ability to communicate with squirrels. Then there’s that ugly red-masked wise-cracking, katana-wielding maniac who never dies.

Sadly, your friends are not the only thing that is strange about your surroundings.

Miguel perches himself on top of the Chrysler building sitting hunched over on the ledge of the roof. He’s drained and bone-tired, chasing down a helicopter that had gone haywire and was hurtling towards your office building. 

Luckily Strange was able to assist and sent it through a magic portal to crash into the Atlantic without putting any lives at stake. 

"Just had to do some cleaning up," Strange says as he sets his boots back down on the ground. 

Miguel doesn't answer him, staring out at the city view and the setting sun as he takes a well earned breather for a moment or two. New York is a bit of a shit hole, but it does look pretty from a high viewpoint, especially when the sun is setting, Miguel has to give this city that.

It's silent between the two of them. Or at least it is until Strange decides to break it with a harkle of his throat. When Miguel doesn't react the man does it again, coughing discreetly in a clear attempt to get his attention.

Miguel doesn't say anything about the man's sore throat. He ran out of the lemon drops you bought him as snacks hours ago, but he does tilt his head up at the man.

"She's been getting into a lot of these incidents lately. More than usual, more than any normal human for it to be a coincidence" Strange says.

The whole of Miguel's back stiffens.

"Have you noticed the abnormal uptick in strange unexplainable supernatural occurrences lately? Indoor tornadoes. The rain of poisonous frogs outside of whole foods. A sinkhole appearing right next to the cafe your wife frequents."

Miguel doesn't love the insinuations. Even with his lips pressed tightly together, Miguel can feel the small muscle in his jaw flex like a nervous tic at the mention of it. Because yeah, he's noticed, kind of hard to miss when your wife's life is in constant peril at all hours of the day.

Ice storms in July that hit right outside your workplace. An inexplicable solar flare causing a blackout that had every single vehicle within a 5 miles radius go haywire in the dark near your apartment. A swarm of mutated mosquitoes with a venomous bite that chased you down Central Park. 

The incidents are occurring more frequently. They are also getting increasingly bizarre and dangerous.

No one can say it’s just bad luck when the daily occurrences around you are defying the very laws of nature itself. Something isn't right with the universe, and he's not sure what else there is to do except pretend that everything is still ok.

"What are you implying?" Miguel asks through gritted teeth. 

But for the first time in the years that Miguel has known him, Strange's talkativeness is nowhere to be found. He doesn't answer Miguel. He's smart that way, the clever bastard. Knows that if he says one wrong word, Miguel is going to unhinge his jaws like a feral alligator and snap at him. 

Strange has said what he needed for Miguel to know exactly what he's getting at. The man just meets his eyes with an intentional stare, not shying away from Miguel's glare.

It's not like the thought hasn't crossed Miguel's mind. Not like it hasn't been keeping him up at night, every night.

Even though you've always been accident prone and suffered from bad luck, at this point it's a mathematical impossibility that anyone would run into as many near death incidents as you have.

This isn't by chance. It's by design. Miguel's suspected as much for a while now. He just doesn't know whose design and why.

"It's not her fault," Miguel spits out.

"I never said it was."

"Even if what you are saying is true..." Miguel stops, and stares down at his fisted palms with a sinking feeling in his guts. "There's nothing she can do about it to stop it. You can't put that on her."

"Whether she knows about it or not, if it's true, none of this is going to go away.

Strange walks over to where Miguel is, sitting down next to him.

"It’s been escalating in severity," he continues. "There are strange universal energies attached to her. There’s warping of the universal order and space around her. We don't know how bad this can get, if we don’t do anything about this, it could unravel the fabric of reality itself."

Despite the calamity of what Strange is implying, his voice is even and calm as he says it as if he might as well be discussing the weather. That trait has always annoyed the shit out of Miguel.

"What are you planning to do if this continues?" Strange asks.

It's such a silly question. Strange says it as if this is a multiple choice question. But for Miguel there's only one correct answer. 

"Protect her. I have to. She's everything to me."

Miguel is staring into the sunset bu all he sees before him is your face even though you aren’t here. The happy smile that he wants to preserve forever. He tries to fight the ache that's building in him at the thought that it would go away.

"Strange, don't tell her. Please. She doesn't need that burden."

He fists his palms into his side.

Miguel never liked asking for help, but even he knows that if what Strange is saying is true. That if the universe for some unfathomable reason wants you dead, then he's going to need all the help he can get.

If Strange has figured it out. Then it's only a matter of time before others do as well.

Soon enough, you won't just have the universe coming after you but every superhero and villain combined in a united front to take out the common threat that you pose to this entire universe.

Even Miguel knows he can't do this alone and as much as that helplessness tastes like failure and bile in his throat, he can swallow his pride if it helps keep you safe.

"Stephen, you have to help me save her."

From behind, Strange rests one hand on the corner of his shoulder. The weight of it feels like a promise being made. For the first time in a long time, Miguel feels like he can breathe just a little bit easier.

"I will do what I can, my friend."

Weeks go by. There are more incidents. Runaway vehicles that go haywire. Electrical storm fires. Rain of poisonous locusts. 

Somehow he manages to protect you from it all. 

It just means that he has to be more vigilant, that's all. The universe doesn't rest and neither does Miguel now. Lyla has been set on constant alert to wake him up whenever he's napping at any small signs of abnormal occurrences happening near you, with an electric shock to make sure he wakes. Something the A.I. is taking a worryingly amount of glee in (which probably means he needs to retune her programming when he has time).

And today, today Miguel was meant to have a Sunday lie in. Universe be willing, his goal was to sleep all the way into the late afternoon and then you had promised to take him to IHOP and get him all the pancakes he could eat for late breakfast.

But right now he's not asleep. He's trying to. But there are hushed words and whispered murmurs, buzzing in his ear that keeps trying to drag him away from sleep.

It's you and Strange.

Judging from the distance of the noises, you're both standing outside in the hall. The fact that you two are trying to be quiet makes it worse. If you'd spoken in normal volume he could tune it out as white noise, but the conspiratorial quietness of it all makes the hair on the back of his neck tingle with alertness.

Fuck's sake. He swears to god if you two are gossiping and making fun of Hercules’ costume (or the lack of it) again.

It's too early for this crap. Don't you two know that people are trying to sleep? He was up all night chasing crazy Kraven worshippers releasing animals from the Brooklyn zoo. Miguel had to gather wild zebras and crocodiles all the way down East Village til 4am.

With a groan, he drags himself halfway up along the mattress, about to go and growl at you both to be quiet, when the cluttered noises register as words and the fuzziness of sleep clears momentarily.

"He'd destroy this world for you."

Huh? What are you two talking about?

Miguel's too groggy to make sense of the context of what's being said. Even with his super hearing he has to focus to make out the words.

"You can't let him."

Irritated, he gets out of bed and walks to the front door to swing it open. The first thing he sees is you standing with Strange in the hallway. You jump at the suddenness and look up at him with wide eyes.

You have the worst poker face of anyone he's ever seen in his life.

"What are you two jabbering on about this damn early?" he asks.

He'd expected the two of you to act coy, maybe a clever 'wouldn't you like to know' retort back from the Mystic. Instead, Strange's face is entirely inscrutable, tone serious as he responds.

"We were just catching up. Nothing important. I need to head back," Strange says, then he turns to you with a meaningful tilt to his head. "Think about what I said."

"What was that about?" Miguel asks you as he watches Strange step through a portal and disappear.

You don't say anything. There's a worried frown etched between your eyebrows as you bite down on your lip.

Something crawls under Miguel's skin at the whole interaction.

You're oddly quiet the whole afternoon. Deep in thought and walking around as if in a daze, which unsettles him.

It's not difficult for him to guess what's wrong. He might have been half asleep when you and Strange were whispering in the corridors, but Miguel can put one and one together. Having two PHDs and a lifetime's experience of working in theoretical physics gives you that leg up.

In a last ditch effort to get you out of the uncharacteristic blues, he orders a dozen of your favorite cupcakes from that tiny shop in New Jersey. It costs an arm and a leg to have it couriered, but it'll be worth it if it makes you smile. 

Then he sits down next to you on the bed and places the pink pastry box down on the mattress. It's your favorite place to eat cakes and it’s why you two always end up with crumbs and frosting all over the sheets.

You happily cram half a cupcake into your mouth in one bite as you eat, and he watches you contently. If there was any fairness in the world, this quiet idyllic moment could last forever. In a good world, Miguel wouldn’t have to burst this perfect bubble. 

Sadly, this world is neither fair nor good sometimes. 

"Strange said something to you right?" Miguel asks. 

You still next to him, clearly torn between whether or not to share what was said to you, probably in secret with the very intention of being kept away from him. 

“Nena,” Miguel tries again, and you close your eyes taking a deep breath, caving into his prodding. 

"Strange thinks that my incidents might be correlated with the strange natural occurrences lately."

That fucking asshole. He knew it. Irritation pings across his jaw, and Miguel bites it down. He tries to reel it, forcing back the rant that wants to surface. Instead he tries to focus on you instead of his own anger. 

"We don't know that. It could just be a series of coincidences," Miguel tells you. 

You nod, but Miguel's not an idiot and neither are you. He can see the worry creasing your eyes as you look down to your lap. 

Putting down the cupcake, he reaches over and links his right hand with yours. 

"Nena, don't worry.” He cups his free hand over your cheek to drag you up to meet his eyes.

“I'll fight the whole universe to keep you safe if I have to. Nothing's ever going to harm you so long as I'm here. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. You're the most important thing to me."

You smile at him at the words, but there's a wistfulness to it that embeds a dull ache in his chest that he wants to physically rub away to make it stop.

You lean into his touch, until your forehead presses up against his and the physical touch blunts the ache in him for a moment, putting it on pause. 

"You’re the most important to me too," you say.

The sky itself cracks open not long after. 

It doesn’t take the combined forces and intellect of the entire world too long to hone in on you being the root cause. Soon enough every superhero, mutant, villain and alien starts coming after you. Because hero or villain alike, no one truly wants their world to end, not if it’s not on their terms. 

Mysterio tries to kidnap you by the elevator in your apartment building. The Human Torch even tries to burn the whole building down. The Punisher tries to murder you point blank outside your office.

Miguel can’t remember the last time he slept. He’s running on fumes. Day after day, he feels like he’s getting by on borrowed time. 

The friends and allies you have thin out fast as the threats to the world increase in severity. Miguel never imagined having Deadpool standing outside his door stating that the life of one single person cannot outweigh the universe itself. 

It’s all so stupid. None of them know what they’re talking about. A lynching mob with their torches and pitchforks. Never stopping to think whether harming you could trigger something much worse.

If Strange is right and you are the knot at the center of the fabric of reality that is coming apart, then ripping that out leaves a hole. Miguel gave up on explaining that fairly quickly because he realized that theoretical consequences doesn’t matter to an angry mob scared of facing the reality of extinction. 

It all becomes a blur. 

Exhaustion eats into his bones, until he can no longer tell the days apart. No matter how many times he saves you, disaster is always waiting just around the corner. 

And now he’s chasing down the Green Goblin to the top of the Chrysler building from the 61st floor, where the green freak has cornered you to the edge of the rooftop.

Miguel is already out of breath, running away from the coalition of superheroes and villains that are hot on his heels, trying to stop him from saving you. 

Adrenaline beats fast in his veins as he keeps running. Miguel is only able to make out those in pursuit in brief glimpses. The bright blue spandex suit of Reed Richards as his freakishly long elastic limbs stretch towards him. The blocks of metal hurtling towards Miguel, missing by inches and crashes into the side of a building as Magneto’s form hovers nearby. 

He ignores them all, not sparing a glance behind him. He just has to keep moving. It doesn't matter that his muscles scream and burn in exhaustion. Doesn't matter that his head dulls with a heavy ache from lack of sleep. He has to keep going for you. Has to save you.

He's so close, he's almost there.

From the corner of his eyes, he makes out the familiar garish red flowing cape fluttering against the blue sky.

Strange.

Miguel marginally relaxes, at the sight of the sole ally he has left in this universe. He leaps across the rooftop, into the temporary safety of the observatory deck.

His feet doesn't even reach the ground. Something restrains him from behind. Bright lights materialize out of thin air. It wraps around Miguel's limb with the strength of unbreakable manacles, hugging him so tight it restricts the flow of blood to his fingers. Then he’s brought down to his knees. 

Miguel whips his head back and Strange stands there, hands formed in a holding gesture.

“What are you–”

"I'm sorry," Strange says.

Miguel snarls at his restraints, wrenching and twisting in every direction he is able to even with the limited range of motion, but it's to no avail. The harder he struggles the more forceful the restraints seem to close in on him, mirroring his strength.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this. I really hoped there was another way but every life in the whole of the universe is at stake, Miguel."

Hot burning anger spears through him, and if he could he would raze it all to the ground with it. This place, this world and this fucking traitor standing there can all fucking burn. Miguel is gonna kill him. He's gonna kill this fucking bastard. He can't believe he trusted him.

“Strange, fucking let me… Stephen!”

He hears your pained shout and snaps his head towards the sound.

Miguel is only ten feet away from you. Ten measly feet from where the Green Goblin is holding you by the ledge of the rooftop. He can still reach you, if he can get free he can still save you. 

Tearing through the magical binds, there’s a bone-cracking sound in his shoulder. Searing pain spreads through his arm. For all his struggles, he doesn't know if he’s even an inch closer towards you. 

He watches you drop from the ledge. 

It's a pin drop moment where everything stops. His heart is no longer beating. 

No. This can't be how it ends.

He's moving forward, even as the sharp restraints digs into his limbs and flesh and burrows in with an excruciating ache. But the pain doesn't matter. All that matters is you.

It claws into him, and digs and tears, until he is sure that his entire limbs are going to be torn off, but he doesn't stop, keeps pulling against the resisting strength that surrounds him, rips against the hindrance embracing every ounce of the pain until finally, the pressure gives.

There's a cacophony of sound that's left behind him as he leaps through the air. He slingshots downwards, cutting through air as he tries to reach you.

Miguel catches your hand and relief fills his chest.

"I got you. I got you," he murmurs. He's not sure if those words are to calm you or himself.

Pulling you up in defiance of the pull of gravity, he tries to haul you up towards him. Your hand squirms in his, and if you keep going you're going to slip out of his grasp.

"Nena, don't move," he shouts in alarm, but you don't stop, twisting in all directions, making it harder for him to get a better grip.

What're you– You're resisting against his strength, why would you...

It hits him with a sickening realization.

You don' want him to save you.

"Stop!" he shouts. “Stop!”

You shake your head, tears filling the corner of your eyes that flow upwards and everything is upside down to him. 

"We’re out of time. You have to let me go,” you say. 

His fingers squeeze down even harder at your words, refusing to hear it. 

“There's still time. There are still other options. I can still save you!” 

Your hand reaches for the amulet pressed against your collarbone. Dread floods every nerve in his body as he sees your fingers squeeze around it.

"No!" He shouts. Screams it so loud it burns in his lungs. But deep down he knows it's not going to make any difference. "Nena, don't!"

The wind whips too loudly against his face. The sound of your heart pounding so painfully hard in his ear that it's deafening and he knows that sound will haunt him forever. 

You're scared.

He sees your lips move, but he can't hear what you're saying.

But he's heard these words so many times before from your lips that he knows them by heart. 

''I love you.''

An invisible force blasts away at him, it shatters through him through his limbs and torso into the very soft tissue of his stomach and makes his teeth shake. He's propelled upwards, unable to control his movements or defy the gravity that he's learned to navigate after all these years mid-air.

He holds on as hard as he can to your hand, but it doesn't matter. His fingers slip, his grip is lost.

You're falling through the sky.

Miguel doesn't remember much after that.

Somehow he makes it back onto the ground.

Somehow he finds you amongst the cracked dirty concrete. 

Somehow, despite falling from over a 100 feet your body is still intact where it lies lifeless on the ground.

Your bones are broken though. Body limp and soft in his arms in a way that has never felt more wrong to him. His only consolation is that you're still warm in his arms, and he thinks that maybe if he just doesn't let go, if he holds you tightly pressed to him the way he is doing now, it'll remain that way forever.

The sky has cleared above. There are no cracks in the azure blue canvas.

This world is saved. 

His world has ended. 

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To @thirstworldproblemss who has been with me on this journey since chapter one without her enthusiasm and her companionship and friendship and listening to my wild ramblings about this story, I would never have set out to write this thing. She gave me so much joy in the process, she also gave me her time and her skills and brainy talent to help me process and brainstorm this into a shape that I was excited to share with you all! You also have her to thank for that devastating last line.

@guruan who has been a constant well of inspiration with her amazing art, her bright sense of humor and her sharing of theories of what's going to happen! You've made writing this story so much fun!

Author's note: Here we go guys, we've officially entered the final arc now. With only three chapters to go! I am so excited to share the remaining puzzle pieces with you all!

[purpleyoonn]

baby (you complete us) 11

C H A P T E R   E L E V E N

Summary: Soulmates were a common occurrence, so common, in fact, that the world sought an easier way to find your other half: A bracelet that would scan your mark and match you with those who shared your mark. Within recent years, soul groups were becoming normal, and your own bracelet said you have seven matches.

Or where you wear your bracelet for ten years, and finally give up the hope you would find your soul group, only for BTS to put theirs on and see what they were missing.

Genre: soulmate au, idol au, angst, fluff, eventual smut,

Pairing: Idol BTS x Disabled MC

Warnings: angst, mentions of depression, disabled mc (Ehlers Danlos syndrome), eventual smut, fluff, lots of fluff, mentions of disability, simp bangtan

Chapter Warnings: protective bangtan, anxious mc, mc makes some friends, talk of injury, 

*Words in Italics are spoken/written in Korean*

beta’d/edited by the lovely @babyarmybias

masterlist // chapter 10 // chapter 12

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Previously on baby (you complete us):

When you finally pulled away, Jungkook leaned forward, trying to follow your lips. You were sat on his lap, his hands resting on your waist. You didn’t say anything, just stared at one another, trying to breathe and grasp what just happened.  After a couple of seconds, you break out into a large grin, moving forward and hiding your head in his chest.

Jungkook laughs at your reaction, wrapping his arms around your back and holding you close. He wears the biggest grin on his lips as he hears your laughter spilling from you. Your soul was warm, body filling with unrestrained happiness. It felt as though one hole in your heart had been filled, filled by the man you were laying with, laughing as if someone told a good joke.  

This laughter was different though.

It was pure happiness.

“Alright, we have some vending machines over here, and a little way down, there is a little café that Yoongi likes to get americanos from when it gets late.”

You had arrived with Jungkook after being dropped off by the lovely Songun. It was a little pass nine am and the boys were all slowly trickling into the building. However, instead of moving to the practice room the boys had booked, Jungkook decided to take you on a small tour of the floor, showing you where everything was and giving little tidbits of the boys while you walked.

You were shocked by the number of things they had on the practice floors. Each floor had a small nook where they could pick up fresh snacks like veggie and fruit cups. They also had refrigerated drink stands that had a wide variety of drinks. All four practice floors also had a small café towards the middle of the floor, something Jungkook was excited about.

“I guess I should have brought my card?” You thought aloud once you saw the little fresh fruit cups.

“Baby, you never need to worry about using your money when you’re with us. I can promise the others will get a little upset that you think you need to. Also, everything on the practice floors is free. Well, for us, since we own a lot of shares in the company. Which means you don’t ever need to pay for anything in the company.” Your eyes widen at his words. Everything the boys say or do just keeps surprising you, to the point where your eyes might permanently widen.

“Oh.” you whisper, reaching out slowly to grab a little cup of watermelon, still thinking that someone was going to make you pay for them, popping up from behind the cart.

Jungkook just laughed, thinking you were unbelievably cute and innocent. He couldn’t stop looking at you, happy and excited to be able to be with you and get to know you. He already noticed that you stick your tongue out a little when concentrating, and that your nose scrunches up like his when you laugh.

He noticed that you also tend to pick at your fingers when you’re nervous something that had him moving to hold your hand. Which is what he did when you realized no one was going to come after you to pay for your fruit.

“C’mon baby, I bet the others are already in the practice room getting ready.” Jungkook began to tug you forward to the room. He could feel the pad of your pointer finger rubbing over the top of his hand; a soothing movement, he realized.

I don’t care as long as she is with me. Jungkook thought.

Out of their soulmate group, Jungkook had been the most eager to find you. You were only a couple months apart and to know that he had spent the last ten plus years with their soulmates, enjoying life and the bond between them, while you had none of that, it had him aching to make it up to you. He had so much love to spread, and to have a younger soulmate who he could take care of and protect like his hyungs did with his made his soul sing.

Jungkook wanted to show you how great love and the soul bond could be.

In the hopes of getting your spirit up again, Jungkook began to swing your arms, slowly at first and then faster until your arms were going above your heads and your laughter could be heard from the practice room down the hall. Jungkook began skipping in place, going at your pace until you reached the practice room, door already open and Jimin and Hoseok peaking their heads out.

“Ahh there’s our baby soulmates!” Jimin exclaims, reaching out to Jungkook and pulling him in for a hug.

“Did you two have fun last night?” Hoseok comes and pulls you into his arms, squeezing you tightly as he walks backwards into the practice room where the rest of your soul group were.

“He watched Bride of Habaek with me!” You exclaimed, excited that you had someone to watch Kdramas with you. “And we had lots of cuddles. Jungkook is good at cuddling.” You felt so comfortable that you couldn’t help but to spill everything.

Well, not everything, as Jungkook seemed to beat you to the final punch.

He pulled away from Jimin and pulled you out of Hoseok’s arms, planting a big smooch on your lips and pulled away laughing at your shocked expression. “You’re spilling all the secrets!” Jungkook managed to say through laughter.

The rest of the boys were shocked, completely speechless, as they witnessed Jungkook kiss you. They weren’t expecting it, even with the soul pull they knew you experienced the previous night. In fact, they assumed you wouldn’t let them show you affectionlike that for a few months. They didn’t want to push you, but they now realized they shouldn’t have underestimated the soul bond.

“Hey now! No more kisses until we finish practice!” Jin yelled out, stomping his feet dramatically and stealing the attention from your blushing form.

When he caught your eye, he winked at you, not the normal one you’ve seen so many times on camera, but one letting you know he knew how you weren’t ready for everyone to try and shower you in the affection Jungkook was so easily able to give you. You nodded your head in thanks, moving to the side so you didn’t get in the way as they started to set up for practice.

You weren’t sure what song they were practicing, or what they were practicing for. You tried to get the answers out of Jungkook, but he still held that shit-eating bunny grin on his lips which irritated the hell out of you. Not even kisses seemed to get him to give up the so called “secrets of practice”.

Yoongi came over to you as the boys began to stretch, taking your hand and leading you to a nice little sofa that sat off to the side in the back of the room. He sat down with you and turned towards the small, circular designed table that was to your right. He handed you a small gift bag and gestured for you to open it.

The bag held a cropped t-shirt with the word “Bangtan” on it in a design you didn’t recognize. The image was similar to the Army and BTS symbols but like it was smooshed together. It looked really cool and you could tell this was new.

“This is what we are practicing. Since we’ve returned from the army, we have wanted to do a tour representing our time as Bangtan, and everything we have done in our ten years. Since this coming year, 2023, will be our ten year anniversary, we want to do collective world tour. Songs from each of our albums.” Yoongi’s voice is low, as if telling you a secret, despite everyone in the room already knowing about it. You hold the shirt in your hands, unable to believe that they are already planning a tour since they have only been out of the army for a couple of months.

The boys had enlisted in the army as a soul group in June of 2020, during the pandemic. They wanted to give Army one last festa as a group before their enlistment, so they waited until June 22nd of that year. This meant they had only been out of their enlistment since March of this year, 2022. It was almost August now and the weather was only getting colder as fall began to arrive.

“We have a couple of new songs, one of which Army has waited a long time for. But our album is going to be called ‘Proof’, as proof that we are still here, we are still a group even after coming back. We also have solo songs we are going to introduce from our own solo projects.” Your eyes widened at his words, shocked and excited at the prospect of their solo endeavors.

“The shirt is a pre-release that the boys and I have received in order to see if we like it or not. We wanted to give you one as well. Jiminie and Taehyungie said you had a lot of crop tops in your bags so we picked this one for you.” Yoongi told you, reminding you how Jimin had picked your outfit our for you the day before.

To be honest, you packed a lot of crop tops because you get hot easily, even in colder weather. You always have. You didn’t know what your plans were going to be, but you always pick comfort over fashion and brought enough for you to wear every day for two weeks. You, however, did not feel comfortable enough with your body to wear them in public, let alone in front of the boys yet.

“Thank you, Yoongi. I appreciate the gift.” You feel so lucky to have the boys as your soulmates. They were so thoughtful and seemed to want to include you in everything. You lean forward and kiss his cheek, pulling away before putting the shirt back in the bag.

Yoongi, on the other hand, was a blushing mess. For once it wasn’t you that was flustered this time. He couldn’t help but smile wide at your kiss, even if it was on his cheek.

“Yah! Yoongi-hyung stop sitting and come practice so we can take our girl to dinner later!” Taehyung yelled out, his voice reverberating throughout the room as he interrupted your small bubble.

The rest of your soul group laughed when they saw you both blushing. Yoongi rolled his eyes before leaning forward and returning the favor, kissing your cheek with a loud smack before jogging off and getting into the practiced formation as the music starts.

The music starts with a really cool guitar riff, extremely upbeat and you could tell this was one of the new songs. The song could have been Fire’s younger sibling, the style seemed close. Yoongi started off the song and oh. my. goodness. You knew for a fact that this song was going to drive Army insane. Absolutely insane.

You needed them to practice this seven times, so you could focus on one member each time. You were especially in love with the chorus. You almost couldn’t help but clap after the song was over, eyes lit with excitement.  

“I…oh my. Oh my. That was…..amazing!” You tried not to shout out the last word as the boys turned to look at you, Yoongi’s signature smirk resting on his lips.

“You liked it, baby?” Namjoon asked you, knowing how dumb his question was as your excitement was written all over your face.

“Of course! That might be one of my favorite songs yet!” Namjoon chuckled, glad that they could make their soulmate happy.

“Well, we want to surprise you with our other songs later. Are you okay with having Songun take you exploring? Maybe to the café?” Namjoon held your hands in his, noticing your excitement die a little at not being able to see the rest of their practice. But you understood completely.

“No, that’s fine. I want to share the excitement with Army! I’ll bring you guys something back from the café!” You grab your things and put your lanyard over your head as Jin tells you that Songun should be in the hallway waiting for you.

After tons of goodbye hugs, you finally left the practice room only to see that Songun was not in the hallway. You almost turned back to the room, to see what you should do, but you didn’t want to bother the boys when they obviously had things they needed to do. So, you put your big girl pants on and decided to try and navigate the building by yourself. You didn’t want to have to rely on someone else to help you forever.

You decide to turn left, after doing eenie-meenie-minie-mo, your eyes alert as you try to take everything in and remember the way you came so you can get back to the practice room. You only see a couple of empty practice rooms before you turn the corner and bump into someone’s chest.

“Oof! I’m sorry.” You apologize as soon as it happens out of instinct.

“It’s okay.” You were a little proud that you remembered your Korean and was able to understand what the man was saying, but you froze once you recognized the familiar voice.

Choi Soobin was standing in front of you with the rest of Tomorrow x Together behind him. They looked like they were just finishing their practice, sweat dripping from their hairlines.

“Oh! Y/n noona! I’m so sorry!” You were shocked by the honorific, not having heard it yet, let alone expecting to be addressed by it. You watched as the boys all began bowing to you, giving you their greetings.

“It’s okay. Please, you don’t need to bow!” You panic a little, the entire situation being new to you. You weren’t quite comfortable with this part of the Korean culture yet. In your own culture, greetings are done with handshakes, especially when first meeting someone, so it’s gonna take some getting used to.

Once the boys stopped bowing, they introduced themselves one by one, Heuning Kai going last.

“We were so happy when we saw the announcement. It’s nice to know our hyungs soul group is complete now.” He spoke in English, making your body relax a little given you still were in the beginning stages of learning Korean. He then looked behind you, noticing no one with you and the slightly lost look on your face.

“Noona, are you lost?”

“Uhm, I was trying to find the café.”

“We can take you noona! We were just heading that way!” Soobin spoke and Heuning Kai repeated his words in English for you as Yeonjun put his arm around your shoulders and turned you around. So, maybe your eenie-meenie-minie-mo tactic hadn’t been the best idea after all. You laugh a little nervously at yourself before letting them guide you to the café.

“So, Noona. How are you liking Korea so far?” Yeonjun asks you as you walk back down the hallway.

“I like it so far. I got to do a little exploring my first day before meeting the boys in person. I went to a convenience store and made one of those videos like on TikTok!” You bring your phone out and show them the video, receiving “oohs” and “ahs” from the boys.

“You haven’t done anything else? How long have you been here?”

“I’ve only been here a couple of days. I’ve spent most of the time bonding with my soulmates. We also had an appointment with the Soul Registry to finalize our bond officially.” You tell them, the boys listening with full attention.

You found yourself feeling comfortable with the younger group as you all walked to the café. You didn’t find yourself stuttering with nerves or quiet with anxiety. It was nice and the boys were all so attentive and full of life. It was a nice change from what you were used to at home, and you felt yourself growing to think of the boys like little brothers.

You even found yourself going along with their antics, letting them convince you to learn the choreography to their new song and film a TikTok with them. It took you a lot of tries but you managed to learn the choreography without hurting yourself. You felt your right knee giving you a little trouble but you pushed it aside in favor of having fun with the boys.

“Thank you for doing this, Noona! We will tag you when it gets posted!” Yeonjun exclaims once you were done filming in front of one of the portraits outside of the café.

“Thank you! It was fun. I could really go for a drink now though!” You laugh as the boys agree with your statement, Taehyun and Soobin pulling your arms and dragging you into the café.

Next Chapter

[roses-r-rosie3]

Dancing With Your Ghost: Unexpected Reunion

Miguel O’Hara x M!Reader

[Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

(Btw credits to whoever drew that spider-man character)

Warnings: angst, spoilers for SpiderMan: Across the Spider-verse, and memory loss-ish

Summary: Miguel was in love with his version of y/n from his universe but that y/n dies bc that’s his cannon, and he meets an alternate version of y/n who is the Spider-Man of his universe, but isn’t in love with Miguel

Quote: “I'm sorry, but you're not ringing any bells"

✁ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Miguel is what some people what call “cold hearted” but he wasn’t always like this. He was happy once. He was in love with y/n l/n. He loved y/n so much. But because he was a Spider-Man, y/n died. He died when that universes’s goblin blew up a building, while y/n was inside of it. It hurts Miguel to think about it. The way he held y/n in his arms while he begged for y/n to stay with him. But Miguel couldn’t undo the inevitable, and y/n died in his arms while he cried for hours.

"Miguel" Jess said, snapping Miguel out of his thoughts.

"Are you okay?" she said.

"Yeah, yeah, just a little tired, what did you want to talk to me about?" Miguel said.

"I found a case where an alternate version of the goblin from another universe got transported to another universe, and is now having a tantrum"

Miguel's blood ran cold at the mention of 'The goblin', the bastard took one of the only people making him happy away from him.

"I know you have some issues with the goblin, but you need to remember that he isn't our goblin-"

"Yeah, whatever let's go" Miguel said, completely ignoring what Jess had to say.

skip to when Miguel is fighting the goblin b/c i'm lazy af

Miguel spent what felt like hours trying to land a single punch on the goblin, each attempt getting him more riled up. All of a sudden another spider-man swooped in and kicked the goblin in the face dead-on.

"I'll take it from here" The masked hero said cockily.

That voice... it sounded familiar, but Miguel couldn't quite put his finger on it. But Miguel had no time to play the guessing game, so he immediately swung over to help fight the goblin.

When Miguel finally caught up to the other spider-man, the goblin had already been defeated.

"How-"

"it's easy when you're as good as me" said the cocky super-hero, as he cut off Miguel.

"Oh great another narcissistic one" Miguel said as he rolled his eye under his mask.

"I wouldn't call it narcissistic, more like- wait- what do you mean another- oh whatever, who are you and what are you doing here" said that universe's spider-man.

skip to Miguel explaining the whole spider organization

"Does you telling me this mean that I'm apart of this organization now, or are you gonna pull a 'men in black' and erase this from my memory?"

"Yes, you can join" Miguel said in annoyance as he opened the portal.

"Holy shit, very cool.." The masked hero said before walking inside of it.

"Hey, scary boss guy, can i take off my mask, that portal thing is making me feel sick" said the hero.

"Yes" Miguel said as he turned to see what the cocky hero looked like under his mask.

When the spider-man unmasked himself, he was revealed to be y/n.

Miguel couldn't speak, his once dead lover was in front of him.

"Oh I didn't tell you my name did I? My name's-"

"Y/n" Miguel cut him off.

"How did you-"

Y/n was cut off by Miguel hugging the life out of him.

"I missed you so much" Miguel croaked.

"Woah, woah dude I don't even know you" y/n said pulling Miguel away.

Miguel took off his mask, hoping that universe's y/n would notice him.

"I'm sorry, but you're not ringing any bells" y/n said.

"Y/n please, we have to at least been acquainted in your universe" Miguel said with tears in his eyes.

"Uh- you're starting to creep me out" y/n said

"Oh, uh, sorry about him, you just look like someone he used to know" Jess interrupted

"Okay then..." y/n said as he walked past them to explore the place.

"Listen Miguel, I know you loved y/n and he loved you, but that's a different y/n, I don't want to sound harsh, but he probably didn't know you until now, okay? Just know that our y/n loved you." Jess said as the other y/n was out of eye-sight.

Miguel just broke down. The fact that, that y/n will probably never love him like his y/n, He felt like he was re-living the grief he felt when y/n died in his arms.

[lenaariewrld]

C.24 — c u tonight (w)

ON THE AIR — childe x reader smau

| SYNOPSIS;; Teyvat University’s popular radio personality, Y/n L/n, has only one gripe with her life. Her classmate, neighbour, and all-around nuisance in her life, Tartaglia. Their rivalry extends just past academics and, to her horror, into her work. He becomes the music director and co-host for her radio show, working alongside her most nights and forcing himself even deeper into her life. But is he really trying to just be friends, or is there an ulterior motive to his actions?

| WC: 2.8k

| WARNINGS: slightly suggestive but nothing actually explicit this chapter lolol

previous! ~ masterlist ! ~ next!

True to his word, as soon as you finish clocking out and step outside of the little hole in the wall restaurant you work at, you spot Childe’s expensive navy car pulling up outside, the engine idling as he waits for you. You grab your bag and an umbrella from your spot under the back station. “Is your boyfriend picking you up today?” A light and cheery voice greets you as one of your coworkers, Nilou, steps up to grab her things. She giggles at the way your head whips around to look at her.

“He’s just my friend,” You explain, sliding on your rain jacket. Of course to add to your already damper mood, the world had to get grey and sad. A trickling rainstorm having rolled in during the last thirty minutes of your shift. “He offered me a ride. You know how it is with this weather,” You and Nilou share a smile as you hook your purse over your shoulder.

“He’s sweet, then,” She bumps your hip with her own and giggles once more, spotting her approaching car of friends a second later. You waved goodbye to her before heading over to Childe’s car, jogging the short distance and yanking the door open quickly. He greets you with a sweet hello and lets you get buckled in before he drives off.

When he parks the car, he comes around to your side and, after adjusting the grocery bags in his backseat more comfortably on his forearms, slides your hand into his. You smile and urge him to tell you about his day.

And so he does.

The two of you walk into the building and you lean against the back wall of the small elevator. All the while he tells you about the annoying topics in his lectures or the assignments his teachers had posted. He tells you about the weird party plans his friends had, and he tells you about the silly tiktoks he’d seen that he thought you’d find funny. He fills the silence well.

The numbers on the elevator go up, stopping on the number designating your floor.

With a tinny ding, the doors slide open. You unwind your fingers from his, digging into your purse for your keys and unlocking your door as soon as you step up to it.

Childe closes the door behind him, kicking his shoes off while you set your things aside on the unpacked cardboard boxes you’ve been using as an entry table for a couple years now. He makes his way into your kitchen, setting down the grocery bags and beginning to put things away.

“I knew you lived on rations as it was, but seriously, you had no flour before this?” He asks, raising a brow at you. You shrug half-heartedly, and he frowns playfully. “Must’ve been a hard shift,” He murmurs. A small huff signifies your amusement as you cross the small space and find more comfortable clothes to change into. It’s peaceful.

The rain patters on the windows, your heater thrumming in the corner to provide enough warmth for your space to be habitable, and Childe hums as he finishes up.

“Now,” He calls your attention and knocks on your counter. “Tell me about your shift, why’d it suck?” The ginger quirks his brow for just a second. You can’t help the fond smile already on your lips as you slide into one of the cheap stools on the other side of the counter, leaning your elbows on it.

You tell him about your day slowly, cheek in hand as you drone on. You tell him how your morning class sucked because your professor woke up in a shitty mood and decided to make it everyone else’s problem. You tell him about the delayed train that almost made you late for work. You tell him about how when you got there, it was already busy and you barely had clocked in before you were sat with two tables. And it seemed like no matter how centered you tried to make yourself, every annoying aspect of the job was multiplied tenfold today.

Normally you could brush off the tables that were rude or annoying, or the creepy old farts who kept making uncomfortable comments and eyeing you down whenever you were serving other tables. And you could move past the attitude from the bartender whenever you rang in long tickets or heavily modified drinks, or just how many tickets you had to beg the kitchen to remake on the fly for you, but today you just couldn’t.

You slumped lower against the counter as you recounted it all. Your eyes boredly watch as Childe glides around your kitchen like he belongs there, cooking and slicing and prepping things while he cleans whatever he was finished using.

“I’m sorry, pretty,” The man coos in that way that makes your stomach do flips, his accent a little heavier when he said the nickname. He plants a kiss on the top of your head as he sets a plate of food in front of you, sitting next to you with his own plate. “This should make up for it a little, hm?” He nudges your knee and grins when you laugh softly.

“It feels like I’m just full of bad luck today,”

“Maybe so, but that means you’ll have even more good luck in the future,” He says with a shrug, as if speaking a fact that you should’ve already realised. You playfully roll your eyes and dig in.

The food is delicious, of course. It’s warm and filling and comforting and it’s just what you needed to set your mind right. It’s amazing, at least to you, how easily Childe could make dishes that melt your tastebuds with virtually the same ingredients you use to cook dishes that are just alright. Maybe you just don’t have the same flair he does.

You lean against him slightly as you eat, the silence comfortable between the two of you. You aren’t sure when it shifted, but something changed with you and with him. You felt completely at ease with him, craving his touch and the skinship he so easily shared with you like an alcoholic craves liquor or like a rich man craves power. It got twisted up inside you, making you soft and easy to laugh with. It caught you completely off guard.

You aren’t sure when the nicknames he used to call you jokingly became genuine, sweet drops of honey he whispered into your ears when it was just the two of you. When it stirred something in your chest to have his hand tangled with yours, his head tucked in the crook of your neck, or his lips slotting so perfectly against yours.

And you aren’t sure when the ‘friendship’ you had with the man became so… casually romantic. Late nights or conversations being had for the sake of it, not for the sake of sex. Back and forth banter shared over cups of coffee. Domestic rides around the city or to classes. Normal friendly interactions made just a little something more, something unknown and unlabelled, by a few exchanged kisses or sweet promises shared with giggles and knowing smiles.

You aren’t sure when it changed, but it did. And it scared you just slightly.

Childe seems to sense you getting lost in thought, squeezing your knee and humming when you squeeze his hand back.

As soon as you finish eating, he whisks the dishes away and the two of you clean up the rest of the mess. He insists on drying the dishes by himself and shoos you out of the kitchen, claiming you had to ‘rest’ and ‘take it easy’. You sigh loudly and animatedly, dropping onto the foot of your bed and turning on your television.

You’re still scrolling through the catalogue when Childe joins you a minute later, crawling onto the bed with you and laying his head in your lap. His arms circle around your waist. “Pick whatever,” He mumbles. With a smile, you pick a movie, setting the remote aside and adjusting yourself to sit comfortably in the middle of your bed, a couple of your pillows angled to support your back. Childe hums, his fingers drawing shapes on your back. “Are you feeling better?” He asked.

“Hmm,” You pretend to take a moment to ponder, tapping your chin. He looks up at you through his lashes and quirks a brow again, making you giggle at his doubtful look. “Look, you already know my answer,” You say. Your fingers drag through the soft curls on his head, and he responds with a satisfied groan.

“I mean it, I want you to feel better,” He whispers, pressing a featherlight kiss to your tummy. The action doesn’t spark fires and electricity in you like the first few. It doesn’t feel like an exciting hidden secret you indulged in. No guilty pleasure.

It felt warm. Comforting. It felt like home should.

“I do,” You whispered, cupping his cheek and making him look up at you. “I don’t even remember why I was upset,” A smile spreads on your lips when he playfully nips at your wrist, a mess of giggles erupting when Childe takes it as a cue to pepper kisses up your arm. He locks your fingers together, pulling you closer as he shifts upwards, laying the both of you down. He’s smiling, grinning like a fool as you writhe on the sheets, kicking your feet and calling out as his kisses and tickling fingers continue their assault on your skin. “T-taru, please!” You squeal as he tickles your side.

He laughs and tilts your chin with his free hand, his tickling abandoned as he leans down to pull you into a dizzying kiss. Saccharine and slow, he purposely kisses you until you’re out of breath. When he pulls away, you both giggle like school kids, chests heaving and cheeks flushed. If he had any doubts before about feeling in a less sorry state, it was gone now as he stared at your shimmering smile.

You were beautiful.

His thumb caresses the curve of your cheekbone thoughtfully, his eyes searching yours. You lean into his touch, your arms loosely draped around his neck. “You okay?”

“I want you to call me my real name,”” He confesses softly. Your brows pinch together, confusion and curiosity dancing in your eyes. You’re lost on what he means.

“Tartaglia?” You ask.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No,” He kisses the tip of your nose before taking a deep breath. Childe’s thumb draws circles on your cheek, brushing just under your lips, following the line of your jaw, tracing your features like he was trying to draw a mental picture of you in his mind he could never forget. “My name in my mother tongue,” He explains. “When I moved here, my host family suggested that I choose a name in this language to make it easier to converse… to blend in. Tartaglia was what they gave me, and then I chose Childe as a stage name,” He glances down at the sheets, lost in the floral patterns for a moment.

You can see his thoughts churning in his head. “What do you want me to call you, then?” You ask, reaching up to gingerly brush some hair out of his face, tucking a few strands behind his ear. “Your real name,” You add with a cheeky smile.

He reflects his own smile, boyish and sweet and picture perfect. “Ajax,” He tells you in a whisper. You nod and repeat it just as quietly, getting a feel for it on your tongue. He can’t help the way his smile widens and his eyes glisten. It sounds like heaven and bliss on your lips, like all the sweetest candies and sunniest days. It sounds like the name of a true lover, of a man who deserves the way you melt in his arms and gently touch his skin.

It sounds so wonderful, he almost forgets who he is, and all he can imagine is living a life with you as Ajax. A life without any of the worries and shitty, terrible sins he’s carried since he was a kid.

He kisses you breathless again, his hand finding your hips and pulling you flush against his body. He’s purposeful. The both of you forget the movie playing in the background as he trails his kisses down your body, as your clothes crumple on the floor, and as your brain becomes a jumbled mess of euphoria.

He fucks you slow and tender, easing you through it all and whispering praises while he dives between your legs. He’s practiced as you tug on his hair and scream his name, his real name like a praise and a curse all at once. And in the mess of the sheets, when he rejoins you to steal the air from your lungs and bring stars to your vision, his hand finds yours once more, his palm pressed flat against yours. Your pulses beating as one. His head falls against your chest. He’s muttering under his breath, mostly to himself.

In the mess of his ramblings, which your muddled brain is starting to decipher as noticeably not English, you catch one phrase. “Тебя я люблю.” He repeats it over and over in full sentences that all sound different. But you know that phrase repeats.

It makes your heart stir, though you don’t know what he’s saying. There’s a vulnerability, a slight waver to his voice, whining out the words like a plea. A confession to the gods above to forgive him of sins. And his lips whisper it against your skin. His god, his vice, his safety and forgiver.

He continues to switch between English and Russian well into the night, until your bodies collapse and you pull yourself into his arms, curling up in the safety of the warmth of his body. With your energy spent, you let your eyes fall closed for a moment. He allows you both the reprieve, one arm wrapped securely around your waist as his other hand dances along your spine comfortingly. You listen to his breathing, the both of your heartbeats coming down to a steady drum, a rhythm you can both tolerate. Childe purrs your name. “Sweet girl, you did so well,” He whispers on the crown of your head.

“What were you saying..?” You ask after a few seconds of contemplative silence. You were used to him switching languages around you, something he’d gotten more comfortable doing whenever you were together (and after quite a few times catching you drooling at his accent), but you were getting curious about what he would say to you. “When you were speaking Russian, you kept repeating things.”

You look up at him curiously, your brows lifted a little in silent question. You still reminded him of a cat, albeit a sleepy-looking one with the way you were blinking slowly up at him, sprawled over his body. He hums, stroking your spine again. You watch, and you notice the way his teeth bite his bottom lip in thought, the cogs turning in his head.

“I was just.. Telling you how good you were doing.” He says after a second. “It felt better to say it in a language I had grown up with,” he settles on saying. You have a feeling that there was more to it, something he wasn’t sharing, but you don’t care to press. You were too tired, and you doubted he was saying anything bad. You glance towards the tv, an entirely different movie now playing, though you weren’t sure what it was.

The rest of the night is peaceful as you finish the movie. Childe eventually turns off the tv and ushers you into your small bathroom for a shower and refresh. He kisses your shoulder as he cleans your hair and washes your back, and the two of you drink in each other’s presence with only a few words shared.

When you’re both clean, dry, and properly prepared to go to sleep, you shuffle back to your bed.

You flick off the lamp on your bedside and Childe cuddles into your side, your limbs tangling with his easily. You were too tired to try and stay awake much longer. You vaguely remember the man asking you to attend the party his friends were having later that week and you agreed without much argument. “You have to bring me boba to tomorrow’s recording, though,” You tell him.

He laughs heartily and buries his head against your neck, his breath tickling your skin. “Okay, Милаяm whatever you say,” He mumbles, his voice low in the other language. You feel your cheeks flush, though you’re only half awake. That was definitely more sweet than anything else he called you in English, but you can’t place why. Maybe it felt more real? More genuine when he spoke so freely in the tongue that came more naturally to him? Whatever the case, it floats around in your head as you drift off to sleep, seeping into your dreams and flowing through your bloodstream.

———

A/Ns: the fluff, as promised !! (with absolutely no future repercussions or angst in the future that this. could foreshadow 😝😀) aanyway, likes/reblogs/comments are always loved and stored in my brain so feel free to drop any if u want, and i hope y'all look forward to the upcoming arc hehe <33

TAGLIST: @popiizpops @scaradooche @yourfavoritefreakyhan @neversore @monocerosei @dontmindtheevie @kittywagun @yumidepain @kazumiku @hanilessa @nrviine @wren-art

[technically-a-kiwi]

Okay here's a bit more of the Cosmic PT cast, introducing Cosmic Pepperman and Cosmic Vigilante.

One small thing before we start ☝️, these are what you can define as "beta" designs, as you can see by the fact it's neither colored or digital, I just want to share those to hear some feedback and possible fresh ideas to make those designs better. Also because I want to share what they do and what is specific about them story wise. Until I say explicitly that I'm done with the design, keep in mind that they might change overtime. With that being said let's get to it!

And here's Cosmic Pepperman,

currently at the very end of the minor cosmic stage and one of the most experienced cosmic entity of the PT cast who's still around. Phil mostly plays solo and loves to show off when he intervenes in a universe, when he's here you know you're about to see a performance of quality 👌. Although sometimes his attempt at throwing shades and look cool falls flat and he can make a fool out of himself... But no matter what happens he always manages to save the day before disappearing Meta Knight style using his long jacket as a cape.

Meanwhile in the cosmic realm, Phil still is a freelance artist, showing off his art in his own museum in Cosmopolis's center. Before Cosmic Noise appeared, Phil's museum was one of the most popular and visited place of the realm, after NNS took over the public, the museum lost of it's glory and became another building among others with very few visitors. Ever since that, Phil holds a pretty big grudge toward Cosmic Noise, boycotting his show and just being generally annoyed at C Noise's presence.

For Pepperman's design I got inspired by his costume of the Halloween update and slitly exaggerated it to make a long flowy jacket. Also I gave him small star shaped shades because shades and Pepperman are just MEANT to be together, the star shape is just to stay consistent with the Cosmic theme (very thought out eh 👁️👄👁️👍), and finally one of my favorite aspect of his design is his scar across his face of which he wears with style ✨✨✨.

Now beware, here comes Cosmic Vigilante

Also at the very end of the minor cosmic stage, one the most experienced of the cast and the most efficient at his job. Vigi really puts his heart when doing his tasks, being very serious and making sure that everything goes back to normal, as if nothing happened. He also is the stealthiest entity of the cast with very little people to have ever noticed him in his whole carrier.

In the Cosmic realm, Vigi doesn't really have a job, his only job is to fix any anomalies in the multiverse so he just uses his time in the realm to have a break, take a coffee, going for a stroll or hang out with friends.

For the Vigilante's design, I barely changed anything, his hat is different with the edge going slitly up in flames, the only note worthy detail is his left eye of course, his scar is hidden by a very bright star, a star with the very cool effect of giving it's owner future vision, it only predicts things 10 seconds max before they happen, but it is still a formidable advantage.

Together, Pepperman and The Vigilante are a very efficient cosmic duo, over time they grew a very good relationship and learn how to work with each other. When joined together, they're very professional (in most cases) and really forged a reputation among cosmic entities.

And now is time for :

Random trivia ✨✨✨

Because I don't know how to write a sentence

Very few people knows about Vigi's future vision, only some members of the PT cast does, if the court comes to know about it, Vigi WILL get in trouble.

Pepperman kept his ability to bring his art to life after becoming a cosmic entity, he might be the only being of the realm capable of breathing life into inanimate objects (assuming that his art are conscious beings with free will and not puppets Pepperman controls somehow)

Both Pepperman and Vigilante's memories degenerated to the point they can't remember the people they once knew, they only remember experiences of their past life but not the people that participated in those experience.

The Vigilante's mode of transport is his hat ! He gets inside of it and morphs it into an UFO (with a gyrophare occasionally when he's on the hunt for an outlaw) , the hat gets transparent and you can see him all squished up inside his hat.

Cosmic Vigilante is aware that he's a cheese slime, which was a huge shock when he figured it out

When disappearing "Meta Knight style" Phill doesn't actually disappears, he just trows his jacket in the air and spins it to get people's attention while he runs as far and fast as possible into the distance, he runs until he reaches the edge of the universe and only after that he gets back to the cosmic realm.

And yeah that's it ! Thank you for reading! As always if you have any questions go ahead and ask, I'll be glad to answer.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Life in a Tranquil State

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Just a short drabble about a sweet morning with an injured Matty.

warnings: none

a/n: This piece is rather short but very fluffy! I hope everyone is doing ok, I know this time of year can be difficult for people. Sending you all my love!

w/c: 1.2k

Dashing into the stairwell to escape the chill, you shuddered as the last gust of wind lifted the wisps of hair peeking out at the front of your hat. Inhaling deeply, you trekked up the stairs—relief washing over you at the sight of your front door. After taking a moment to squeeze your fingers in an attempt to shake off the cold-induced numbness, you turned the door knob and scurried inside. 

The warmth of the apartment enveloped you in a comforting embrace, causing your shoulders to sag as the general discomfort of the rapidly falling temperature faded away. Your boyfriend was seated in the middle of the living room rug, bare shoulders illuminated by the dim light leaking through the massive window behind him. His eyes were closed, the striking muscles in his legs flexing in their crossed position. 

Still meditating then, you thought to yourself, toeing off your boots as silently as you could to prevent disturbing his focus. Rising inflation and consistent apathy from politicians had unleashed a current of building unrest in the city. Matt had been working overtime in and out of the office, helping New Yorkers appeal their welfare denials during the day while stopping corruption and petty crime at night. Honestly, it was downright miraculous that it had taken next to no convincing to get Matt to take a day off, though that might have been because of your desperate begging. 

Last night had been especially turbulent, ending with an exhausted Matt, an equally exhausted Claire (who REALLY deserved some time away from the shenanigans), an absurd amount of stitches, and the worst tension headache you'd had in recent history. As the color slowly reappeared in Matt's face, you'd given him an earful between stress-induced sobs, pleading with him to take some time off to recover--and thanking every divine entity in the universe when he'd accepted. Once Matt had taken his painkillers, you both passed the fuck out in a tangle of limbs that was sure to be more uncomfortable for him than for you. 

It wasn't that you wanted him to stop being Daredevil, you'd never ask him to restrain the part of himself that had saved the city time and time again. But you'd continue to remind him that his body needed to rest sometimes, a fact he had been pointedly ignoring the past few weeks. 

Which is why the sight of him beside the couch was such a welcomed one. This morning had been tense, by no fault of Matt's. You'd slept restlessly, waking up jittery and drained next to an aching, and incredibly guilty, Matt. He'd apologized to you profusely, clenching the fabric of your sweatshirt between his fingers like he expected you to disintegrate. Pressing soft kisses to his head, you'd brushed off his needless worries, promising that you weren't going anywhere. 

To Matt's chagrin, you'd dragged him to the living room and encouraged him to meditate so that he could regain his strength. He'd accepted, but only when you agreed to sit in his lap, which he swore would not break his focus. After an hour of listening to his exasperated grumbles and helping him shift positions, you'd clambered out of his lap, cajoling him with the offer of breakfast and a coffee from the cafe down the street. 

Padding quietly into the apartment, you set the steaming paper cup and accompanying box of pastries on the counter, using your now empty hands to pull off your hat and comb through your staticy hair. 

“Only one coffee?” Matt's voice over your shoulder startled you, causing you to nearly knock his drink to the ground as you turned to face him.

“Christ, Matty, don't do that. I'm gonna make you wear a bell.” You shoved at his sculpted chest, brief irritation dissipating when he let out a low chuckle. 

“I'm sure the criminals would appreciate the warning.” His hands slid around your waist, forehead tipping to rest against yours. “Missed you.”

Giggling softly into the kiss he pressed to your lips, you let your hands drift up to cradle his neck. ”I was only gone for a few minutes, you sap.“ 

”I don't know, it felt like hours.“ Matt sighed dramatically, leaning into your body heavily as he picked up his coffee. Taking a sip, a pleased groan rumbled in his throat, making you grin.

”Too sweet, just the way you like it.“ 

”It's perfect. What about you?“ Matt frowned, jerking his chin towards the lack of a second cup on the counter. 

With a shrug, you snuggled into Matt’s hold, humming in appreciation when he ran a hand along your back. 

“Didn’t feel like coffee today. I’m not above napping, Murdock.” 

“That can be arranged, darling. I owe you some peace after last night.” Despite his clenched jaw, you watched guilt fill his expression, gorgeous hazel eyes falling to the floor. 

”Don't you start.” You chastised gently, rubbing circles on his nape with your thumb. “We talked about this earlier, my love. You didn't do anything wrong, you just bit off a little more than you could chew. Happens to the best of us, yah?“ Brushing your nose against his, you slotted your hips against his and tugged him into an embrace. 

Resolve crumbling, he melted into the touch. ”I'm still sorry.“ 

”And I'm still reminding you that you don't need to be. Just remember to be careful and let yourself rest every once in a while. Speaking of,“ You brushed a thumb under the stitched wound on his shoulder. ”Meditation still not working?“

Whining under his breath, Matt shook his head mournfully. ”Not well. I just...I don't know what's wrong with me today.“ 

Brow furrowing, you kneaded at your boyfriend's scalp in an attempt to scare away his crippling self-doubt. “Anything in particular that made it difficult?” 

Matt shook his head, his lips parting around the tiniest of sighs. “Everything is just...a lot today. I don't think I ever fully relaxed after the adrenaline from last night.” 

Biting your lip in thought, you carded your fingers through Matt's hair. “Hmm, well it might help if you were more relaxed before you started meditating? Do you think that might work?”

Smirking at you, Matt purred, “What did you have in mind?” One of his large hands slid down from your waist to palm your ass. 

Swatting at his wrist, you snorted. “I didn't mean sex, Matthew. Though I suppose that's one option we could pursue if the others don't work.” 

Kissing you deeply, Matt's breath ghosted over your lips as he asked. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Well, we can start by eating the pastries I painstakingly picked out for my very picky boyfriend,” Ignoring Matt as he pinched your waist and scoffed indignantly, you continued. ”Other than that, we could try showering first? That always makes me feel better.”

“That sounds great sweetheart,” Matt leaned his forehead against yours with a smile. 

[kumememe]

new beginnings (felix catton x m!reader)

warnings: none, just felix being intrigued by you. proofread a little bit, might do a part two soon if people like it. send in requests if you want, but note that I only do male and transmasc readers. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a cool autumn breeze danced gently across the field of webbe college, gracing the students with its presence. the sun softly casts its sunlight upon the old, slightly rustic buildings as they emit a yellow-orange glow. the timely place felt as if nothing had changed or caught the attention of students until- felix catton. the so-called 'prince of oxford,' the shining star amidst the otherwise dark and gloomy galaxy. the moment he stepped in on campus, everyone knew who he was. he wasn't doing it intentionally, it was just what the universe has bestowed upon him. it's just how he naturally is. he was meant to be the center of attention, the one who gets everything and anyone he wants without any effort. with his six foot-five stature, fluffy dark hair, flashy smile, and aloof nature- he brings people in like a moth to the light. students would do anything to be in his posse because of his magnetic charm, where they hang onto his every word as if he were a saint on a pedestal. at this point, people may as well bow down to him and kiss his feet. it is not like he wouldn't mind, after all, since that is how his life has always been. his aura was hard to miss, hard to ignore, and yet.. someone changed that.

felix took a drag of his cigarette as he leaned against the wall of the college hallways, talking to some students who wanted to ask him about something unimportant. he was used to girls and boys asking him about the most mundane things just to get closer to him, the touch him subtly on the shoulder with their flirty gazes. it was normal, but oh so boring. he listened to some girl chatter on about how she wanted to take him out sometime, but his focus was caught somewhere else, specifically across the hall. a guy, about average height, wearing a windbreaker jacket that hugged his figure nicely, chunky glasses that almost hid his piercing e/c-colored eyes, black denim jeans that accentuated his thick thighs, and a pair of tattered sneakers that looked like it was worn for years. he observed his mannerisms quietly, the conversations that occurred around him quickly falling silent as his eyes stuck to the male across the hall. felix knew that he was just another average joe, but something about the way the other male quietly walked inside the library, adjusted his headphones, and avoided those around him... it made felix realize how out-of-place the latter was.

felix quietly makes his way toward the boy, ignoring the stares that he gets from the confused posse around him as they watch him do so. his confident stride noticeable from afar, fixing his hair a bit as he followed him inside the library. He quietly makes his way to the counter, leaning against it as he watches the other return his books. he cleared his throat as he showed off his charming grin, "hello." startled, the mysterious figure took his headphones off, letting it hang around his neck as he nodded slightly to the taller male, "hey." the mysterious figure didn't budge nor adjust his attitude when it came to felix, which surprised the tall male slightly. he was used to people having immediate recognition of his significance or popularity as they cower to him like prey when they meet the predators, but with the latter, it seemed like barely even knew who he was. at that moment of unfamiliarity, he feels a blend of intrigue and disbelief, pondering if the latter was the only one who didn't know of his power.

noticing felix's sudden silence, the peculiar fellow raises his brow. "...have we met before?" he asked as he left the counter slowly, watching as felix instinctively followed him to continue their conversation. felix snaps out of his thoughts, "no, it appears we haven't. i'm felix catton." felix extends his hand towards the latter, who hesitantly shakes it while giving a small smile. "i'm y/n. y/n l/n."

felix smiles at the way y/n's soft hands grazed against his as the latter pulled it away, eyes meeting with felix's. "felix catton, i've heard of that name before..." y/n put a finger to his chin as he tried to remember where he heard it from. "really? what have you heard about me?" felix smirked, feeling his arrogance seep through his calm and nonchalant facade. y/n hums, "not much, it's just that you kind of own this place in a way."  felix let out a small laugh at his observation, he liked the fact that y/n had no clue who he was, and it was refreshing. furthermore, it was a nice change of pace.

"are you a new student here?" felix asks, and y/n nods slightly as he makes his way to the physics section of the library. his hand softly follows the outlines of the books, carefully reading the title on the spine to check which ones he needs for class. "sort of, I just shifted to the course i've wanted since day one," y/n says as he takes out a book from the shelf, looking at the contents in its first page, "which is physics and philosophy." felix leans against the shelf with an interested look, his eyebrows arched in curiosity. "those two are quite a pairing, aren't they? philosophy and physics are the opposite of each other." he states, as y/n shrugs with a grin. "that's what makes it so exciting. you get the best of both worlds."

felix grins at the other male's attitude, he was interesting and mysterious, to say the least. y/n makes his way to a secluded part of the library that was near the philosopy section as felix followed like a puppy, eager to get to know the student. y/n turns to felix, "what about you? what did you take?"

"philosophy, politics, and economics." felix answers, waving it off. "it's a rather boring major to be in, honestly."

"do you not enjoy it?" y/n asks as he skims through the book, looking up at felix from time to time.

"eh, it's better than nothing," felix said as he gets closer to the shorter male in a not-so-subtle way, which was only met with a raised brow from the latter. y/n didn't bother to mention the shift in his tone as he hummed in response. "how about you, why'd you take physics and philosophy?"

y/n lets out a small scoff, "it is because, in short, i am a nerd." he says sarcastically, "and also because i enjoy pondering about stupid things such as... 'can you cry underwater?' or 'if you tried to fail and you suceeded at that, then... which one did you do?' it's silly, isn't it?"

felix snorts at y/n's own comments towards himself, finding his answers charismatic and charming. "you're quite the intriguing character, mr. l/n." felix says sarcastically.

"same goes to you, mr. catton." y/n says quickly in rebuttal, earning a cheeky scoff of approval.

as their banter continued, felix found himself drawn to y/n's energy and wit. he couldn't help but admire the way y/n's eyes lit up when discussing their shared interests, even if it was the simplest of topics such as food or music taste. it was refreshing, a departure from his usual interactions with classmates.

"hey, have you ever heard of the butterfly theory?" felix asked, leaning in closer, his curiosity piqued.

y/n looked up from the philosophy book they were skimming through, a playful grin tugging at the corners of their lips. "of course, who hasn't?" they replied, mirroring felix's proximity.

and just like that, they fell into a deep conversation about the theoretical possibilities of the butterfly effect, completely engrossed in each other's ideas and opinions. it was as if the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of them immersed in their discussion. the way y/n talked so elegantly and focused, smiling as he talked about his ideas of different theories. the way his long thick lashes bat down each time he blinks, the way he chews his lips when he takes his time to form a response- felix felt drawn to him like a magnet. usually, it would be people around felix feeling like such but with the roles reversed, he realized how much he wanted to get to know the latter.

as the library hours passed by unnoticed, felix realized he was enjoying y/n's company more than he had anticipated. there was something about how they laughed at his jokes and challenged his thoughts that made him feel a sense of connection he hadn't felt in a long time. eventually, the librarian's gentle reminder that the library was closing snapped them out of their engrossing conversation. "my dears, the library will be closing soon.. please, go to the front if you need to check those books out. i'll be waiting, y/n, felix." the librarian's raspy voice reminds them quietly as she strolls past them with her return cart. reluctantly, the two guys gathered their belongings and made their way out after borrowing some books, their minds still buzzing with the excitement of their discussion.

outside the library, under the soft glow of the streetlights as the sun swayed downwards with the purple and blue gradient mixing in, felix turned to y/n with a smile. "hey, would you like to continue our conversation at the nearby pub sometime?"

felix knew that there was a reason he was drawn to y/n, and he wanted more. he couldn’t help but think maybe this could turn into a real friendship or better.

y/n's eyes sparkled with excitement as they nodded eagerly. "i'd love to," he replied, a genuine smile lighting up his face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ this end was a bit rushed tbh, but i still like it :) if you guys also like it, reblog and heart it (idk this is awkward) i also took inspo from chai, specifically quietwinters so uhhhh.... yeah. thanks for reading.

[kakashixhatakesxwhore]

When i saw you dropped the shino fic, i damn near broke my ankle running to read that shit. It’s gold. I love how jealous Shino is, his internal monologues, how much of a goof he is, how he’s already imagining marrying the girl? 😩💦 I hc him as being totally fine with dying alone tbh lol romance isn’t his *thing* per sé but holy shit when little plant girly came tumbling into his life? He regrets ever looking forward to growing old and alone. Him jumping 70 steps ahead in his mind fits the bill perfectly. We love a lovesick dork.

If you’d drop the raunchy part two, I would absolutely die happy. Is it Shino’s first time? Is it gonna be clumsy and sweet and then he gets the hang of it so quickly their neighbors are filing complaints in the morning? (They’re still at it by then lmaooooo) I’m shriveling into a raisin until you post it.

Ever grateful!!!!!! I love your work!!!!!!!!!!

- 🌱anon

i took it upon myself to rewrite this mf because it wasn't up to code - i hope this meets your expectations, thank you for the wonderful request, i had so much fun with it

The Art of Mutual Pleasure

The Art of Mutual Growth (pt. 1)

Pairing: Shino x f!Reader

Summary: Picking up right where we left off, they go back and have a quick little conversation before getting down to business. Shino's quite the quick learner.

W/c: 4.3k (i'm sorry y'all i promise it's mostly smut)

Warnings: Virgin!Shino, Experienced!Reader, them talking about it, jealousy, swearing, oral (m receiving), p in v (i hate that term idk), lil bit of edging, creampie, lmk if I missed anything

Notes: we switched the pov to yours instead of shino's - y'all gotta tell me how i did because smut is not my forté, i'm literally begging (like Shino's about to do)

Masterlist💿

You were so lucky. As Shino's right hand gripped your left thigh, his sturdy forearm supporting you, you thanked every star in the sky for making this moment possible. Never, in your wildest dreams, did you think your silly crush on your neighbour would turn into such a public display.

Fuck, were you ever lucky.

Getting to feel Shino's soft, full lips clumsily move against yours assured you there was something truly good, guiding the universe. You guided the kiss as he walked down the street, too preoccupied with trying to keep you up while going the short distance to the building to give you the kiss you anticipated to come in your apartment. It was finally happening. You had wished he would have been the one to kiss you first, but you felt such courage when you pulled him forward. Now, your enthusiasm lead you, too excited to get into your head.

He was so strong. And his hands were so large. Not the once did Shino falter in his hold on you, but his stride began to stutter as he started to ascend the stairs to your shared floor. Winding up the six flights of stairs to the floor, Shino's foot took an invisible step at the top most and would have dropped you had you not been holding him just as strongly.

In the stumble, Shino bit your lip, scraping against the skin harshly enough to draw a spot of blood. Pulling back, he seemed to take stock of the injury and frowned deeply.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Gently, Shino leaned down and you got the message, reluctantly putting your feet on the ground. Bringing his hand to your jaw, Shino pulled your lip down with his thumb, saying even more remorse, "I'm so sorry, Y/n. I didn't mean t-"

"Stars above, Shino, you didn't cut off my finger," you laughed, shaking your head out of his grasp before taking his hand and swinging open the door to the hallway. You looked at him, grinning, "C'mon."

Pulling him away as he stuttered an agreement, you marched him down the hallway, pulling your keys out of your pocket with your free hand. There was no struggle for your key this time, as you pulled it out easily, slipped it into the door and popped the lock with a click, all within a moment. You opened the door widely, pulling Shino in behind you as you shut the door behind him.

Immediately, you took the box from him, putting it on the couch before pushed him against the door. Shino let a small whimper escape his lips as you bounced to your toes, pressing your lips to his again. You brushed your tongue against his bottom lip, politely asking for more. The blood from your lip slipped into both of your mouths as Shino hesitantly opened his mouth. In the action, you moved forward to deepen the kiss, but your teeth clashed against Shino's - it was strange. It had to just be a jitter, you thought.

Continuing on, you slipped your tongue into Shino's mouth, eager for him to finally kiss you the way that he had been holding out for so long. But, his tongue met yours oddly, almost too forcefully, yet so very meekly.

You pulled away, pressing another kiss to his lips as you dropped to your feet. Shino's face had a slight sheen, looking at you with his brows knit and his mouth still open. He looked nervous.

It was your fault for coming on too strong. Maybe Shino preferred to take things slow, maybe he was more about passion than vigour. Yeah, that had to be it.

"Do you want anything, my sweet bug boy? A tea, a biscuit...?" You asked slowly, maintaining a sultry tone.

With another quiet whimper, Shino breathlessly replied, "I want you, I need you... I just... I-I'm..."

Placing your arms over Shino's shoulders, your arms together behind his head. Playing with a tuft of his beautiful brown hair with two of your fingers, you looked at him patiently, waiting for him to tell you what he felt he needed to. Shino wasn't very good with words, that much was true, but he would always reach the finish line. Trying not to worry, you kept the idea of what was to come in the forefront of your mind.

"Do you love me romantically, or platonically?" He asked suddenly, giving up on what he was going to say.

You grinned, "I love you, both ways, so much." Popping up on your toes, you pressed a kiss to Shino's cheek.

"If you love me so much, why did you go out to dinner with Kiba?"

It was a fair question, you supposed. But there was something deeper that was bothering Shino, and you started to worry in earnest.

"Kiba and I are friends, you know that."

To your distress, Shino shook his head. "Friends don't go out to dinner with each other, alone."

"We did!" You said, exasperated. Walking further into the apartment, still looking at Shino you went on, "You and I wine and dine all the time, and we were just friends, until a second ago."

"Mhm," he hummed sharply, following you to the kitchen. "I don't know if it's obvious yet, or not, but I've wanted you as more than a friend, the whole time. And Kiba does too, I can tell."

Man, fuck.

You were about to have the best night of your fucking life, but of course, your whorish habits got in the way. Rubbing your face as you got the kettle from the stove, you lamented every man's path you had crossed before Shino's. Men had just become easier to speak to, in your training, in your escapades. You wished that was never the case, that you had been a recluse, saving yourself for this moment.

"I won't go out with him again, okay?" You said, voice wavering as you filled up the kettle under the tap.

Shino just frowned, bringing his hand to his lip to fidget with the plush skin. It made your own frown deepen, feeling a pinch in your heart. Slowly, as if not wanting the answer, Shino asked, "Has he ever asked you out-out before?"

"Yes," you answered honestly. Shino covered his mouth and you couldn't make out his reaction as you put the kettle to the stove, turning it on. "He asked me out to a more romantic dinner, only once, and hasn't asked me again, since."

You had declined Kiba's offer two months ago, hoping that Shino would be the one soon enough. That hope had dwindled some, but you never lost it. 

You always wanted Shino, but you were constantly doubting the potential of him seriously wanting you. Maybe you were just close-by, and therefore, the convenient option. The easy option. 

Slut.

"I'm sorry," you sighed, leaning over the stove, not facing the man you yearned for.

Not saying a thing, Shino got the silver tea tray out of your cabinet. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, feeling that pinch on your heart morph into a twist and pull. Putting the tray down a counter over, Shino stood behind you, his hot breath fanning down the back of your neck. You were ready to cry, but Shino's rich cadence saved you from the squeeze in your chest.

"I'm not mad... just... jealous."

Turning on your heel, you realized Shino was much closer than you had thought. Lowly, you heard the thrum of his bugs, and your lip twitched to smile before your thoughts bore back down on you.

Slut-slut-slut-slut-slut. Slut. Whore. Can't make girl friends? Why? 'Cause you're a whore. You can't even do right by Shino, the man who helped you discover the realness of the spark. You just love a free meal, don't you? Just love a bit of company, hm? Can't stand to be alone for even an hour? Why? 'Cause you're a slut. 

The village bike, that's what people used to call you, back home. It wasn't true, you only ever had five boyfriends, but they all had loose lips. You just wondered how Shino would feel about your nickname, and your head pounded at the idea.

"Petal, please," Shino begged, snapping you out of your thoughts. His expression was so, so sad, which only made you feel worse. You crossed your arms over yourself as Shino put his hands on either side of your face, making you look at him. "I'm sorry, it's okay. I'm not mad."

"You should be," you whispered.

"Was it just a meal?"

"Yeah, but... just... fuck sake, if you're... ugh," you groaned, taking in the fact that you had been going out on platonic dates, in front of Shino, the whole time. You put your forehead on his chest, sinking into him. "I've been torturing you for months, Shino. And, even though I haven't ac-actually been with any of the men from the Hidden Leaf... I... Shino, I'm- I'm not a, erm, a virgin."

Your confession must have come as a shock, because Shino's breath stuttered heavily and a wave of heat rolled off of his body. Just waiting for him to make his decision, to regret ever having touched you, you pressed your head to his chest, trying to get whatever contact you could before he would leave forever.

"Is... it okay that I am?"

You scoffed, "I don't believe you, but, of course, that would be okay. If it were true."

"It is," Shino replied, almost sounding a bit defensive. You looked up at him, to see him looking down at you softly. "Why would I lie about... that?"

A beat of silence passed over the two of you, his hands still on your face. The pad of Shino's right thumb feathered across the apple of your cheek, as if he were afraid that a more impassioned movement would scare you away like a doe. You couldn't help but smile up at Shino, shrugging slightly.

"A better question would be; do you really want me to be your first?" You asked, tone light but still gravely serious.

To your surprise, Shino immediately nodded fervidly. "I want you to be my first everything," he hummed, taking his left hand from your face to hold your waist closer, leaning down. "We'll find something you haven't done, one day."

Capturing your lips with his, Shino kissed you again, and his inexperience became very clear. His zeal supported him majorly, but there was still no clear rhythm to fall into.

So, you made the rhythm. Moving together like puzzle pieces, you guided your lips against Shino's, dominating the kiss in the gentlest way you could. Trying again, your tongue dashed against his bottom lip, and Shino carefully parted his lips and slipped his tongue in your mouth. It caught you off-guard, but you kissed Shino harder, establishing a properly dominant role as your tongues swirled together in a delicious Tango.

"I'm going to take good care of you, beautiful bug boy," you promised him between kisses.

Into your mouth, Shino let a shaky groan fall. You caught it up graciously, moving the kettle off the burner with one hand while the other trailed up his surprisingly muscular arm. Stuttering, you squeezed his bicep and he instinctively flexed against you, making you hum against him.

"Let's get these layers off of you."

As Shino nodded, you unzipped his flak jacket and ran your fingers up his sides, then over his arms to peel off the vest. You cast it to the ground, moving your hands up the black sleeves of his shirt, bumping along the various insignia on the sleeves. Maintaining soft, alluring kisses, you turned your bodies and started backing out of the kitchen.

The goal was your bed, just a few paces through the living room. You would have been fine ripping through the shoji that thinly divided the alcove where your bed lay, but Shino's feet tangled with yours halfway through the open floor of the living room.

You toppled back. Shino tried to catch you, but he was just pulled down with you. Without much thought, you called the vines forward and they caught both you and Shino, dumping you both onto the ground with a softer thud.

Immediately, Shino gasped, "Are you okay?"

"Just fine. Eager," you assured him, drawing as much breath as you could in a few intakes before leaning up and capturing Shino's worried lips.

Grasping his strong shoulders, you brought him down on you harder, feeling a distinct pain in your back that melted into a thrumming heat. You pulled Shino down, to the ground beside you, and moved to straddle his waist, feeling a very large bulge where you sat.

"Stars, you're pretty," Shino sighed, sweeping his hands over your clothed thighs. One stayed while the other curled around your waist, tugging you forward.

Grinding down on him, feeling his bulge growing even larger, you put your hands on either side of his head. Admiring how his hair splayed behind him, you giggled, "You're prettier, Shino."

"Jester. Kiss me."

"Okay, pretty boy." You leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose. "So gorgeous." You kissed his left cheek. "Handsome as anything." You kissed his chin, smiling mischievously as he opened his mouth to finally kiss you again.

"You're cruel," Shino groaned, pulling you down and moving your hip in a slight circle.

Deepening the movement, you rolled your hips forward, and his cock twitched against you, massive and crying for your attention. Shino whimpered beneath you, making an intense warmth spread through your body. Seeing a small portion of Shino's midriff exposed, you touched his chilled skin and dragged your fingers along his bare side, which made Shino shiver. You loved to tease him, he responded so vehemently.

"What's the rush, love bug?" You asked, making Shino's face flame red. You kissed his other cheek, letting your nose touch his as you hovered above him. "You're all mine now, and we have all the time in the world."

"You don't know how long I've wanted to hear those words come from you," he whispered against your lips, leaning forward but not stealing the kiss. "Please, Y/n, I need you. Please."

"Ooh, I like it when you beg," you remarked, elation in your tone. You rolled your hips against him again, making a breathy groan come from Shino. You hummed, creating a steady roll against him, "Tell me what you're thinking, Shino, and I'll give you what you want."

Pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, you move down slightly to press a myriad kisses along Shino's jaw and neck. Finding his pulse point, you nipped it and Shino gasped, "Fuck, uhm, I'm thinking about... fuck. You. Fucking you. How you'll, hah- say my name. How beautiful you'll sound."

Moving your hands along his ribs, feeling the buzz of Shino's bugs just under his skin. You smiled, touching the bunches as they swarmed near your fingers.

"Ugh, ew, I'm sorry," he said suddenly. You felt the bugs reluctantly start to leave Shino, moving toward your apartment's greenery.

"Hm, I didn't mind," you purred, pulling Shino's shirt up to reveal his creamy torso. Shifting down, you straddled his left as you began pressing gentle kisses to Shino's solid abdomen. You chuckled, "You can relax, sweetheart, you don't need to flex."

"I'm not flexing?" he said as if it were a question.

Cripes, you were tingling. Tracing your tongue over the dips of his muscles, you groaned lowly, letting your hand travel to the massive tent in Shino's pants. 

Woah. There was no way his dick was as big as you thought it was. That just wasn't humanly possible.

With every obscene emotion guiding your way, you slowly undid the lacing of Shino's trousers. A steady pulse, and accompanying heat, came from Shino's entire body. His cheeks were still red as he watched you kiss his entire midsection before trailing your lips lower and lower...

"Pop your hips up for a second," you instructed lowly, taking both the waistband of his pants and underwear in your hands. He did and you grinned, tugging down his trousers to reveal his cock. You choked a bit, gasping, "Fucking stars... Hosannah..."

He was so much bigger than you had thought.

Shino's dick was huge. His sheer length was wildly impressive, and his girth was even more delicious. Blue and green hued veins traveled up his shaft, supplying blood to his agitated tip. It was bright red against his milky skin, screaming for your attention. Shino twitched, making his cock bounce against the blotch of dark brown, curly hair that rested above his dick like a halo. You took a sharp breath, mouth watering, positively creaming.

"Is it...?"

"Big? Yes," you cut him off quickly, getting back in the moment. Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, you came forward and licked the precum that dribbled from his tip. Shino took a shaky breath as you moaned, "And you taste fucking amazing too."

In circles, your tongue danced around Shino's tip, and you began stroking him slowly with your hand. He groaned as you closed your lips around him and started to suck. You giggled a little and the vibration made Shino put his head back, on the ground, moving side to side. Smiling, you began to bob your head along his cock, taking a bit more every time until he was hitting the back of your throat completely. Shino's hand came to your head, raking his fingers through your hair and collecting it behind your head.

With a deep, gravely voice, Shino groaned, "You're perfect. Perfect."

Looking up at him with lusty eyes, Shino took in the way his hand fisted your hair, bobbing along with you as you fucked him with your mouth. Strings of small curses and little mewls left Shino's lips as you went on, his orgasm impending.

As his hips began to make the slightest thrusts upward, you popped your mouth off of him. Shino's face went from full-relaxation to betrayal, morphing to a frown. He whined, "I was close, why'd you stop?"

"Shhh, I told you I would take care of you," you murmured lowly. As you spoke, you straightened up and pulled your shirt over your head, casting it by the radiator. 

Looking back at Shino, his eyes were wider than his glasses, and his mouth agape. You laughed as he smiled at you sheepishly, trying to control his reaction some.

You grinned, "I thought you were mad at me."

Before he could reply, you reached around to your back and unfastened the clasp of your bra, letting it fall down your arms as you watched Shino's reaction carefully.

Immediately, he sat up, cupping your left tit while bringing his face to yours again. You smiled into the kiss, grinding down on Shino's thigh as his thumb and forefinger pinched your nipple. His kiss had improved dually, and you could relinquish some control to him. Some.

Tugging at the hem of his shirt, you broke the kiss for a second so that you could pull it over his head. Shino instantly started kissing you again, holding you with both hands on your sides as he leaned back down, pulling your clothed heat back over his cock. Your plush chest pressed against his, and Shino pulled you down further. His fingers trailed down your hips and across the backs of your thighs as Shino bunched your skirt up your your waist, leaving you with just your thin, cotton panties on.

Taking his dick in his hand, Shino pressed his tip over your sopping slit, groaning deeply as the feeling of your wetness against his cock. Still engaged in a lip-lock, Shino pressed you down on his cock, making the cotton sink into you a little. 

With a giggle, you broke the kiss and straightened your back out. Moving your panties to the side, you took his cock and moved it through your folds, making both of you sigh with pleasure.

Then, you positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance and slowly began to slide down. Shino gasped loudly, moaning even more loudly as you sank a little more than halfway. You hummed lowly, trying to take him all, but he was just so fucking big. As you started to bounce gently, Shino groaned and pulled your face down to his, gripping your hip with his other hand. Getting accustomed to your bounce, Shino started to thrust up, into you, making you take even more of his cock.

"You're so fucking big, Shino," you squeaked as his pace quickened.

Shino smiled up at you, his glasses fogged slightly and glinting with the sunset hues from your window. He began to thrust into you with more vigour at your comment, letting the moment guide him.

Your pussy throbbed as Shino took you, and you truly wondered if this was his first time. His cock massaged your walls so perfectly, hitting the perfect spot within you at every-other thrust. Hooking his hips up, he snapped into you at an impressive pace and you took it, biting back legitimate screams.

"Fuck, you're tight."

Pain quickly turned to pleasure as you got somewhat used to his blistering pace and size, allowing you to bounce with him again. Shino moaned lowly, letting his head fall back. He propped his head up up with his right hand as his other squeezed your hip with all his might. Like a prayer, his name fell from your lips as a bundle of nerves accumulated in the pit of your stomach.

Shino's hips began stuttering and slowing, and you took it as your chance to maintain your own quickened pace.

"I'm gonna cum, Petal," he hissed.

"Cum inside of me."

Almost immediately, you felt a squelch within you and could feel just a nice warmth spreading through you. Calling out your name repeatedly, Shino moaned and groaned, whipping his head left to right so handsomely. Lowering yourself down to the hilt, you pursed your lips into a smile and ground down in circles, clenching as tightly as you could. Shino whimpered below you, trying to pull you down for a kiss.

You let him and began bouncing slowly on his cock again, the sound of wetness now very loud. Shino moaned against your lips, making you go faster. He gripped your hips, hard enough to bruise, gasping, "Y/n... I'm so... sensitive. Please."

"Okay," you said lightly. Bringing yourself to his tip, you pulled away from his kiss, then pushed back down, taking him all in a quick movement.

Shino groaned, "Fuck. I love your pussy, fuck."

Holding you aloft again, Shino's hips met yours gently, stuttering every time. Gradually, he forgot about the sensitivity and started pummeling your pussy again.

As his tip kissed your cervix, you purred, scratching his chest, "My pussy is all yours, Shino."

"Mine, forever," he grunted, kissing the angle of your jaw as he pressed your chest against his. "I'm gonna- ah- make those noises come out of you, forever."

"You better, bug boy," you laughed. "Forever."

Shino snapped his hips into you with a renewed vigour as your promise of forever. He fucked into you heavily, moving his hands along the bare flesh of your ass and thighs.

Suddenly, with an arm wrapped around your waist and the other on the ground, Shino stood up. His cock buried itself even deeper in you as he stood, making you cry out his name with a shake to your voice. Shino kissed along your neck as he positioned his arms to bounce you slowly while he walked over to your bed, stepping out of his pants in the process.

Not letting a drop of cum fall from you, he laid you down on your back. Shino looked down at you with a wide smile before taking off his sunglasses for the first time. He cast them aside and neither of you cared to see where they landed as Shino began fucking you again, hitting a whole new angle.

He grasped you by the hips, guiding you to meet his as he repeatedly plunged into you with a force you had never heard of. It was heaven.

Snaking your hand between the two of you, you pulled at your clit, rubbing small circles. Backing your head into the pillow Shino rested you on, you murmured in a salacious lilt, "Shino."

"Again," he demanded, snapping into you with even more strength.

You quickened your pace on your clit, looking into his eyes as you repeated, "Shino. Shino, I love your- mm- cock. Stars, Shino, ugh-"

With his intensity and your toying with your clit, a grand knot formed in your stomach, weaving intricately, sweeping you away. You just kept repeating Shino's darling name, feeling the knot burst. 

Waves of pleasure rolled through your body, tensing every muscle periodically. Looking into his kind, sharp brown eyes, you let a gentle moan fall from your lips, still repeating his name, and Shino's hips stuttered in his time, slamming down into you deeply.

He slowed for a moment, feeling your walls fluttering around him, before he resumed his unrhythmic tempo. As you felt another burst of heat within you, Shino stopped, his eyelashes batting closed and groaned, "You're all mine, Y/n - taking all my cum like that, you must really love me."

"I love you so much," you said as Shino thrusted into you a few more times as you both hissed at the overstimulation. "I wanna take your cum forever, love bug. Only yours, all of yours."

"Oh, we're never leaving this bed, if you keep talking like that."

Looking at the man between your legs, you had never felt so seen, admired, and invigorated. You just hoped he felt the same as you kissed him sweetly, imagining how nice it would be if Shino were to be your husband.

[schrodinger-swriter]

For the Hazbin fluff tropes can you do 1, 3, and 12 with Lute, gender neutral reader if possible. Please and thank you!

Prompts 1, 3, and 12 with Lute

I hope you all don't mind me slowing down a little on writing. I promise I do intend on getting through all of your requests, I've simply entered one of common periods of.. not being.. not tired. On top of that my eyes have no been agreeing with what I'm writing, I'm finding I mix up words more and more. At least for the past two days, though I contribute that to my exhaustion..

That aside, I hope you enjoy Anon! C:

ONE BED TROPE:

Oddly enough? This one would not end up as sweet or romantic as other characters. This is simply because Lute treats sleeping as a necessity , and if she has to share a space with someone than so be it. If anything she might be a little lost on why you're the one making this a larger deal than it needs to be. Are you uncomfortable? She's more than willing to make a barrier between the two of you if it means you'll calm down. Not the brightest when it comes to crushes, she doesn't even notice your reddened face.

FIRST KISS:

Quick and light. You might actually be her first kiss. Ever. She puts her duties above everything else so it is likely that is the case, unless she was a human before and had a life. With all that being considered, I don't think she would have much build up to the kiss, simply casually incorporating it into the day like it was any other smaller sign of affection. It's not treated as much of a big deal, in her eyes. The corners of her mouth do curl as she watches you process, though.

SOULMATE AU:

Writing. That's how you find one another, writing on your skin.. effectively sending notes to one another. It does not take long for you to find each other, it's even faster than it's confirmed you are both in Heaven. Oddly enough, I do think Lute would value the soulmate system in this universe, like it's another law of the way things are. She follows it just as she follows Heaven's orders. There isn't much doubt on if you two will be compatible with one another, or any fear that she will never find you. It's going to work out, it's what was intended... Sometimes you write notes to one another when you're apart, using your skin as the letter. Every now and then when Lute is in a meeting or off doing her work, she writes to you to let you know when she's going to be coming home.

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

It became an odd habit.

“Will you accompany me, Harry?”

Harry was well past the point of complaining. Whenever Riddle appeared out of nowhere and knocked on his door, there was little he could say or do to get him to leave.

“Oh, do I have a choice this time?”

He didn’t laugh, per se, but the slight tilt of Riddle’s head and the suspicious gleam in his eyes were as loud as one. He held out his hand, palm up, in answer.

Harry refused the offer with a shake of his head and sighed, “Lead the way, I guess.”

They never apparated to the same place twice. Their surroundings were always unfamiliar and remote and never inspired much confidence in the possibility of Harry returning home safely. But he always did. Riddle made sure of that.

Sometimes Harry wondered if this was his weird way of letting off steam, as though their time together somehow relaxed and revitalised him. It was an insane thought, but the fact remained that Riddle would show up tense and barely controlled and one careless word away from a fight, and he would leave loose-limbed and satisfied. Usually at the expense of Harry. 

This time was no different. Riddle’s fist was white-knuckle tight, and the location was a drab and dreary abandoned manor of some kind. Walls of crumbling stone and floorboards rotted nearly through, making each step taken a delicate dance. The dust in the air was enough to make Harry cough once or twice; the building had clearly been neglected for a long while.

“What is it today,” Harry asked. “Another potion? More rune work? If you try to teach me a dead language again, I will kick you in the shin and finally make good on my threats of moving to a different country.”

Riddle glanced back over his shoulder and raised a single brow. “Do you truly think distance will stop me?” He asked.

No. Harry didn’t even think being universes apart would stop Riddle.

Still, he scoffed and said, “Creep.”

Riddle simply smiled. “I will not subject myself to that again. You are surprisingly ungrateful for having the honour to learn from a being as powerful as I.”

Harry wanted to roll his eyes, “Yeah. So sorry for not appreciating everything you do for me. Oh, wait—I never asked.”

Riddle hummed, not agreeingly. Never agreeingly. “We will be attempting a discipline you’ve shown great promise in but one we’ve never indulged upon.” 

For the life of him, Harry couldn’t think of a single thing in which he showed great promise. He also couldn’t think of a time when Riddle didn’t indulge whenever he damn well pleased. “As vague as ever today,” Harry prodded. “Don’t hold back; share with the class.”

Riddle stopped so suddenly that Harry almost ran straight into him. With a careless wave of his hand, the double doors to their left opened.

And inside was a pristine duelling arena. 

Harry’s mouth parted, but he couldn’t find the words. This was damn impressive. 

The stone walls were just as decrepit here as they were throughout the manor, but their ruin spoke of wide-cast spellfire and magic dark enough to leave its mark. Of a frazzled mind with enough wherewithal to make it to the duelling room but not enough to cast a protective barrier. It had ample light from shattered windows, but not a single shard of glass could be found across the decorative tiled floor, its pattern still polished to a dull shine.

They walked in - or, rather, Riddle walked in, and Harry followed behind him, content in his rapture. He wouldn’t truly ever get used to wizarding homes and their larger-than-life rooms. Harry would have been none the wiser passing by those double doors; they didn’t look nearly grand enough to hide such a gorgeous arena. But that was magic, he supposed.

It was clear they’d stopped. Harry wasn’t sure how long it had been with as taken as he was by the stage next, admiring its long dark floorboards that came together in a sort of v pattern that repeated. Harry was so hung up on trying to remember the name of it (Houndstooth? Plaid? No, it was something with a C-) that he hadn’t realised just how close Riddle had gotten.

He felt a chill travel up his throat before he processed the movement. Riddle’s hand was just beneath his chin, ice-cold fingers a hair’s breadth away from Harry’s skin. With a muted gasp, he froze and locked eyes with him, which wasn’t very hard to do. Riddle’s were already fixated on him. 

Their silence was thick enough to suffocate. 

Riddle curled his fingers into his palm slowly and brought his hand to hover just before the round of Harry’s face. He could sense that creeping cold reaching out again with the phantom feeling of Riddle’s knuckles pulling a slow line down his cheek, stopping at the corner of his lips. Riddle moved back then and gestured at them, “Close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies, Harry.”

His teeth made an audible click, the sound making Harry wince when it echoed in the hollow space. To save himself from further embarrassment, he grimaced and blessed Riddle with one of his rarely used meaner smiles, “Come that close to me again, and I’ll bite that finger off.”

Riddle pulled back even slower and tilted his head to the side. He raked his gaze over Harry’s face, down his body, and on his pass back up, he shrugged and said, “Now, now. That’s no way to handle your disputes, is it?”

Like a static shock, Harry finally realised what was happening. 

All that anger brewing like a potion in his gut dissipated. His shoulders fell - he wasn’t sure when they’d hiked so far up in the first place - and he huffed out a laugh. “I know what you’re doing,” Harry said.

Riddle looked at him with all the innocence of a Nundu. “Oh? Am I doing something, Harry?” He asked.

Harry breathed through the kindling trying to catch a new spark. “You know what you’re doing,” he started backing away. Riddle’s eyes followed him keenly as his steps took him up the middle of the duelling stage and back down to the other side. He wasn’t running away, just trying to get some distance. “You always know what you’re doing. And I am not falling for it—you won’t manipulate me into this.”

“Surely I’ve no understanding of what you’re implying.” Riddle’s polished shoes tap-tap-tapped their way right after Harry, but he stopped on the stage. He looked down on him from above. “But if I did,” Riddle continued, “I’d tell you you’re only prolonging the inevitable.”

Harry shook his head, this man… “You can’t be serious?”

Riddle folded his hands behind his back. His smile was sharp. “When have I ever been anything but?” He asked, and Harry scoffed. 

He wavered for a moment, maybe two, and finally climbed back up the steps to the duelling stage. Riddle, the asshole, looked far too pleased. He turned to face Harry, and they were so close that he only had to look down ever so slightly.

They hadn’t been this close in a long, long time. It was just Harry’s luck that it was happening twice in one day. Fourth Year came to mind as the last time Harry was forced into this proximity. Forced because, unlike now, he hadn’t ever chosen to be in Riddle’s space. Or company. Or attention. 

They stood in silence. Riddle’s grin grew teeth with each passing second. Harry knew what he wanted, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to instigate it—invite it any more than he already was. 

Then, Harry heard an echo of words, a lost encounter in the back of his memories. It pulled a smile on his lips, smaller than Riddle’s but no less there. “A wizard’s duel, then?” Harry teased. “Wands only — no contact?”

At the sight of Harry’s smile and the sound of his teasing, Riddle’s face fell flat. His eyes narrowed. “Your focus should be here, Harry.” He paused and said, “We wouldn’t want you to get hurt because of some minor distraction. Would we?”

Harry smiled a little wider, “Jealous? How very like you.”

Riddle sneered, “Do not speak of me as though I am predictable.”

Now Harry gave in to the temptation to roll his eyes. They, unfortunately, knew each other very well. Riddle was the most predictable person Harry had ever met, and he knew it—if only because Harry was the most predictable person he had ever met. 

“Fine,” Harry conceded. “Ten paces, right?” He turned to begin his count, but Riddle stopped him by the scruff of his shirt. 

Non too gently, he yanked Harry back. Cold breath puffed against his ear in semblance of a laugh. “And we bow, Harry,” Riddle murmured, causing a wave of shivers down Harry’s spine. 

Harry glared over his shoulder and spat, “Make me.”