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writingforstraykids · 5 months

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I owe you a kiss

Pairing: Minho x Chan x fem!reader / Minchan x fem!reader

Word Count: 4344

Summary: As the upcoming comeback gets closer, Chan starts isolating himself from you and Minho, getting overwhelmed. He can't quite deal with feeling so much and nothing at all at the same time and takes it out on the two of you. Minho and you try to help your husband out.

Warnings/Tags: angst, fluff, argument, chan feels numbish, fear of flying, domestic married life, emotional hurt/comfort, angsty!chan, soft!min

A/N: I don't know where that came from, but enjoy me fabricating 4k of angst and domestic bullshit in like half an hour😭🥹

PART TWO

My mind is complicated Find it hard to rearrange it But I'll have to find a way somehow Overreacting lately Find it hard to say I'm sorry Still - Niall Horan

You gently knock at the doorframe to your bedroom to avoid startling your husband and step inside. “You have everything you need, darling?”

Minho's currently packing his suitcase for his trip lasting a week. He looks up, gently blowing his hair from his eyes. “I think so, yes,” he flashes you a warm smile. After checking everything once more, he nods and throws the suitcase closed. "Where's our Channie love?" he asks, pulling the zipper closed and fidgeting with the lock.

"Working," Chan gives back from next door.

"Of course you are," he says more to himself, making you giggle. Over the past few days, Chan grew very quiet, burying himself in work and avoiding you for most of the time. It happened sometimes before a busy schedule, and Minho had learned to deal with the fact that Chan needed this to recharge. Minho, Chan and you had been dating for four years before tying the knot five years ago. He knows the two of you inside out by now after almost a decade. Minho strolls into Chan's working area and rests his hands on his shoulders. "Hey, there."

"Hey," Chan gives back, not looking up from his screen and staying seated at his desk.

"You're hungry? I can order something," he tells him, gently running his hand through his hair.

"Stop that," Chan grumbles and tilts his head away from him.

"Okay, sorry," Minho nods calmly and pulls his hands back. For a moment, the sound of Chan's fingers hitting the keyboard is all that can be heard. "So?" he asks, his patience starting to wear thin.

"I'll keep working," he shakes his head.

"Chan," Minho says firmly. "I'm leaving after that, and it would be nice to have lunch with my wife and my husband."

"Fucks sake, you're annoying," Chan sighs and waves him off. "I'll be there in a moment."

"Thank you," Minho rolls his eyes and makes his way downstairs. "Someone's in a mood," he grumbles as he leans against the kitchen island beside you.

“Don’t take it to heart, you know he gets sometimes,” you say soothingly, rubbing his shoulder. “What are we getting?”

“Whatever you want, honey,” he winks at you and lets you scroll through the options. “I don’t get him. It’s still a month until the album drops, and we have pretty much everything sorted out. Sure, I have to come up with two more dances, but that’s my issue, isn’t it?” he asks.

“You know Chan makes everything his responsibility,” you tell him and hand him back his phone. “He’ll calm down again; I’ll see what I can do.”

Minho sighs softly and orders the food, still seeming a little pissed off. Usually, Chan knows how much Minho needs a stable environment before a flight. He's scared of flying enough as it is, but especially when he's caught up in his thoughts. So it confuses you a little that he doesn’t seem to pay much attention to that today.

You call out for him twice as your food arrives until Chan finally joins you downstairs.

Chan's staring into the distance, pushing his food around on his plate and staying quiet as Minho and you keep on talking.

"Tastes good?" Minho asks after a while and gently nudges Chan beneath the table.

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugs and ignores the frown Minho gives him.

"How's work going, Channie?" you try your luck.

"Great," he simply says, shoving some food into his mouth, clearly signaling he doesn't want to talk right now.

"Good," Minho nods and sighs softly. "I'm a little nervous."

"Why?" he gives back, almost a little routined.

"I hate flying, as you know," he groans frustratedly.

"You did fine before," Chan shrugs and takes a sip from his drink. "It's just a flight."

"Yeah, that's the point, isn't it?" Minho asks, starting to get a little irritated.

"Don't be a baby, you'll manage," he says, and Minho stares at him, unable to come up with a proper answer.

"Thanks, very helpful," he presses out, gripping his glass tighter as his hand starts to shake. He has no time for a mental breakdown right now.

“Channie,” you sigh softly, deciding to step in. The last thing you want is Minho to leave like that.

Looking up, Chan sees the confusion and anxiety clouding Minho's eyes. "Sorry, Min, you're not a baby," he says, not very convincingly, but it seems to be better than nothing to Minho.

Minho glances at his watch and clears his throat. "I'll go and grab my stuff," he announces.

Chan rolls his eyes once he's gone and braces his head on his hand, staring out of the window. He wonders how the hell he'll be able to finish everything he has to do in so little time.

“Channie, angel?” you ask gently, and he hums in response. “At least try and be nice? He’s gone for a week after.”

“You two are fucking exhausting,” he groans, and you raise your eyebrows, ready to answer as Minho comes back downstairs.

You get up to collect the trash and decide to continue this talk later.

"I'll see you in a week then," Minho says gently, and Chan hums, agreeing. "You'll be okay?"

"Sure," he nods and stares into the distance.

Minho takes his hand and tries to meet his eyes. "Love?" he asks, and Chan very slowly turns to him. "You know you can call if you get overwhelmed or need help with anything."

"Mhm," he hums and pulls his hand from his hold.

"Okay," he chews on his lower lip for a moment. "Well, I'll be leaving then."

"Okay," he nods.

"Can I at least get a kiss?" Minho asks quietly, and his heart sinks as Chan frowns.

"No," he simply says.

"No?" Minho echoes quietly, subconsciously taking a step back.

"Don't feel like it," he shrugs and glances at his watch.

"You don't feel like…wow, okay," he nods, trying to swallow down the sudden sickness spreading through him. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks timidly. Maybe this wasn't just Chan pulling back, but he had done something to upset him.

“No, you didn’t, Min,” you say firmly, staring at him irritated.

Chan turns to look at him properly for the first time today. Minho's heart sinks at the carelessness in them. "Right now, you're keeping me from working. I have stuff to do, mate."

"Mate?" Minho presses out, taking a few steps back. "Alright, I'll see you in a week, bestie. Seriously, fuck you," he snaps and grabs his keys.

"Minho, come on," Chan groans, rolling his eyes at him. "Stop overreacting."

Minho fidgets with his wedding ring before slamming it on the table. "Know what that is?"

"You're being serious right now?" Chan raises his eyebrows at him mockingly.

"That stupid little thing means we're husbands, idiot. I've been by your side for nine years now; I think you can start using appropriate terms, Chan hyung." Minho says firmly, and for a moment, he considers leaving the ring here. But then he remembers he has a public image to maintain, and showing up without one of his wedding rings would raise questions. Also, deep down, it feels wrong already to only wear yours.

"You're being ridiculous," Chan says and gets up, pushing past him.

"No, I'm hurt. There's a difference, Chan," he tells him, grabbing his suitcase. "But fine, I'll leave like that. I'll see you in a week then."

"Fucking great," Chan nods, walking upstairs and not looking back.

Minho watches him, stunned, before finally leaving the house and slamming the door closed.

You stand still for a moment, trying to process what has just happened. "You had one job, Chan! Be nice!" you shout upstairs.

"Fuck you too!" he shouts back and slams his door closed.

"You two are fucking ridiculous sometimes," you curse and search for your keys.

Minho gets into his car and stays there for a few minutes, trying to calm down. Secretly, he hoped Chan would join him and make things right before leaving. But he doesn't. The door to his car opens, and you lean down to look at him, raising your eyebrows in amusement. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he groans and gets out quickly.

You giggle softly as he rushes over to you and pulls you into a tight hug. “Well, goodbye then, darling,” you tease him lovingly.

“I’m sorry, he pissed me off,” he groans, stifling his laughter in your shoulder.

“I know he did,” you laugh and soothingly pat his back. “Give him time to sulk; he’ll start missing you in two days top. He always does.”

“You’ll be okay?” Minho asks, pulling back and looking at you caringly.

“I’ll be fine. It’s Channie,” you giggle, and Minho snorts. “Deep down, he just needs a cuddle and acts tough so we won’t notice how stressed he is.”

“You handle this way better than I do, even though I’ve known him longer,” he laughs, rolling his eyes at himself.

“I just have a little more patience for his bullshit,” you giggle and check your phone. “You should leave before you miss your flight.”

“Ugh, fine,” he groans.

“You’ll do great, my darling,” you assure him. “Call me when you land?”

“You know I will,” he promises, lovingly kissing you goodbye. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, Minnie darling,” you smile.

Minho has been gone for four days when he gets a call. To his surprise, it's Chan's number popping up on his screen only minutes before a fashion event. Minho searches for a quiet corner and takes the call. "Hey, I don't have much time. What's up?" he asks calmly and frowns at the silence that follows. "Chan?"

"Something's wrong," he says quietly.

"What do you mean?" he asks confused.

"I don't…I don't feel good," he says monotonously. "Something's off."

Minho swallows softly. "Where are you?"

"Home," Chan tells him.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks.

“Left,” he answers quietly.

“What do you mean she left?” he frowns, nervously scanning the crowd around himself.

“Told her to leave me alone. She took that to heart,” he explains. “She’s with her best friend.”

Minho exhales relieved, knowing you are safe with your friend. "Channie, what's wrong?" he asks patiently. "You can't just push us away. We love you, and saying yes five years ago means you're stuck with us," he chuckles, waving off his assistant tapping her watch.

"I know," Chan says and chews on his lower lip, unable to put it into words. "Remember when I had that episode of feeling worthless and overwhelmed back when we were trainees?"

"Mhm, of course I do," he nods, swallowing hard as he thinks of Chan's emotional state back then. Nothing had worried him that much in a long time. "Is that what's going on?"

"No…I feel..kinda numb," Chan admits and curses himself. "I feel so much and nothing at all. I feel like crying, but I can't, I can't focus on anything, I feel like everything I do is pointless and…Minnie, can you come back home?" he asks, his voice whispering. "It's starting to scare me whenever I have a clear moment." Minho rubs his face tiredly, and Chan takes his silence the wrong way. "I know you have shit to do…I just thought..I need you, please?"

"Give me an hour to sort this out," Minho says, and Chan exhales in relief. "I want you to grab a blanket, make yourself some tea, and put on your favorite series. Get comfortable on the sofa downstairs. You think you can do that for me?"

"Okay," Chan nods.

"I'll let you know when I'm on the plane," he says, sighing softly. "Channie love?"

"Yeah?" he asks quietly.

"Don't do anything stupid," he says, his grip around his phone tightening.

"I owe you a kiss," he answers, and Minho smiles sadly.

"Damn right you do," he nods and is about to end the call.

"Minho, baby?" Chan asks, almost a little timid.

"Yes, dear?" he asks patiently.

"Have a safe flight. You can do this, and I'll be there once you're back," he says, and Minho blinks back tears, gripping his phone tightly.

"Thank you," he whispers. So he hasn't forgotten.

You frown softly as Minho’s name pops up on your screen. Shouldn’t he be at some fancy fashion event right now? “Min?” you take the call confused.

“Hey, honey,” he says sweetly. “You have a minute?”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod agreeing, and smile at your friend thankfully, who hands you a cup of tea.

“Chan called,” he says and sighs at the silence following. “What happened?”

“Well, what did he tell you?” you ask stubbornly.

“Stop playing games, baby girl,” he warns you. “I should’ve been on some red carpet five minutes ago. So, what happened?”

You roll your eyes and subconsciously play with the two small rings decorating your ring finger: one for Chan and one for Minho. “I made the mistake of thinking I’d get a hug and kiss goodnight from my husband,” you tell him quietly, and he can tell you’re hurt. “He told me to leave him alone, so I did.”

“Fucking hell, Chan,” he breaths out and throws his head back in frustration. “I promised him to come home early, but I need some time to figure this out.”

“Oh, please, Min, it’s only three days,” you protest. That’s not what you had intended at all. “We can manage that, and we’ll talk once you’re back.”

“Well, he can’t,” he shakes his head.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“He called me to ask if I can come back because he’s not doing alright. He said something about feeling numb and like failing,” Minho explains, following his assistant, who had given up by now, to his car.

“Shit, Min, I didn’t know. I thought he was stressed and taking it out on us,” you say apologizingly.

“Relax, I didn’t know either,” he sighs, getting into his car. “Listen, I’ll be back home in a few hours. You think you can go back home in the meantime?” he asks gently. “I know you’re hurt and-.”

“No, it’s alright. Of course, I’ll go back home,” you say, already getting up and gathering your things. “You have a key to get in?”

“I think so, yes,” he nods.

“Alright, I’ll see you later then. I’ll go check on Channie,” you promise, and Minho exhales, relieved. You quickly explain everything to your friend before driving home a little faster than you should. Closing the door, you kick off your shoes and rush into the living room.

Chan looks up at you, confused, eyes widening at the sight of you. “Y/N?” he asks stunned.

“I’m so sorry, Channie angel,” you apologize and sit down next to him on the sofa. “I didn’t realize you were struggling that much. I thought you were stressed or something.”

“Min told you?” he asks, chuckling as you nod. “Typical, can’t keep a secret.”

“He’s worried,” you scold him gently and take Chan’s hand. “I’m worried.”

“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you,” he admits. “I don’t like worrying you. I just gave up hiding from Min because he witnesses most of it during work anyway.”

“Fair point,” you hum softly and hesitantly rest your head on his shoulder. This time, he lets you. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “I’m not myself at the moment. Min has helped me out before when we were still trainees, I trust him with this.”

“Okay then,” you nod, smiling as he wraps his arm around you. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Thank you,” he says gently.

When Minho gets home a few hours later, he feels drained, pushing his suitcase into a corner and kicking off his shoes. He's still wearing the makeup and outfit for tonight's event, having wasted no time with changing. He tiredly runs his hand through his hair and stares at it for a moment, still shaking as the adrenaline and fear of the flight slowly wear off. His eyes fall upon the wedding rings on his finger. His heart steadies, remembering why he's there as he looks at Chan’s.

A pair of hands slip into his, taking his smaller ones and gently squeezing them. Minho looks up and meets the eyes he fell in love with all those years ago. Chan moves their hands up to his face, planting a tiny kiss on each of his knuckles. "Breathe," he tells him quietly, and Minho exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding in.

Minho can't stop himself and pulls him into a tight hug. He buries his face in his shoulder, stomach sinking as Chan stiffens for a moment in his hold. He pulls back, unable to meet his eyes. "Sorry, I should know better, you're not feeling up for this right -."

Chan cuts him off by pulling him in and shaking his head. "Sorry, I'm a little slow at the moment."

"That's okay," Minho assures him and gently rubs his back.

"I can't do anything right at the moment," Chan says quietly, gripping the back of Minho's suit jacket tightly.

Minho soothingly runs his hand through his hair. "Sometimes it's enough if the only thing you did today was breathe."

"If you think so," Chan mumbles into the fabric as he buries his nose in his shoulder.

"I know so," he tells him, resting his head against Chan's.

“You told Y/N,” he speaks up after a moment.

“Of course I did. She’s our wife, Channie love,” he giggles softly. “She should know, it’d worry her more not knowing what’s going on.”

He hums gently and tightens his hold on him. "I don't know what to do," Chan admits quietly. "I never felt so empty and isolated."

"I know that's probably hard to believe right now, but I promise you'll always find me in these three places: In front of you to cheer you on, behind you to have your back, and beside you, so you're never alone," he starts out gently. "I'll find a way to make you feel full again…fuck, that came out wrong," Minho groans, and for the first time in almost two weeks, Chan laughs.

"Idiot," he giggles and pulls back, meeting his eyes. He reaches out for him, hesitantly brushing back a strand of hair, fingertips tracing the features of his face. Once he reaches his lips, Minho plants a gentle kiss against his fingertips. Chan looks up, and he can't quite pinpoint the look in his husband's eyes. "I messed up that event for you, didn't I?"

"It doesn't matter," he assures him. "You're more important."

"You're mad?" he asks, squinting his eyes at him a little.

"Do I look mad?" he asks gently.

Chan frowns a little. "No…you look pretty."

A soft smile covers his lips and travels to his eyes. "That's very sweet."

"It's weird because I can tell what you're feeling, but…I have no clue how to grasp what I'm feeling," Chan admits, tears brimming his eyes. "I'm messed up, aren't I?"

"You're struggling," he reminds him kindly. "We can work this out. We did that before."

"Promise?" Chan asks, searching his eyes observantly.

"I promise," he says, holding Chan's hand wearing the wedding rings. "I told you I'd be there, no matter what," he tells him, and Chan nods firmly, holding on to the truth of those words. "I need to get rid of the makeup and…whatever the hell that is," he says, looking down at himself. They've put him in some suit and casual clothes arrangement with way too many straps in a different fabric to his taste.

"I'll help," Chan says, and Minho nods thankfully.

“Channie?” you ask quietly. Minho turns in Chan’s hold and smiles softly, seeing you. You’re wearing one of his sweaters, and your hair messily falls around your face. You tiredly rub your face and squint at them before the realization hits you. “Oh, Minnie, you’re back,” you beam.

“Hey, honey,” he says softly, grabbing your hand and pulling you into their hug. He plants a tiny kiss on top of your head and giggles as you pout at Chan.

“Got cold without you,” you tell him.

“Sorry, baby,” he chuckles and rubs your back. "I had to check on Minho."

"You're doing okay?" you ask him gently.

"I'm glad to be on solid ground again," he snorts and lovingly brushes back your hair. "Let's go upstairs. Channie's helping me, and then we can all go to bed."

"Sounds great," you nod and tiredly rub your eyes. "Channie?" you ask sweetly, making grabby hands at him. Chan snorts and rolls his eyes before lifting you up to carry you upstairs. You smirk at Minho as he follows the two of you. "Doesn't he look handsome?"

"Already told him so," Chan comments.

"You look like a prince, darling. So cute with that glitter around your eyes," you compliment him, and Minho blushes.

"You're too kind, as always, my beautiful wife," he smiles shyly, and your heart swoons at his last words.

"Careful," Chan says as he lowers you on the bed. He makes sure you're comfortable and tugs you in already, leaning down and planting a light, almost hesitant kiss on your forehead. "Thank you for coming home," he tells you quietly enough for only you to hear as Minho throws his bag in a corner of the room. "I feel more safe when you're here."

"Always," you promise. Chan makes his way over to Minho, helping him with his outfit's many buttons and straps. He also removes his shirt and grabs a new one from the closet. "If I weren't so tired, I'd enjoy the show a little more enthusiastically."

Minho's ears burn up red, and he quickly slips into the shirt. "If you weren't so tired, I'd make sure you put that pretty mouth to use for something other than talking shit."

Your jaw drops, and Minho smirks succeeding. "Fucks sake, you guys, I thought we'd be getting some sleep," Chan protests, making you both laugh. "Okay, sit down," he tells Minho and gets comfortable on the edge of the desk. He plants his feet on Minho's chair, left and right of his thighs. Chan places one hand beneath Minho's chin as he starts wiping away all the makeup, cursing softly to himself about all the glitter around his eyes. "As if you'd need any of this shit," he groans, and Minho giggles softly.

"You know how it is," he shrugs and closes his eyes for him as Chan gently removes the last remains of his eyeshadow. His eyes flutter back open as Chan takes off the small diamond earring for him. "Thank you, love," he says softly, reaching for him.

Chan slides off the desk and right into his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. You smile gently, watching them, knowing their goodbye hasn't been that great. He sighs softly and brushes his nose against Minho's. "It's good you're back."

"Yeah?" Minho asks with a shy smile.

"Mhm," he hums, sinking deeper into his eyes. "Feels safe."

"I love you," Minho says, rubbing his lower back soothingly.

"I know," he nods and presses their foreheads together. "And I know I feel the same way about you…even now."

"That's good," he says, squeezing his hips. "Don't force it, we have time."

"Being with you feels..good," Chan tells him and subconsciously presses himself closer. It reminds you a little of what he said to you before you fell asleep on the sofa. At least he seems to be able to feel comfort as well.

Minho very gently reaches up, cupping his face and caressing his cheeks. "How does that feel?"

"Warm," Chan says, covering his hands with his own.

"You like that?" he asks, trying to figure out how to start tackling the issue at hand slowly.

"Yeah," he nods, a small smile covering his face.

Minho thinks for a moment before he knows what to try next. After all, his husband was a sucker for compliments he couldn't take for shit. If that wouldn't make him feel something, he doesn't know what would. "You're so beautiful, you know, Channie love. Such a handsome husband with those sweet eyes and bright smile," he says, noticing a slight blush creeping up his face. "Don't get me started on those soft curls. Or the way my hands fit perfectly into yours." Chan shifts on his lap, eyes widening a little as he takes it all in. "Have I ever told you how much I love you being so cuddly?"

"Minho," he protests gently.

"Yes, beautiful?" he asks curiously.

"He's right, Channie angel…but he forgot about your cute laugh and caring sweetness," you chime in. “Or the way your strong arms wrap around me, the way you let me rest on your chest when I’m tired, and how cute you get when you soothe me to sleep.”

"Stop," Chan groans softly. "Now I feel all warm and fuzzy inside," he says, hiding his face in his shoulder as Minho chuckles. "Don't laugh."

Minho smiles and plants a tender kiss on top of his hair. "See? You're still able to feel good things as well."

"I'm not fucked, in that case?" he asks so innocently it makes you and Minho crack up.

"It's a good start, don't you think?" he asks, giggling.

"I guess so," he chuckles and sighs softly as Minho runs his hand through his hair. "Keep doing that?"

"Let's get to bed, I won't let go of you tonight," he promises.

"What about me, Minnie?" you pout softly.

"I'm in the middle in this case," he snorts, and Chan and you seem happy with that. He smiles as the both of you cuddle up to his sides, heads resting on his chest. Minho soothingly plays with Chan's hair, smiling as you take Chan's hand and intertwine them on his stomach.

PART TWO

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

@kai-lee08 @mal-lunar-28 @malfoygalaxies @soullostinspaceandtime @brownieloved @rebecca-johnson-28 @euphoric-univers @hyunniebunni @galaxycatdrawz @aaasia111 @channieaddict @kthstrawberryshortcake

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paisleypens · 2 months

Text

too cool pt. 2 | spencer agnew x f!reader

the hair i’m crying.

thank you for the love on the last one!! here’s part 1

i was so busy recently but i love this story so let me know what you think! new part soon trust

~~~

In the days that followed their impromptu trip to the park, Spencer panicked over his feelings for Y/N. He hadn’t felt this close to anyone in a non platonic way in a while. After endless hours of thinking about her and their excursion, Spencer realized something haunting. No way was he cool enough for someone like her. Yes they could nerd out together, but why would she want to be with someone like that? He concluded that Y/N would never choose him as the ideal guy for her.

The next few days passed in a blur of meetings, rehearsals, and editing sessions. Spencer and Y/N maintained their easy rapport, but the unspoken tension simmered beneath the surface, growing more palpable with each passing interaction.

It was during a casual lunch break that the topic of relationships surfaced. They sat at a small table, sandwiches forgotten as they engaged in a lighthearted debate about romantic comedies.

"I've never been a fan of those over-the-top love stories," Spencer commented, taking a sip of his Kickstart.

Y/N raised an eyebrow playfully. "Oh, really? You’re too cool for a good slow-burn romance?"

Spencer chuckled, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "Well, I suppose there's something nice about the anticipation, the build-up between two people. But maybe I'm just not cool enough to get it."

Their eyes met briefly, a shared misunderstanding of their words passing between them before they both looked away, the moment lingering in the air like an unspoken confession.

As the days passed, their dance of denial continued. They buried their feelings beneath layers of professional camaraderie, exchanging playful banter and supportive gestures while tiptoeing around the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them.

It was a delicate balance, a silent agreement to keep their emotions in check for the sake of their work and friendship. But with each passing day, the longing glances and fleeting touches spoke volumes, unspoken desires waiting to be acknowledged.

As the days turned into weeks and the unspoken tension between Spencer and Y/N continued to simmer, Spencer found himself grappling with a realization he couldn't ignore—he was falling for her.

It was an unusually quiet Tuesday afternoon in the office, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by a serene calm. Spencer sat at his desk, fingers tapping absently on the keyboard as he tried to focus. But his mind kept drifting, thoughts consumed by Y/N and the unspoken emotions that had taken root in his heart.

He replayed moments in his mind—the shared laughter, the stolen glances, the way her eyes lit up when they discussed their favorite games. Each memory was like a whispered confession, a testament to the depth of his feelings. Spencer leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He knew he couldn't continue denying his feelings, couldn't keep pretending that his heart didn't ache every time Y/N walked away.

“Hey, you good man? You’re looking pretty… gone right now.” Spencer's friend and closest working relationship, Shayne Topp, asked him.

“Yeah… yeah uh what’s up?” Spencer coughed out.

“Well I was going to ask what your dinner plans are but… do you want to talk?” Shayne asked, his eyebrows sewing together in worry.

“No it’s dumb I don’t- I don’t even know what i’d say.” Spencer answered, slumping down in his chair farther.

“Shoot.”

“Well… I really like someone. I- I can’t get her out of my head. I can’t work, I can barely sleep when I could just stay up thinking about her.” Spencer admitted.

“Damn, to be honest I never thought I would see this day. What’s stopping you from getting her?” Shayne questioned, laughing at his school yard confession.

“I don’t man have you seen me?”

“Uh yeah you’re the ideal man.”

“Very funny. But no I'm serious she’s- let’s just say she is way too cool for me. Very far out of my league.”

“Dude have you seen my relationship? If you like her that much it’s dumb to torture yourself like this.”

“Yeah but, we're friends. What if I screw it up?”

“But what if you don’t?”

#smosh #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew #smoshblr #smosh x reader #smosh fanfiction #fluff #paisleypens

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mamas-filly · 30 days

Text

The Vet Visit

"So poor thing was just loose on the street?"

"Yeah! She was really friendly so I thought she had to have an owner.

"Well, she doesn't have a chip or a collar, so if you're that fond of her, you can just take her home."

A hand reaches through the bars to pet your head, as you're shivering without the clothes this woman found you in.

"What do you think, girl? Are you coming home with me?"

The person in a white coat across from your captor speaks before you can say anything, the two of them continuing to talk above you

"We'll need to give it the required shots and give her a microchip, of course, plus any other... 'procedures' you might be looking for"

"Oh, I'm not looking to get her spayed right now, but Im glad she's being chipped, I would hate to have her get out and never see her again!"

"Of course, ma'am. If you'll just return to the lobby, we can set up payment and a follow-up appointment."

You finally see her face as she leans down to peer through the bars of the oversized crate you've been in, petting your head again as she coos into your ear

"I know its scary girl, but the Vet's going to take very good care of you okay?"

The cage opens, and you scramble out, starting to try and say something before she's too far, but as you open your mouth you feel a sharp pinch on your hips and the desperate pleas only come out as an enthusiastic "Bark!"

Stunned in surprise, you find yourself easily wrestled down by the strong, confident hands of the vet as they hold you still for the next shot, and the next.

"Good girl... good girl, you just got excited when your owner left, huh?"

Your mind swims in light fluffy emotions, as the doctors hand strokes you, no longer holding you down, though you can't really recall why you were trying to leave in thd first place. The vet calmly looks at your teeth, your breasts, and you even feel a cold glove drift and assess your loins, but all with medical efficiency.

"Your owner is one lucky lady, in perfect health, and very well behaved. It's hard to imagine you were a stray"

The vet muses to himself as you feel the harshest pinch of all today, right behind your ear. But your attention is soon swallowed by the biscuits the vet pulls from his pockets, which you greedily eat from his palm.

Once he's out of treats (and you checked, your face shoved into his pockets as he laughed at your antics), the vet puts a collar and leash on you (earning another good girl for standing so still for him) as he leads you to the lobby.

A receptionist clicks away on the keyboard before turning his head to your new owner.

"All we need now is the name Ma'am"

"Goodness, I only wish I could ask her myself." Your owner chuckles to herself at the thought. "Daisy, she looks like shed be a Daisy"

It's just then that you get led into the lobby by the veterinarian, and you can't help but tug against your leash when you see your owner, you love her, you love your owner(a thought that feels heavy with how universal it is).

Seeing your excitement your owner smiles

"I think the names a hit. Come on, Daisy, let's go home!"

#petpl4y #degradation k1nk #career goals for me #nsft #this took like; 2hours haha

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stars4ni · 8 months

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skz + when your anxious

maknae line + gn reader! ☁️

warnings: anxiety, crying, kisses, stress, cuddling, thunderstorm, panic attack.

genre: fluff + comfort

notes: sorry this took so fucking long, i legit forgot and also i have no motivation. im so so so sorry my loves. enjoy & reblogs would be appreciated!

hyung line

han: you walk into your shared bedroom and lay on the bed. resting your head on jisungs chest, closing your eyes. “hey sweetie, you okay?” you looked up at him. “not really ji, feeling anxious” he ran his fingers through your hair. jisung also has anxiety frequently so he knows how to calm you down. “how come my pretty hm?” you grab onto his waist, snuggling into his chest. “i don’t know i just am” he continues to play with your hair. “i understand, i feel that way sometimes too” you look up at him and smile. “you made me feel a little better, but I still feel awful” He kisses your forehead. “It’s okay love, you don’t have to feel okay. it’s okay to feel this way, and don’t worry it will pass eventually” “will it?” he laughs. “Yes I’m sure of it my love” he kisses your lips. “how about we take a nap hm? that always helps when I’m anxious” “okay sung that sounds good” he pulls the covers over your body. he then wraps his arms around you. “sleep well baby” he kisses you on the cheek. you doze off to sleep as jisung admires your face peacefully sleeping in his arms.

felix: you open the door to your apartment, setting down your things and then sitting on the couch. you were so stressed from work, your boss just kept giving you work even though you couldn’t get any of it done by the deadlines. even if you worked 24/7 you would never get it done. but still agreed to do the work because you didn’t want to seem as a “bad worker”. you just laid on the couch, tears forming at your eyes. you laid there for a couple minutes slightly crying, until you were full on crying. you felt like you couldn’t breathe, you hated feeling anxious. you just kept crying, you couldn’t stop. you quickly stopped crying (or at least tried to) when you heard the front door of your apartment opening. you quickly sat up and wiped your tears away. your boyfriend felix sat next to you, “hi beautiful! i missed you” he said as he hugged your waist. “missed you too…” your voice was soft, sounding like you’ve been crying. “babe…you alright?” he said as he grabbed your face to look at you. “aw bub were you crying?” he said with a pout. “yeah” you said looking away. “why? what’s wrong” he grabbed your hand. “it’s just work” you said starting it cry harder. “hey, hey it’s okay” he said as he put your head onto his chest petting your head. “it’s okay” he kept saying. “it’s okay love, breathe”.

seungmin: “hey weirdo” your boyfriend seungmin said to you as you walked into the kitchen. “hey” you said not even looking at him, or showing any emotion. you just quickly opened the refrigerator and got a energy drink. you walked out of the kitchen back to your room, as you sat in your desk chair you heard min walking in. “min…im really busy” you said typing in your keyboard. “yeah i can see, could you please take a break? it’s been hours. im worried you are going to get body aches” he looked at you concerned. “no babe i’ve got to finish this…” your eyes were glued to the screen. you opened the can and took a sip of the energy drink. “baby how many of those have you had?” min says walking to you. “normal amount… seriously min, i’ve got to get this done go away” he could tell how anxious you were. all he wanted to do was shut your laptop, pick you up, cuddle, and fall asleep. but of course you have been working like a maniac (haha) and not taking any breaks. “fine i’ll go away, just take a break soon” “uh huh…now go away” you said not even looking at him. min left the room and you started to get annoyed with your work. it was due in 30 minutes and you had only gotten half of it done. you were so confused what you were even writing, everything made no sense. you didn’t even think the lack of sleep & nutrition was making you not able to function. you realized that you were not going to be able to finish, you were so annoyed with yourself. you just excepted how you were gonna fail. all you wanted was minnie cuddles, so that’s what you did. you walked out your room to find seungmin on the couch. you sat on his lap facing him, “did baby finally realize they should take a break?” you sighed. you knew he was right. you laid your head on his shoulder. “be quiet i just need cuddles please” “of course my lovely” he said as he then kissed your forehead.

jeongin: you sat up in your bed as you heard a loud noise outside your window, you looked at your phone and saw it was 2 am. it was a thunderstorm, you hated thunderstorms, they always scared you ever since you were little. you were wishing your boyfriend was next to you but he was at his dorm. you so badly just wanted to bury your face into his chest and have him stroke your hair. he always was the best boyfriend when he comforted you when you were scared or anxious. he knew you hated thunderstorms. you looked over at your phone to see a notification from “innie the loml” it read “baby your handsome boyfriend is here outside, please open the door it’s raining really hard 😭” you smiled. you jumped up and ran to the door. you saw him smiling at you. he walked in drying his shoes on the mat and taking them off. “baby… why are you so perfect?” you said hugging him. you didn’t even care if you got wet from his soggy clothes. you were so happy he was here. he kissed your forehead. you went to your bedroom as he followed behind you. he changed into dry clothes as he then crawled into your bed. he wrapped around you as you sunk into each others warmth. the thunder got louder and louder, the rain was so heavy. you hated the loud sounds of storms. you hid your head into his chest. “aw baby it’s okay” he started to run his fingers through your hair, as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. “it’s okay love, im right here” “shhh, it’s alright my love” “fall asleep with me” “you are safe with me sweetie”.

#skz #straykids fic #k-pop #straykids #straykids imagine #stray kids fluff #straykids x reader

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in-death-we-fall · 18 hours

Text

Scar Tissue

Scar the Martyr marks Joey Jordison’s first new music since the death of his Slipknot songwriting partner, Paul Gray. It’s helped heal his wounds and got him excited for the future…

Words: Paul Travers Photo: Paul Harries (drive link)

Joey Jordison and Paul Gray were in many ways the beating, bloody heart right at the centre of Slipknot. They were both in there from the start. They named the band. They were also the core writing team. Joey once said that when he was writing, he’d always just know where a Paul idea would fit just right. When the bassist died in May 2010, Joey lost an important piece of his musical puzzle.

Some of Slipknot’s scars have healed, through their live shows, including an incredible headline slot at this year’s Download. But now, Joey is finally flexing his creative muscles again, with Scar The Martyr. It’s not the new Slipknot album, but their self-titled debut is the first new music the drummer has written since the death of his best friend and songwriting partner. For Joey, though, Paul Gray’s influence still permeates everything he does.

“It’s always going to be difficult,” he sighs. “It will never not be hard to write without him, because he was my partner and my best friend. But there’s a huge part of Paul in me. I know what he’s thinking, I know when he’s upset, I know when he’s happy; I can read his emotions. This might sound weird to people, but I still talk to paul. He still talks to me and it’s spooky. He might not be here in the flesh, but he’s still here in the spirit. When I get stuck I go, ‘What would you do now?’ and he tells me. He helps me when I get stuck.”

That songwriting partnership might still survive in an ethereal fashion, but Scar The Martyr is a very different beast to Slipknot. The album is dense and dark, taking in post-punk atmospherics and tempering its noise-flecked industrial clatter with vibrant melodies and surging synths.

“Do I think it will surprise people?” Joey muses. “Perhaps not so much as other things I’ve done. When I put out the Murderdolls record (2002’s Beyond The Valley Of The Murderdolls), that was a completely left-field move from what I was known for. But for the record I do think that Slipknot fans will totally dig this album.”

That is good. Because the seeds for Scar The Martyr were sown when Joey began the painful process of trying to pick up writing for Slipknot’s long-awaited fifth album.

“I went into the studio and wrote a load of songs for Slipknot. A load of songs,” he says. “I wrote about 30 songs and the stems of another 20, so that’s 50 songs. But when I realised Slipknot wasn’t going to be happening for a while I stayed in the studio and started this.”

Hang on, 50 Slipknot songs? How come this isn’t going on the new record, then?

“The timing just wasn’t right,” admits Joey. “We have to all be on the same page at the same time, but I still have those songs ready for the new Slipknot album. Once we get together we’ll tear them to pieces and see what works.”

So you’re saying the album’s written?

“We might use one song or we might use all of ‘em. I don’t know what the fuck we’ll do.”

Okay. So did Scar The Martyr allow you to make an album without the pressure that the new Slipknot record would?

“There is less pressure,” says Joey. “There are no expectations, so yeah, it’s a lot easier. But I’m not sitting in there just jacking off. This band is now a part of me, just like Slipknot is.”

With the music written, Joey assembled an impressive bunch of ex-men, with Jed Simon (ex-Strapping Young Lad) and Kris Norris (ex-Darkest Hour) on guitars, and Chris Vrenna (ex-Nine Inch Nails) on keyboards. Joey handled drums and bass himself and recruited a largely unknown vocalist, Henry Derek.

“I did want a vocalist that no-one would know,” Joey explains. “Someone put me in touch with Henry and I sent him four songs. When he returned them, I was blown away – he was totally who I was looking for.”

Henry was given free reign on the lyrics. As a consequence, Joey isn’t willing to discuss the themes on the album. The drummer does, however, reveal that much of the turmoil and anguish of the past three years has been channelled into this new project.

“It’s different from anything I’ve ever done and I think you can tell the emotion in the music,” he nods. “I was in a really different place when I was writing this stuff. It’s not just anger, although there is some in there. There’s reflection, beauty – all kinds of different moods.”

And how is Joey Jordison feeling right now?

“I’m ecstatic,” he beams. “I’m really excited. Whatever happens in the long-term isn’t the focus right now, but we’re going to be around for a while.”

That’s good news in one respect, but where it leaves Slipknot’s immediate future is still unclear.

“I can’t tell you an exact timeline,” Joey shrugs. “Stone Sour’s still out [on tour] and I’ve got this record, but [Slipknot] are still playing shows to keep in touch with our fans. It’s just a matter of waiting until it feels right for Slipknot to get back in there.”

What do you think it’ll be like when that happens?

“Whenever it is, it’s gonna be the perfect time, because we’ve never had this much material, ever,” enthuses the drummer. “I just got three song ideas the other day from Corey [Taylor], and they’re fucking awesome. Corey’s primarily been a lyricist in the band, and it’s cool to see someone who doesn’t normally write the music getting so excited about making Slipknot’s next record.”

So Slipknot is still for the future. But for now, Joey has Scar The Martyr to immerse himself in. You get the feeling that somewhere out there, his songwriting partner and best friend would approve.

Scar The Martyr’s self-titled album is out on September 30 via Roadrunner

We’ve seen it live!

Joey unveiled his new band in New York on August 10. We got the first look! Review: Hardeep Phull Live photo: Shaun Regan

It only takes a few songs of Scar The Martyr’s first headline show to realise that Joey Jordison is not trying to create Slipknot Mk II. Instead, the band are attempting to carve out a sound that has more in common with industrial pioneers like Ministry and Killing Joke through songs such as Never Forgive Never Forget.

Although the broader scope and ambition is impressive, it’s the traditionally heavier songs that Scar The Martyr perform more confidently. With it’s (sic) siren-like opening riff and relentless pace, the first single Blood Host is already a crowd-pleaser, if only because it’s the only song anyone has heard to date, while the crushingly heavy finale of Last Night On Earth is where the band give a tantalising glimpse of how good they could turn out to be.

So, with Slipknot still on hold, this is Joey’s main bag for a bit. Us maggots can wait a little longer, as Scar The Martyr are a brilliant distraction.

#joey jordison #scar the martyr #interview #this was from a collection of loose pages #i don't even remember how long i had this one waiting to be typed up jesus christ #my heart </3

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longlivefeedback · 1 year

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Commenting 101

Lesson 2: Describe the Indescribable

How are we all doing after the first week of finding our catchphrases?

Ok! So here's step 2 to help you comment more:

Describe the indescribable

Expressing yourself if hard. Many of you indicated in the notes on the original poll that you felt overwhelmed after reading and eventually just walked away without saying anything in a comment in the fic. As a writer, I get it. Writing is hard. Expressing the chaos of thoughts and emotions in your head is hard. If you want a tip on how to handle this and how to communicate even a little bit to the human being who wrote that thing you just read and who caused all those feels, do this:

Accept that you can't describe everything.

Pick one thing to describe.

Use words if necessary.

If you use your catchphrase at the beginning or end of the comment, you got the start of a real nice comment ;)

1. Accept that you can't describe everything

Just sit with your emotions for a while. Let your thoughts be chaotic. Take a breath. It's ok to feel and think a lot of things. And much as the author would love to know all your thoughts and feelings, they understand that it's hard to write it all down on a blank space. (Trust me, they went through the exact same thing to get that fic you just read out into the world and posted.)

So what do? If you cannot pick apart and describe those thoughts and emotions, it's ok to tell the author so! You can write things like:

"I'm sorry, I have so many thoughts and emotions about this story I don't even know where to begin! Just know that I loved your fic!"

"There's so much I want to say but I can't word properly right now this was amazing!"

"Putting a placeholder here for when I have the energy to comment properly!"

For the last one, you can come back and edit your comment as long as no one has replied to it yet. If they have and you can't, just explain in the thread or write a new comment! :)

2. Pick one thing to describe

So much to say, so little time and energy. Remember our first lesson? Something is better than nothing. So. Pick the first thing you remember. Pick the last thing that set you off. Pick the thing that you've been hung up on since the middle of the chapter.

Talk about it. Try:

"There's so much about this fic, but I want to mention this one thing..."

"Person A doing that thing made me cry!"

"I loved the moment when A and B kissed!"

"That part where that thing happened made me laugh aloud!"

"I'm just a mess of emotions at the end of this fic I can't even"

Check out @dawnfelagund's 101 Comment Starters for more examples.

The LLF Comment Builder was also designed to help users learn to comment using instructional scaffolding, as well as to remove other barriers to leaving feedback such as dysexecutive syndrome, anxiety, mobility issues that make typing long reviews difficult (particularly on mobile), language fluency, and mobile commenting functionality in general. Check it out to see if it helps for when you just aren’t sure what to say.

The key is to pick one thing, and know that that is perfectly okay. Don't let not being able to say everything paralyze you and prevent you from saying anything.

3. Use words if necessary

A picture is worth a thousand words they say...😏 So go wild.

Use emojis, add gifs, and (my personal favourite) the keyboard smash.

"This fic was just asldkfjas;dlkfjsdofwekl 😭🙏💗💞💖❤️‍🔥💕"

Enough said, yeah? :)

Remember:

When in doubt, comment your catchphrase.

Saying something is enough, and it is better than saying nothing.

If you really can't word, just spam hearts 💕💗💕💗💕💞💖❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

See you next week!

Lessons masterpost.

#commenting 101 #llf commenting 101 #101 comment starters #llf comment builder #commenting and culture #comment culture

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kurosstuff · 2 years

Text

Survivor!Natasha Romanoff x reader: second chance(2/2)

Summary: After you turn her down and leaving- S!Natasha will stop at nothing to prove her true feelings for you, even if it ends with a possible broken heart and an unfixable bond

Warning(s): angst to fluff, angst, heartbreak, slight jealousy, violence,"canon" death(s), slight suicide mention(only once) idk what else? Let me know If I missed anything ♡

Reader just can't except shit man-

I hate how this turned out- but I changed it like 3 times so- yeah

Fate always loved playing into the happy love stories- but it seemed Fates favorite thing to do was play sick twisted lives of others and ruin them- rip them apart to the point of no return. Or almost. Fate was always cruel like that- can't change it just need to follow it like it's a book. In a way it is, the writer while the people in Earth are it's characters that it can form into whatever they wanted- change anything they wanted.

It's been months since Natasha has seen you, much less hear anything about you, she's asked around but no one would spill anything-or actually didn't know anything. It was like you were gone again, the silence dilled her head like it was mocking her like it did when she first lost you

No matter where she looked for you, she couldn't find you. She searched everywhere yet It was like you vanished from thin air- like you never existed but obviously you haven't but anything new on you wasn't anything useful or anything. There wasn't anything. Scowling she typed even harsher on the keyboard tiredly, jaw clenched so hard she knew it was going to be sore for a while.

"God damn I- Will you rest?" Turning sharply she glared at Wanda coming up behind her. Taking the computer Wanda ignored the loud protests of the red head in the room. "You need to rest. You won't find them if you continue like this." Huffing annoyed she put the computer down well away from Natasha. Blocking it from view she watched her

A stare down happened between the two stubborn woman- neither wanted to back down. Narrow her eyes Wanda sighed, shaking her head before rolling them at Natasha

"I- ok if and ONLY if you rest up. Like a full night I will tell you were they are." Wanda finally rebroke the silence after a not so subtle self debate, she made a compromise. Something Natasha was more then happy to go along with it. If it could help her find you- she'd do it.

Jealousy filled her after realizing. Of course you'd tell Wanda, you always used to tell her everything no matter what. Even before telling Natasha you would. Couldn't keep a thing from her no matter how much you tried- Wanda didn't even need to read your mind before she knew something she shouldn't.

In the end. It made it more then worth it. Smiling at the address she knew where this was located.

The drive was a long one, a place she never would have thought you'd go to. Not somewhere this obvious- a cabin she remembers you talking about dreaming of owning. The drive would be worth it if she can finally prove she fell for you- that you weren't a replacement.

You never could be one.

The cabin came into few behind some spaces of the trees lined up- like it was blocking the view of the place. A hopeful smile came onto her face, she was finally going to see you again. The nerves were still there of course but more then anything She was excited to see you again.

Getting out of the car-she put some shades on to block the sun, walking up the path a faint noise was heart, stopping she listened closer-music. Whoever she was gonna see had music playing. Once in view she saw you sitting on the porch like you were waiting for someone or something. Turning the music off you turned towards Natasha

Seeing you again, million of emotions filled both of you as you stood watching her from the porch turning towards the door behind you, opening it you gestured for her to follow-it was silent when you lead her to the dinning room, gesturing for her to sit down. The tea pot hissing as she did. Taking care of the drinks for the both of you, she watched you do so- your upset expression "You're disappointed" Natasha spoke breaking the silence first cringing from how obvious her observation was

"Disappointed? You think I'm disappointed?" Turning around to face her- she could see the anger written on your face-no ounce of happiness to see her there sighing angerly, you threw the towel down picking the cups up giving her one not meeting her eyes as you finished the drinks

"Seeing your face again after all those years, caused me to want to die. I wasn't prepared for that- I never prepared for the feelings I'd get to seeing you again. And it hurts" tears flowed from your eyes at your confession, the sob broke out before you could stop it "I feel like your ruining me- again like you did when my Natasha was alive."

Natasha's heart broke even more from your words- she begged her mind to say something. To comfort you in someway- anyway, but she didn't-there's nothing she can do but sit there and wait until you finish what you were saying.

"I wish you wouldn't look at me like that" you spoke suddenly, breaking Natasha from her trance seeing her confused expression you rolled your bloodshot eyes in sorrow. "Like you love me. You don't love me. You love what you lost-" standing up the chair knocked over harshly on how aggressive Natasha threw herself up then over to you- pulling you in a tight hug, crying harshly against your shoulder

"Please- Please don't leave again. I can't lose you"

I can't lose you again The silent reminder of what wasn't said. Nodding your head, you patted her back- letting her sob into your neck.

Natasha grabbed your hand clutching it tightly. "I want to make this work. I love you for you. Not because of anyone else, because of you." Taking a painful gulp she stared deeply in your eyes "please don't misunderstand what I said. It's the truth" She knows deep down she can't treat you the way she treated them. But Natasha can't help it. You are them

She needs to come to terms with it. And you knew it- you both did- the only way for her to come to terms with it the best-you felt was to admit what's been eatting her up everyday, why she looks at you like your a ghost when she did see you before

Closing your eyes you took a moment to calm down, nodding your head you looked at her again. "I- I want to... but..." Biting your lip nervously "can you tell me something. I need to know how the other me died." Natasha took a sharp breath, letting go- she tearfully nodded her head

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Something simple, just in and out. Then you both can go on the dinner date Natasha planned. A picnic dinner date under the stars-your favorite type of date. Every step the box in Natasha's pocket felt heavier then it did the last step. She wasn't nervous, she knew the answer- can see it everytime you look at her.

But she was still nervous

One minute you were both hugging after successfully gaining the intel- the next you threw Natasha down on the ground- shots run through the air breaking the gentle loving atmosphere, muffled screams the next moment, blood everywhere. On you, the floor. Her. The wound itself she couldn't tell where it began or where it ended. You were losing to much to fast.

She doesn't fully recall being pulled away from you-nor holding your slightly limp shaking hand tightly to the Hospital- maybe it was shaking cause she was. Or because you were shaking in pain from the injuries you have-had.

The life line was slow but intact- you were thankfully awake enough to hold some conversations- but your voice was slurred-confused. "Nat-?" Looking up she smiled weakly rubbing her thumb against your hand

"You're ok love. You'll be fine" Natasha hushed you gently, kissing your hand so soft like you were glass, bringing her other hand up to hold your hand with them both she froze- her hand came across her pocket. The box. This wasn't the time she wanted- but she can not wait a second later. Pulling it out she opened it looking at it "I-" swallowing thickly she looked at you softly "I can't imagine my life without you, especially not after tonight. Will you marry me?" Not a second later disaster struck once more. The box fell from her hand the ring chipping on the floor as it crashed down. A single beep echoed the room no breaks in between

She screamed

Pulling her into a hug- Natasha sobbed into your shoulder finally coming to terms with it. Not 100% just on how she had been treating you the way she did her past lover, how could she do that to you? No wonder you wanted nothing to do with her- and yet- the selfish thought continuing this came into her mind, but just as quickly she disregarded it. You were your own person- sure you're them but you're also- you. Pulling back slightly Natasha looked at you in the eyes.

"I never lied when I said I love you" Putting her forehead against yours she smiled sadly " you know that right?" Grabing your hand gently to ground herself better in the situation. If you weren't ready she'd wait. She'd always wait for you. You were home no matter what form. No matter the place. You have been from the start

"I love you too" admiting it aloud for the first time in years- the sad tears also held happy tears from the shared affection- staring into the deep green eyes, it felt like seeing her for the first time since actually meeting her- like falling in love with her again after all these years. Closing your eyes you.

It would take time- how much time is not clear but neither of you cared- not when you will be getting through this together. Neither of you two would be alone again- not while the other was still breathing. Fate has an odd way of bringing lovers together again- but it really did feel like fate as cliché as it sounded. "So, what do you say?" Natasha spoke biting her lip nervously, she was hopeful but she'd understand if you said no- "do you what to try this-Us I mean-?"

"Yes. Let's try it"

There was bumps along the way, because of course there would be- especially in an odd situation like this one. Couples therapy- and separate therapy to help both come to terms with their individual loss, their grievance helped not just alone but with their loved ones-and eachother. It brought them even closer together

"Y/N, I know there's been some ups and downs in our lives. But everyday I look at you the more inlove I feel for you- the more I love to always wake up bed beside you" grabbing your hand she kneeled down on one knee smiling up to you "what I'm trying to say is- there's only one person I want- and that's you, so-" pulling a velvet box out she opened it- gesturing it towards you-smiling nervously

"My love" Natasha spoke, smiling gently, filled with so much love if Tony saw he'd fake gag at the sight, holding her hand out- you interlocked your fingers together pulling you along side her. "Come on babe, the foods not gonna eat itself" pulling you alongside her, she brought you up a path leading into a small clearing, a tent sat in the middle alongside a small table with food decorated along it

"Are we gonna camp?" You asked sitting on the bench looking up at Natasha as she moved around to sit infront of you, Humming she nodded her head. Bringing two paper plates out she dished them up. Watching her silently- you couldn't put a finger on why she seemed so out of it- so nervous.

Opening your mouth she cut you off "No I didn't cook don't worry- I had Wanda do it" laughing slightly as you both stayed to eat "learned my mistake after all" She added jokenly- a couple minutes of silence between the two of you, you saw how she started to grow more nervous than she originally was.

"Nat hun, what's the matter?" You asked drawing her attention to you again- leaning over you held her hand, "you can tell me anything, I'll do my best to help you" giving her hand a gentle squeeze and a small smile- which she returned

"Will you marry me?"

With a smile- you threw yourself into her arms, kissing her face all over- causing her nervous smile to turn into a large grin "Yes" you replied before pressing your lips against hers in a kiss.

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filthforfriends · 2 years

Text

Loosing It (part 2)

Word count: 9.2k

He corners Victoria when the band takes a break. She’s stepped off to the side to text her girlfriend. Damiano and Ethan are discussing the execution of lunch in the kitchen and none of their team members are personally checking in today. It's the perfect time to have an immensely delicate conversation away from intrusion. However, there is intrusion taking place. Thomas is intruding on Victoria’s time and she looks miffed.

“So I was thinking…”

“Uh huh.” Her thumbs tap against the keyboard sporadically.

“That, like, losing your virginity must be so much different for the girls, back when we were in high school.”

“Sure.” She bites her lip and deletes something, expression scrupulous.

“So I was wondering, like, what do you wish you could’ve done differently. If you could change something, what would it be?” This prompts a memory that makes Vic huff a laugh and roll her eyes.

“Christ, done it with someone who really cared about me. Waited till I was older.”

“Okay, but if those things weren’t an issue then what would be really important?” Thomas rushes his words, leden with enough emotion that Victoria looks up and lowers her phone. He’s considered asking his bandmates, or close friends, but the intel would be much better from a girl. Unfortunately, Victoria was smarter than people gave her credit for and saw straight through to a hidden agenda.

“So who’s this about? There were a couple girls in high school, right?”

“Yeah, I haven't taken someone’s virginity since I was 17. I probably wasn’t particularly good at it either.”

“Tom,” she groans impatiently, “why would you be talking to other people right now? Y/n is –”

“I’m not talking to anyone else right now,” he interrupts. Even the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“Good! The two of you work.You’re the same type of human: annoying,” Vic emphasizes, hoping her bandmate will get the message and fuck off. She refocuses on her phone for a moment and Thomas hovers. “Can I help you?” she bites, exasperated.

“If you could redo it today, how would you want it?”

“How would I like to lose my virginity as an adult?” Victoria recites to herself, like it's nonsensical. “I don’t fucking know Thomas. I’m tryna -” she gestures to her phone, irritated. “What are these questions really about? This is so fucking random, even for you.” Thomas falls silent, because he wouldn’t betray your trust like that, so flippantly. The total absence of response piques Victoria’s interest. She slides her phone into her back pocket.

“Right, you’ve bothered me with this so now you owe me an explanation.” Again, Thomas doesn’t speak. He opens his mouth, but realizes there's not much he can say about your situation. Vic softens when she realizes that this wasn’t just curiosity, but something that had been weighing on Thomas' heart. He’d come to her for guidance.

“Okay, we can pretend that this is hypothetical and doesn’t directly apply to your inexperienced girlfriend. In this hypothetical situation I’d want the basic decency that you already extend. Hygiene, personal grooming, prioritizing consent, not fetishizing, the basics.”

“Okay,” Thomas sighs, resigning himself to accept the futility of this endeavor.

“If I were to give a more detailed answer, I’d need more information on this hypothetical situation we’re talking about. Why has this person not lost their virginity at…not 22?”

“It's less about fear of the act itself, but intimidation at the idea of it. I think they struggle with letting go. They’d rather not do it at all then go about it wrong and end up with regret. They’re really worried about that, about regret…hypothetically”

“Okay,” she sighs, drawing out the second syllable. Victoria rests her shoulder blades against an amp while she thinks, chewing on her cuticles.

“I don’t know how to desensitize someone with deeply internalized religious shame that makes them uncomfortable with the idea of lust.” Vic lets out a breath, eyes widening at the scope of the issue.

“Exposure therapy,” she decides. “Do something to bring them to orgasam, or, at least, sustained pleasure. That way they can get used to enjoying their sexuality in front of you.”

“Okay, like, hypothetically what would that be?” he inquires.

“I don’t know, she’s your girlfriend!”

“This is a hypothetical discussion!”

“I need a fucking cigarette.”

You’d spend 10 minutes running the fabric of every undergarment between your fingers to find the thinnest one. The lighter the coverage the more you’d be able to feel Thomas' hands, his knowing hands. Your mind had stuck itself on the memory and refused to budge. After almost hitting a pedestrian on the way home and running a red light, you vowed not to think about it until the distraction didn’t result in mass casualties.

But think about it you did, all day long, until you finally texted Thomas asking if you could over early. He’d responded with over flowing apologies and news that getting out of the studio more than half an hour early wouldn’t be possible. He was probably more disappointed than you were, which made you chuckle.

Unfortunately, this left you to your own thoughts and devices, fixating on the fact that Thomas knew how to make your nipples perk up with the lightest, most careful teasing. He knew how much pressure to apply with the pad of his finger. Instead of mindless groping, he fondled your breasts in a way that was pleasurable to you. There was so much knowing you’d yet to uncover, and that was electrifying and sort of terrifying too. There were so many things Thomas could do to you, was just waiting for your consent, and for the first time your body urged you to say yes at every turn.

After pulling on a skimpy bralette and thin cotton t-shirt, you felt silly, because of course you could just take your clothes off. The only person judging your modesty was yourself, Thomas would be thrilled to run his calloused fingers over your bare skin. Just the idea was a lightning bolt to your cunt.

Finally having material to your desire was sweet torture. No longer did your attraction to Tommy consist of appreciation of his beauty, adoration of her personality, and the abstract idea of what these things might do. You knew the way it felt to have him grind against you, or rub the pert bud of your nipple between this thumb and forefinger. For the first time, the things that brought you sexual gratification required someone else’s minstrations. It was a position you’d never allowed yourself to be in.

Lust was an invisible tether that pulled from the center of your chest. How it made you ache for Thomas. How it made you burn, not just for him, but on his behalf. You wanted to make him cum, with your mouth and your hands, waking him up in the morning or helping him relax before bed. For a moment, the knowledge dizzies you: these past two months you could’ve known the face Thomas made the very moment you brought him to climax. Any past inclination you’d had towards giving pleasure was dwarfed by the desire to create these deeply intimate moments with Thomas.

You could sit on his lap, one hand in his boxers, the other cupping the back of his neck. He’d whimper, eyes closed, but face so open, shifting underneath you. You could ride him in the same position, determined to make him finish first. When he did, you’d push the hair away from his face to observe the exact expression he made as he came for you. No, inside you. Thank fuck, for your IUD. That was enough to jar you from your fantasy.

Making sure no paparazzi or deranged fans followed you into the parking garage was never your favorite part of the evening. After punching in the code, you’d have to idle just beyond the gate while it closed, so no one could slip in behind you. However, once that was handled, you damn near skipped to the elevator, and ended up waiting. There were two people in the lift already and Thomas lived on a secure, key-access only floor.

“Eggplant for the elevator, tangerine for Thomas,” you muttered to yourself, shuffling through all your keys to find the stickered ones. Legally accessing Thomas’ apartment was like Mission Impossible so you’d added visual reminders to your keychain. Your boyfriend protested not getting the eggplant sticker on his house key, but alliteration was important so you could memorize the ever-changing numeric codes. The lock on the front door was standard, but there was a key pad just inside the entryway to contend with.

“Two, one, six, three,” you chanted, letting the heavy door slam shut. The pin pad blinks red. “God damn it,” you groan. How many seconds until the alarm went off?

“Thomas, code?” you yell.

“Sorry, just got out of the shower.” He slides around the corner in socked feet, hair damp.

“Two, one, six, three right? It’s not working,” you complain.

“Really?” He’s a little breathless and only dressed from the waist down, his body both bony and curved, hard and soft. Thomas punches in the same damn code and the light blinks green.

“What the fuck!” you screech. “It doesn’t like me!” There was never an issue with the gate code, but the apartment keypad holds a personal grudge against you. “What the fuck did I do to your door code in a past life?! Kill its first born son? Fuck!” Thomas is bent over chortling. You’re trying to remain indignant and theatrical, but even as you shake your head in annoyance, you’re smiling.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he gasps, calming his laughter. “Hey, I like you and that's what counts. Fuck the door code.” He pulls you in and you rock back and forth for a moment, just hugging. Your lungs and every other part of your being takes a deep breath.

“So how was your day?” Thomas asks, kissing the top of your head.

“I missed you a lot,” you confess.

“Yeah? I really missed you too.” Just being in his arms everything starts to balance out, things you didn’t know were out of balance. Thomas pulls you into his apartment further, stumbling over each other's feet, your lips meet. Whatever that thing, lust, you felt earlier, you try to bring it forth, channeling it into your physical expression. Or, rather, you allow it to dictate your physicality. Going towards it seemed the only path for release. It blooms in your chest, hungry, and manifests into the kiss. Not just in your lips which take more, but give in even greater excess.

You allow your mouth to open, breathing in Thomas’ air as it leaves his body. The panting makes your mouth sticky and hair starts to get caught, a thing to be concerned with when your lips part. Thomas moans from the back of his throat. It's the kind of sound that's pulled forth, no accidental escape involved. He’s mirroring you, but your mouth needs to know more of him. You kiss his bottom lip, suck on it. Normally he’d do the motion in return, but you moved to kiss him instead. With an open mouth, this doesn’t really work. That's fine because he lets out a harsh, scorching, humid exhale that the sensitive skin of your lips can perceive and catalog in deserving detail.

When you go back in, he’s ready to meet your lips properly. He tries to kiss you as you suck his top lip between your own. Your tongue fondles it gently, feeling the curve in your mind like you might run your hand over the hips of Aphrodite. Thomas' body rose and fell in the same manner. Onto his cupids bow, then underneath his nose, then to the tip of his nose. This feature was so perfect that you went pass the bounds of a kiss, so the end of your tongue might trace it, memorize it, even suck on it. Just as soon as you were there, you were gone, back to his lips.

All these things the careful attention of your mouth had documented were perfect. So you moaned long and desperate, as if to tell him. Thomas stopped moving backwards. You opened your eyes for a moment, and realized you’d backed him into a wall with your passion. He was frantic, pulling you closer, which brought your attention to the places your hands had been, on his bare skin. Those spots were red and damp with sweat. The question of where do I want his hands makes your breasts ache. But before you can move on, you need to tell Thomas this, in case no one has before. Or, rather, because you really want to.

“Tommy,” you pull away, connected by a trail of spit. “Tommy, look at me.” He gasps for air, like he’d forgotten he needed the resource amidst the intensity of your kiss. “Tommy, look at me,” you repeat. As his eyes open, you push the hair away from his face like you’d fantasized.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you marvel. His mouth is swollen from the kiss and his face flushed pink in a way so beautiful it makes your heart hurt. Thomas’ expression is confused, then disbelieving.

“What? No I’m not,” he brushed off, trying to arm himself from whatever memory this has evoked. You get on your tiptoes, so he’ll look at you instead.

“No, you are,” you insist, hands desperate. Maybe if you touch him the right way he’ll understand, and you’re just going about this wrong. He’s holding you so tight, crushed against his body. Even as he outright denies your words he tries to bring you closer, so you know he wants to believe.

“Look at me.” Because if he sees your eyes there’s no way he can dismiss this as dishonesty. “You’re perfect. You’re so perfect to me.” You hold his face with one hand and his hair with the other. “I’m telling the truth,” you plead, but not the whole truth. Like a fool, like a little girl, I’m falling in love with you.

“I know,” he answers, nodding. “I just, I –” Thomas’ voice breaks and he looks a little trapped. Wherever his mind has gone there's a hurt you can’t mend.

“Kiss me?” you ask, softly. He does, not softly at all. You choke up, then that passes. You want to grab Thomas over his sweats, then that urge abates. You’re left feeling dizzy and wondering why. Then realize that you’ve been breathing Thomas’ carbon dioxide for the last 10 minutes, and no fresh oxygen.

“Air,” you pant, pulling away. Thomas nods, using the wall for support as his chest heaves. You put your arms over your head so breathing comes easier, and find that you’ve been perspiring under your sweater. You pull that off, throw it on the kitchen island, and get a glass of water. Without prompting, you get one for Thomas too. He takes it, with an expression something like wonder. His eyes keep flitting down to your breasts because rubbing against his bare chest has made your nipples hard.

“So…where did that come from?” You put your hands to your face, just to feel your cheeks burn. “No, not in a bad way!” Tommy clarifies. “I’ve just never had a woman push me up against a wall and demand that I take a compliment. That was so hot!” You're giggling in self-consciousness, but also because of the flattery. Not actively controlling your sexuality had rendered good, albeit intense, results.

“I was thinking of…it was that thing that you did,” you reveal, looking at your hands.

“Right, uh, wait here a sec.” He disappears from the room in a flurry. “I need to find something to write this down on so I remember it.” You can hear Thomas’ hurried footsteps throughout the apartment while you cackle. He comes rushing back into the room with his songwriting notebook. He flips to a new page, puts pen to paper, ready to begin writing.

“Alright, please use specific details and uh – how do they call it?” He’s making his fuck this isn’t my first langauge face. “Descriptive language!”

“You are not writing that down in your songbook!”

“Okay, okay.” He closes the book and puts the pen on top. “Seriously, what was it? Please tell me.” Thomas stands with his hand perched on his hip. You’re coming down from the hormone high of that impassioned makeout. Conversely, your self-consciousness is going up. He must see the hesitation on your face, which turns into frustration with himself.

“And now I’ve made you self-conscious because I’m a fucking idiot,” your boyfriend groans, head thrown back.

“You’re not an idiot,” you scuff, adoringly. “Go put some clothes on and I’ll open wine.” Totally collected, you take some sips of water, and look for the wine opener. Thomas doesn’t leave the kitchen. He stands there, looking at you, unsure if you’d prefer him to mask his desire. It prompts the realization that, had tonight been with a normal girl, Thomas would be hooking up with her right now. That makes you feel sick.

“What just went through your head?” Apparently you need to work on concealing your expressions too.

“With anyone else that would have ended in sex.”

“Not necessarily.” You loathe people asking about your emotions, then splitting hairs. You don’t want to argue about this now, when you’re already feeling fragile.

“Okay.” You find things to do that require your face to be turned away from Thomas, so he can’t read your expressions. “Do you want red or white?” Thomas has at least three wine openers and you’ve only found two. He doesn’t answer your question, but you can hear him moving closer. Scrabbling through a drawer, you unfortunately find the third one. Now what? Thomas wraps his arms around your waist.

“You’re right that I can easily have fun, meaningless sex. I’ve had a lot of that sex.”

“Good to hear.” Thomas snorts at your cynical, snarky tone. You aggressively fidget with the wine openers.

“But I wanted more than that, which is why I sought out a relationship. Which led me to you, cara mia.” You’d have to tell him that the Italian pet names were cheating. “Yes, I can have fun meaningless sex with anyone, but I can only have meaningful sex with you.”

“Oh,” you squeak, before gathering yourself. “And with your ex-girlfriends.” You’d thought about it. You were a human being.

“Ah, yes. But the meaning of that sex would be why did you call me a lying bastard in front of your entire family two Christmases ago then puke on my shoes? Very different.” He’s got you belly-laughing, and your face hurts from trying not to smile and giving in.

“Yeah, okay, okay,” you conceded. “I’m worth waiting for. I appreciate the reminder.”

“I’m sorry that I haven't made this more clear before. And y/n…” he squeezes you and presses his face into your hair. “The way you kissed me tonight was more passionate and intense than some actual sex I’ve had.” His words send a shiver down your spine and every heartbeat feels like a rush of power. This is Tommy’s moment to leave, pull on a t-shirt and maybe sort the situation out in his pants. He doesn’t. Even though you know the oncoming words, your knees almost buckle each time.

“This is your very gentle reminder that you can disagree with me, and we might fight, but I will never yell at you. You will never get yelled at.”

“Mhm,” is all you’re capable of. Thomas gives you one final squeeze and steps away, letting the tense moment pass. He’s got the wisdom to know you’re gonna internalize and process that information at your own pace. Inside you, is a little girl in a Barney purple romper, who is a little more healed and the woman she so valiantly became is soothed.

“And nice job finding all the wine openers.” He pats you on the ass before leaving the kitchen. It seems ludacris for Tommy to masturabate in his room when you were here, fantasizing about throwing yourself on the bed. Selfishly, you wanted to give him those orgasams yourself.

“Wait!” Thomas takes a few steps backwards and around the corner.

“Yes?”

“I –” you say the first syllable with so much confidence and intention, then lose your way. Where am I comfortable getting him off? In what position? How do I make him see that this is what I want? No answers came up except the urgency to continue. You take a step towards Thomas, then another. His hands fiddle in front of his bare chest, and the word want echos in your mind like a scream in an empty church.

“T – ta –touch me.” You push his hand under your shirt and close your eyes. Thomas’ hand caresses your breasts and hesitates.

“How?” You want to growl in frustration.

“Like last time,” you strain. He inhales as if to ask another question, then doesn’t. Thomas fondles your breasts in one hand, the other around your waist. He teases ever so slightly at the edges of your bralette. His hand is warm and heavy.

“How’s this: better or worse?” He massages your breasts in a way that molds the tissue to his hand.

“Worse.”

“So you like light touches.” He goes back to stroking the skin, holding your breast gently as he brushes over your nipples.

“Mm, that,” you direct.

“And I know you like nipple play,” he narrates. Both nipples end up painfully hard from delicate contact. The fabric swishes as he moves his hand to the other side. You lean your forehead against his chest, enraptured. Thomas starts rubbing the warm, calloused pads of his forefinger and thumb against your left nipple. The meat of his hand rested on your chest, skin sticking to skin. Whereas with his fingers, you could feel the fabric rubbing against the sensitive bud.

“Touch – touch my skin,” you whine. Thomas slides his hand into your bra, and the intimacy makes your toes curl. This was further than you’d ever gone.

“Check?”

“Green,” you squeak, and stop breathing. His hand slides underneath the spandex of your bra, raising goosebumps because the sensation is so much more pleasant. Your lips part, but stop yourself from making a sound. Thomas sweeps the hair away from your neck and puts his lips there. You liked neck kisses even more than ones on the mouth. Thomas started to use his tongue. The heat and delicate contact against such sensitive skin ripped a moan from you without your consent. You rise onto your toes to get closer, get more sensation. If it wasn’t for the back of your bralette digging into your skin you might lose yourself completely.

It takes him a moment to find your nipple which Thoams rolls between his fingers just like you hoped he would. His hand is constrained by the fabric, so the more he tries to do the more the elastic digs in.

“Check?”

“Green,” you pant and Thomas sucks lightly, moving his lips and moist tongue up the column of your neck with a bit more intention. When he moves to the other side and rubs the bud of your nipple under his thumb it's too harsh. The fabric slides off his hand and snaps against your skin audibly. Why won’t he just take it off?

Attempting to make this enough stimulation, you pull Tommy close and feel the hard bulge of his cock against your hip. By holding him tight you’ve put his wrist in a position where he can’t do much of anything. There isn’t a way to get out of this conundrum that isn’t awkward. If he’s so into it, why doesn’t your boyfriend just do something? Because you haven’t given him permission.

You pull away and slide his hand out of your shirt. Thomas is anxiously scanning your face for some expression of displeasure.

“Green,” you assure him, stepping away and pulling him by the hand. His bedroom was down the hall on your right and the living room couch around the corner on your left. Couch was less intimidating, but its size might be a hindrance. The rational part of your brain knew that Thomas wouldn’t expect sex just because you were in his bedroom. You’d made out in there before, it wasn’t unfamiliar. But what if he assumed since now – Thomas hadn’t even assumed he could take your bra off. Get out of your own head, y/n.

“This, just this,” you clarified, “might be easier laying down. No?”

“Uh, yeah, if you want.” Thomas clears his throat harshly. You glance past the kitchen and see the wine openers on the granite countertop.

“But, maybe…with some wine.”

“Okay, sure,” he grins, going to the fridge for the white wine. You watch his fingers as he works: opening the bottle, retrieving the glasses. He pours himself a small glass, and goes to the freezer with yours. It's out of order and the white wine doesn’t need ice because it's already chilled. After adding one more cube than normal, Thomas gives you an even shorter pour than he did himself.

“Want me to turn my back so you can add some water too?” you tease.

“I’m being that obvious?” he winces. Thomas wants a clear yes, not an inebriated one. It’s admirable and really attractive.

“I can handle myself, babe. You don’t have to question anything,” you assure, giving him a couple pecks on the cheek. The fact that he’s concerned about consent makes you feel even safer, so you lead him down the hall, drink in hand.

Seeing the bed has you taking a long sip, ice clinking against the glass. How does one fluidly maneuver themselves into the right position, guiding their partner to do the same? Thomas has the experience to answer that question. So you take another drink, set your glass down, and look at him. Thomas is wide-eyed and cautious. You stand there like statues for a moment and think that maybe this is too much control. Your boyfriend giving directions would be a relief right now.

“What next?”

“Whatever you want,” he replies, draining half his glass. He sets it on the nightstand.

“What do you want me to do next?” It's a flirtatious question, you expect him to answer “lay down” or “kiss me.” Instead, Thomas swallows hard and averts his eyes, flustered. One hand taps on the headboard, nervous.

“Uh…” he takes a shaky breath, raising his eyebrows, thoroughly affected by his own imagination. Well, then.

“Get on the bed, Raggi,” you order.

“Right, okay.” He climbs onto the mattress, taking off his socks. It's a funny little habit he has, like wearing socks makes him overdressed for the occasion. Once he’s about situated, propped up on some pillows, you crawl towards him.

Starting with something familiar, you lay on top of him, between his legs, facing each other. Besides the erection stabbing you in the stomach, it’s a really comfortable position. The full body contact is lovely and Thomas reaches under your shirt to trace down your spine. The sensation makes you shudder and you slump down on top of Thomas, humming in delight. He chuckles at the reaction, fingertips skipping over the band of your bra each time. His breath is soothing, and you could fall asleep on his chest if you weren’t so aroused.

Each time his fingers touch the fabric of your bralette, the skin underneath is more desperate to feel the heat of his hand. It has you squirming around, before you make a decision and sit up. It's a wonderful opportunity to run your hands down Thomas bare chest, just past the protruding waistband of his boxers. He bites his lip, hands creeping up your thighs as you sit back on your heels and reach for your glass. How to go about removing your bra from under your shirt…Being watched felt unnatural, but it’d be an ordeal to get up and turn around.

“Close your eyes,” you decide. Thomas brings one hand up to his face, like a child playing hide and seek. He’s smiling, giddy.

“I didn’t say stop touching me,” you tease.

“Hng,” Thomas whines desperately, shifting his hips. Eyes squeezed shut, his hand fumbles as it returns to your thigh. Deciding to torture him a little more, you gasp.

“I didn’t say you could put your hand there!” Thomas looks up in horror. “I told you to close your eyes!” you exclaim.

“I don’t like this game,” he whines.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby,” you coo, sensuously. Moving your hips in figure-eight motions, you ride a wave of confidence and pull both shirt and bra off at once. Thomas, lids dutifully closed, is expecting one or the other. Before throwing the garments out of the way, you pause a moment, in case crippling fear is about to wash over you. No such thing occurs. Keeping the secret of your partial nudity from Thomas a little longer is exciting in a way that tingles between your legs.

“Keep ‘em closed,” you warn, carefully lowering yourself so he can’t feel your state of undress. He nods diligently and you attach your mouth to the soft tissue of his stomach which makes him keen. He hisses, and you’re not sure if that's good or bad, so you suck gently. Doing this without being watched made the act luxurious. You could take your time, long licks that ended with his skin between your teeth. You allowed yourself some self-indulgence with Tommy’s body, working marks in for just a moment. They left little pink spots, like petals on a flower. You enjoyed such adoration evidenced, before moving onto another lucious and tender plane of skin.

Thomas let out a whimper, raising his hips, features concernated. What had been fun and tender for you was a bout of hopeless teasing for him.

“Sorry, Tommy. You’re so beautiful I get distracted.” He smiles so wide that you wonder if he’s been reminded of this enough by past partners. Deciding the moment had arrived, you make your way back up Thomas’ body.

“Open your eyes,” you permit, resting your naked chest against his all at once. He’s wearing an expression of genuine shock, brain recalibrating. You’re left to grin up at him like a vixen, basking in the attention.

“Wait, I didn’t open my eyes fast enough,” he complains. Thomas’ hands are already taking liberties, rubbing up and down your bare back. He looks over your shoulder at all the expenses of naked skin.

“My boobs will still be there, baby, don’t worry.” This thought seems to preoccupy him thoroughly. Adjusting for more intimacy, you reposition your arms over his shoulders, and relax. His breath hitches at the sensation of your breasts pressed against him, or maybe it's the pressure of your groin against his erection. Either way you feel plenty powerful. Surging upwards, you lick into Tommy’s ear. He shudders.

“Use your imagination,” you whisper, with your best attempt at a sultry voice. When Thomas doesn’t answer, you pull away to see his expression. It’s a mix of urgency and disbelief.

“Sorry, was that…? I didn’t mean to tease you like that, I’m sorry. I just –”

“No, no, michetta.” His finger tips are on your spine again, reassuring that no mistakes have been made. “Just like, jesus fucking christ,” he compliments.

“Oh, okay!” you smile, relieved, although that bout of insecurity still weighs in your stomach. “So, like, everything’s –”

“Green, michetta. Green, green,” he chants, leaning in to kiss you. After running over every square inch of your naked back three times, Thomas’ left and ventures down further. His fingers splay over the curve of your ass and grip the muscle. The latter doesn’t do much for you, but Thomas’ cock twitches in his sweats and he lets out a groan. In return, you grind your pelvis against the bulge, just lightly since you don’t know how much pressure is painful.

The makeout devolved into being horny and desperate at an expeditious rate. Thomas always kept one hand in the back pocket of your jeans. Sometimes the other wrapped around your mid back to hold you still while Thomas pushed his tongue in your mouth. Sometimes his touches were so light and teasing that you shivered. Mostly the physicality was frenzied, and gave way to rocking against each other as you had last time. Now that you’d learned the rhythm, rutting against your boyfriend felt amazing and natural. The pace of your hips and the pace of your kiss eventually synced up.

It was incredible, to have one hand on your ass, pulling your groin towards his in an act of desperate lust. Yet the other might rest between your shoulder blades, or be tucking the hair behind your ears, stroking your head. It was a reminder that Thomas wanted to ravish you and take care of you in equal measure. While there was no denying his lust, there was no denying his affection.

After a couple minutes of this, Thomas started shifting underneath you. He was probably trying to get comfortable, lord knows you weren’t particularly comfortable either. There's only so much foreplay a person can take if it's not leading to anything. Your pussy burned with desire and your nipples painfully hard. The hair on Tom’s upper chest tickled. He stopped wiggling after a moment, so you used the grip of both hands on the slats of the headboard to roll your entire body against Tommy instead of just your groin.

Immediately, he gripped you so tight that it hindered the movement, and made you wonder if you'd taken it too far. Was that the wrong thing to do? Thomas sort of moved you to the left side of his body. Unsure what he was doing, but willing to try, you followed. He resumed shifting, trying to rearrange his legs. Maybe the pressure against his shaft had been too much. You try to follow his lead, but end up falling. The position you landed in seems to reach the goal. You resume the kiss, not expecting Thoams to slide his leg all the between your own, to the point that his thigh was wedged against your pussy.

At first you try to readjust, so you’re not in such a compromising position. However the hums of encouragement coming from Thomas make you realize that this position was the goal. The pressure is directly on your clit, which would be perfect if you weren’t wearing levis. The idea that he was trying to get you off brought a wave of heat followed by a wave of uneasiness. This isn’t how you wanted to cum for the first time together. It felt degrading somehow, or like a cheap substitute because you couldn’t be bothered to wait until the real thing.You tried to objectively analyze if this act was pleasurable, but your feelings otherwise were so wrapped up in the moment that it didn’t matter.

“Yellow.”

“Sorry! Shit, sorry, I should have asked.” Thomas eases his leg away, trying to reconfigure your bodies, but now you feel as though you’ve done something dirty, or at least something you’re embarrassed of. There was nothing to cause the embarrassment beyond your own inner self-critique, there to analyze and pick apart the way you handled every situation. Still, your jeans were genuinely uncomfortable, bunched up around your groin. The most effective fix would be to simply take them off. Instead, you pull your translucent, cotton t-shirt back on. Laying down bare chested felt more vulnerable than you were williging in this moment.

“You okay?” Thomas eyes flit around your face, but you can’t even feel your expression, just the heartbeat that pounds in your ears.

“Yeah!” you assured, feeling breathless. “Yeah, just c’mere,” you gesture. Nothing felt safe like Thomas’ body covering yours, protecting your modesty while you throbbed with lust underneath him. He’s so tentative that you extend grabby hands towards him. Relaxing into a smile, he scoots in, so you’re both laying on your sides. It’s such a chaste position to kiss in. Either you’re intertwined in passion, or are a combination of fluttering hands and careful lips. Of course it was the latter. Could people even have sex in this position? Did the equipment line up? It'd be nice to hug someone while making love, every thrust clutching tighter, hands slipping on sweaty skin for a grip.

“Could we have sex like this,” you ask, finishing it off with “...eventually?”

“Mm, mhm.” Both a moan and a sound of confirmation. “Yeah, can I show you?” Your chest tightens in excitement, and you nod with enthusiasm. “So your legs go around me.” He guides your top leg over to his hip. Taking initiative, you pull Thomas towards you, slotting your other leg underneath his waist. He scoots forward so you’re chest to chest, but groins apart.

“So then I, kinda,” Tom tilts his hips upwards. “And I move up into you,” he whispers.

“I don’t move towards you?”

“Well you can, if you want,” he assures, breath catching. You’d ask if it was okay to talk like this, but you already knew the answer. Of course, michetta.

“Which do you like better?” This was the first time you’d spoken explicitly about sexual preferances.

“Well, it depends on…if you can get the rhythm together.” You think back to grinding against Thomas on the couch yesterday. Yes, this is something you wanted to do with him.

“I think we’d be able to,” you volunteer, tentatively.

“Yeah, me too,” he smiles. The tension is stifling. Thomas leans forward and pulls the fabric of your shirt aside by a couple inches, kissing your shoulder. In return, you trace his waistline, up to where it runs into your thigh, appreciating Tommy’s willowy, feminine form. Your eyes try to follow your hand, but keep getting drawn up to his smattering of chest hair, then to watching his lips press against your skin. The two made intimate sounds each time they met and parted. Thomas’ plush, rosy lips molded themselves to your form for just a moment, and sometimes his eyes fluttered closed, enjoying the texture of your skin against his mouth.The sexual attraction to your boyfriend was suddenly so overwhelming that you had to do something about it.

Glancing down, you can minutely see Thomas’ cock moving as it hardens in his sweats. Your earlier fantasy comes rushing back, because this position is almost identical to straddling Tommy’s lap. Receiving may not be in the cards tonight, but giving certainly was. In fact you wanted to give and give until your boyfriend was flushed like he’d been earlier. How would his voice sound if he asked you to stop, because Tom was over-stimulated? You’re wracked with a full body shiver and an overwhelming curiosity about the appearance of his cock. Would he be cut or uncut? Was his pubic hair dark like his chest hair or lighter, like his iconic shag?

You’re not experienced, but you know this position is not conducive to success. With your legs up over Thomas’ hips, there's no good way to get a hold of his dick. As you slide your legs down, your hand follows slowly so he’s not surprised. Running your hand past his belly button, you allow your fingertips to catch on the waistband of his boxers.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers, as if that wasn’t a given.

“I know,” you assure, kissing the tip of his nose. “Is this okay?” Thomas nodded, wordlessly, so you slid your hand into his sweats, over his boxers. His shaft pulsed under your hand with a ferver that surprised you. You’d forgotten how warm the fabric of worn boxers was from body heat and the sensation made your cunt throb.

“You’re so warm,” you purr, hand traveling down to the root of his cock, cupping his bollocks in your palm. “You’re going to feel amazing,” added, so your previous comment didn’t get misconstrued. The admission surprised you, as it left your mouth. Thomas let out a whimper and nuzzled closer to your chest, way more pent up than you’d imagined. About to push your hand into his briefs, you get the sense that you’re missing something.

“Baby, where’s your lube?” you coo.

“There.” He gestured to the night stand, but kept a hand on your thigh as you reached over to retrieve it, not wanting to lose proximity. “I should be focusing on what you like,” he mumbles, as you figure out how to pop the cap.

“This is what I like,” you answer. “I’ve wanted to make you cum all day.”

“I’m so fucking lucky,” he blurts.

“You’re about to get a hand job from a virgin, don’t count your eggs before they hatch.” His laugh turns into a moan as your lubed palm pushes into his boxers. Just trying to coat his shaft and figure out where he was sensitive. You’re met with reality that you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, but Thomas doesn’t seem to care. Desperately, he pulls you into a sloppy kiss, which makes contending with the elastic waistbands even more difficult. The realizationtion that Thomas craves so much intimacy with you, that he wants to makeout while you touch him fucking burns. You rub your thighs together, which results in physical pain because of your jeans. The sound of dissatisfaction has Thomas pulling away.

“Check?” he pants.

“Green, my pants just hurt,” you complain, wiggling around. “If I take them off you do understand that's not an invitation?”

“Of course, of course,” he assures, as you roll onto your back.

“Take yours off too.” In your haste, you almost pull down your underwear too and are very much tempted. They’re soaked and entirely too tight. You flip back over to see Thomas still in his briefs, and roll your eyes in affection.

“Those too, babe!” He’s looking at your legs like he can’t comprehend English. You really had this boy starving. Taking matters into your own hands, you push his briefs down to midthigh. Your boyfriend is enraptured, massaging the meat of your leg with laser focus. For a few strokes you just admire his dick, pink and slightly taupe around the foreskin. His pubic hair was dark, but his sack was only lightly covered. You apply more pressure and he hisses, hand stilling.

“Too tight, michetta,” he directs.

“Shit! Sorry!” You relax your hand and watch his face. “A little tighter than this though?”

“Mhm. Hmm, yeah,” he sighs. You try to commit this exact amount of force to memory. Tommy resumes kissing your chest. Your back arches up towards him the lower his lips travel. He kisses you over the shirt, all the way down to your nipple, then pauses.

“Green,” you encourage, losing rhythm. He covers your nipple with his mouth, wetting the fabric of your shirt with saliva. It feels like such a perverse thing to do: nipple play. Shame started to rise because this part of your body wasn’t made for sexual pleasure. Tommy applied light suction and it tingles through your limbs, all the way to your fingertips. Having someone suck on your nipples during sex hadn’t even occued to you. Yet the bud was so sensitive and responding to the warmth of Thomas’ mouth that your toes curled so hard it hurt. Your boyfriend was letting out encouraging noises, but you were struggling not to get caught in your own head.

Should you say “yellow?” You certainly didn’t want to stop, or slow down the encounter, only the voice in your own head that seemed hell bent on ruining everything. Simultaneously, you were self conscious about the quality of your handjob. The rhythm had been lagging as Thomas pleasured you. He sucks down harder and your hands are frantic for something to hold. For a moment you release his cock and grip his hip bone.

“Sorry, I – I,” you pant. Thomas shakes his head, telling you not to worry about it. You close your eyes and focus on sensation since that seems to quell the anxiety of arousal. The fabric of your shirt is wet against your skin. Tommy’s hair tickles under your chin. Some primal urge is satiated by this. Although you know it's wrong, that doesn’t change the squeal you let out when your boyfriend adjusts the sensation.

At first you can’t figure it out, but then you recognize it: teeth. You never thought teeth could feel good, but Thomas was oh so delicate. You tensed every muscle in your body when Thomas slowly dragged your nipple between his teeth. This wasn’t pleasure felt throughout the body. It went straight to your cunt, throbbing, making you even wetter. You squeezed your thighs together, begging the universe for some relief and were given none.

“Oh my god, why does that feel so good?” you moaned. Pressing your breast into Tommy’s mouth. He moaned in response, the vibration perceptible. You made a noise like the wind being knocked out of you and held Tommy's head in your hand, enjoying the sensation of his soft hair. Your top hand made its way to his shoulder blade, and you cradled his head to your chest. His left hand wanders downwards, between your bodies, and you stop breathing. Thomas is scrunching up the fabric of your shirt as he goes. He reaches the bottom of your ribcage and his knuckles brush against your bare skin. The sensation makes your stomach quiver. You expect Tommy to go further, but he grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls upward. Instead of taking it all the way off, Thomas just pulls the fabric high enough that he can get his head under and put his mouth directly on your nipple.

“Tho – Thom – oh my god Oh my god, oh my god!” you squeal, open palm hitting the mattress. The pleasure is so disarming that you accidentally wiggle away, then use the leg you have hooked over your boyfriend’s to pull him close again. The tissue inside Thomas’ mouth is the softest thing you’ve ever felt. The sensation wakes nerve endings that didn’t exist a moment before and you can feel everything. His mouth is hot, spit causing loose stands to stick. When he sucks down the pressure is so intense that your eyes screw shut and you can’t speak, but it's never painful.

“Tommy! Tommy, I ugh,” you moan, curses dissolving into whispers. He does that thing with his teeth again, like scratching an itch you didn't know existed.

“Please, please, please,” you babble, not asking for anything really. He mumbles something against your skin, using his hands to shift your body. Finally, your eyes flutter open as you’re pushed onto your back. Thomas switches to the other side, taking the opposite bud in his mouth. Its like experiencing the sensations for the first time all over again. You cross your legs, rubbing together without thinking about it as your pussy pulsed with arousal. It beat between your legs with the ferocity of a heartbeat, demanding attention. Every time Thomas pulled your nipple into his mouth, a new pang of arousal was delivered downward.

Your chest heaved and you didn’t know how much more foreplay you could stand without spontaneously combusting. You wanted more, but didn’t know what more looked like. Instead you lay there in perfect purgatory, pushing into Thomas’ mouth, fumbling with locks of hair. He spoke again and you still failed to understand him.

“Huh?” you panted, sweating.

“Touch yourself,” he directed, pushing your hand downwards. You didn’t resist, but also didn’t participate when your fingers arrived at the waistband of your panties. Thomas couldn’t mean…in front of him?

“Check?” Rendered mute, you don’t answer, but nod enthusiastically. “Show me what feels good, michetta,” he prompts. Thomas licks a broad stroke over your breast, then uses his pointed tongue to trace your areola. As soon as the cool air hits your wet skin a shiver runs down your spine to your cunt. Yoru thighs squeeze together and you whimper. Why did the best things in life involve so much risk?

Feeling you hesitate, Tommy pulled back slightly, t-shirt now bunched around your collar bones. He gave your breasts the most feather-light kisses, making his way back to the otherside.

“You have the prettiest nipples, you know that?” Gasping, the compliment unfroze you. It was never a thing you’d considered your breasts could be: pretty. You’d always just hoped they were kind of symmetrical. His hard cock brushed your thigh, prompting you to look down. Your boyfriend was leaking precum onto the sheets. The substance captured your attention momentarily: pearly white and viscus. Out of curiosity, you swept the pads of your fingers over the tip of Thomas’ dick. He spasmed in response, erection rutting into your thigh.

“Tommy, you’re so hard,” you gasp.

“For you, michetta, for you,” murmurers, attaching his mouth to your skin with the intent of leaving a hickey. What should have been an uncomfortable sensation had your mouth falling open like you were about to cry out. No one had ever marked you as theirs, left evidence of their affection on your skin. Your fingers pushed underneath your panties, but nothing further. Masturabtion was something private, for your eyes and no one else. Allowing Thomas to watch you touch yourself felt unethical. As he released your breast tissue and pulled away, the area was beginning to bruise. The sound that had been stuck ripped forth. Your boyfriend’s eyes met yours for the first time in a few minutes. Holding that contact, Tommy attaches his mouth just above the new mark.

By the time the evening was over hickes might be visible in your work clothes. Everyone would be able to see Tommy’s lust for you. Long after the intensity of the moment had passed his marks would remain. People would assume the bruises were a product of lovemaking. This gave you the courage to find your clit, abandon self-consciousness enough to work with Thomas towards your pleasure. He noticed when you started squirming, and refocused on your nipple.

“Just like that, y/n,” he encouraged. One side was occupied with his mouth and the other with his hand. You watched his fingers on your breast: tugging gently, then twisting, black nail polish on display. Tommy’s ministrations felt good, as did your hand, but not in a complementary way. You were just getting further worked up, without any relief in sight.

So lost in the moment with you, your boyfriend was rutting against you, using your flank as friction against his cock. Each time his shaft pressed against your thigh, your pussy clenched around the fantasy of intrusion and nothing else. Your fingers creep further down, and you push both inside your cunt. The sensation of something being not quite right is only magnified and you realize it's because you’re having sex with youself isntead of letting Thomas do it.

Emboldened with the confidence of knowing exactly what you want, you push the hand tweaking your nipple downward, into your underwear.

“I want you to touch me,” you whine, raising your hips. Tommy doesn’t need any further coaching. His fingers splay out, feeling everything he can, hands hungry to consume your body.

“You’re so warm and wet for me, michetta,” he coos, nuzzling against your cheek. He focuses on finding your clit, but you redirect his hand, pushing further downward.

“Really touch me Tommy, please.” He nods against your neck, kissing his way downward towards your opposite breast. Thomas starts with one finger, pushing half way in before stopping and letting your body adapt. When things don’t work right away you start to panic, but he doesn’t. Eyes screwed shut, you will relax your walls to relax, letting him in. If your boyfriend doesn’t think you can fit a single finger he’s not going to bother waiting around to pop your cherry. You own dildos, anatomically, this shouldn’t be so difficult.

“I’m sorry, I –”

“It's not about size, you’re just nervous, cara mia.” God, that fucking diminitive again. You let out a shuddering breath. As you exhale, Tom pushes his pointer finger all the way in. It aches the smallest bit, but as soon as he begins moving the appendage in and out that disappears.

“You could try two now,” you encourage, trying to give the illusion of preparedness.

“I could,” he muses. “But, why don’t you go back to touching your clit and I’ll go back to this.” Thomas bites down on your erect nipple, pulls off, then flicks it forcibly. It's an avalanche of new sensation that throbs in your pussy while Thoams coaxes you to give that area attention. This time, he syncs up fingering with your own movements, so all three sensations can work together. There's some awkward adjustments, but unexpectedly you end up working towards orgasam. Thomas inserts that second finger, finally. Your breath catches in your throat and your nails dig into his shoulder blade for a moment.

“Good?” he huffs.

“Yeah! I’ve just never had –” Your boyfriend thrusts his fingers to the hilt, so you can feel the rest of his hand pressed snuggly against your body. He starts moving the two digits inside, and although you can’t feel exactly what he’s doing, it makes your legs clamp down. The attention to your clit becomes invigorated and self–indulgent. Considering the overpowering impulse to stay in control, you didn’t figure there’d be a possibility for orgasam.

“Don’t – don’t stop,” you squeak. “I think I can…I might.” You squeeze your eyes shut so your brain can’t sabotage the moment.

“What’ve you never had?” Thomas insists on revisiting your earlier point.

“Another person. It's always been toys, to feel full,” you struggle. Speaking seems to release some of that internal pressure that has repeatedly ruined your sexual experines. During this final sprint to climax you decide to let yourself babble and hope nothing too humiliating comes out.

“It feels really good to have someone make me feel full.” Your boyfriend lets out a moan, rubbing his erection against you. “And I want to make you cum. I want you to use me to…to cum. You can…on – on me, Tommy. I – I, fuck, fuck,” you chant, flexxing your feet so hard that your arches ached, accidentally pulling Thomas’ hair as your brought him close. When your orgasam crested you abandoned your own pleasure and held on as tightly to Thomas as you could. He wasn’t expecting it, but embraced you back just the same.

Somehow, less than a minute later, your face was pressed against his chest, eyes screwed shut. From the movement of his right arm, you could feel Tommy working himself towards orgasam. He was panting just as heavily, so you started to lick and kiss his neck. The left arm wrapped around you started stroking your hair. Thomas was whimpering in Italian, the sounds unintelligible.

“Cum, baby, cum,” you coaxed. So earnestly you wanted to have more information in this moment, so you could say the right thing, help him feel good. Your words seemed to be plenty effective because Thomas froze, then you felt his jizz splash on your back, hot and sticky. It didn’t bother you, in fact you whispered encouragements, chest hair tickling your lips.

#thomas maneskin #maneskin #måneskin #thomas raggi #må #thomas raggi imagine #thomas x y/n #thomas x reader #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin smut #maneskin x reader #maneskin thomas #maneskin fic #thomas raggi fic #thomas raggi fluff #thomas raggi x reader #thomas raggi fanfiction

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greyinthecolorprism · 1 year

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The Meeting

"I'm trying but I keep falling down, I cry out but nothing comes now. I'm giving my all and I know peace will come, I never wanted to need someone." - Helium (Sia)

Part 1: Sketch: Commission for @darsynia of a chapter to her story about Tony and an OC named Leigh. This piece has been an emotional roller coaster for me since I started it. I enjoyed her description of the situation and the details of Leigh, who I can honestly say I would probably get along well with since I too am from the south. I had a really good time working on this sketch and she was a doll to work with. Half-way through it however, I realized something that made me have to walk away from it. This is the second time I've drawn Tony in a picture I've done for someone else, yet I have yet to venture into drawing him in a picture for myself. I guess…I got a little jealous, heh. I knew that if I tried to work on it like that, it would interfere with how it came out, so I decided that I should take @strangelockd's advice and walk away for a break. And something amazing happened. As I was eating a light dinner - because like @stewardofningishzida, I forget my own health when I work - I decided to sit down on the couch and turn on the tv. Of ALL the things that could have been on in that exact moment, as I was taking a bite of my food, I hear "Yeah? So how did you fix the ice problem?" and I nearly choked on my food. The ORIGINAL Iron Man was on. I sat there, stunned and watched the last fifteen minutes of the movie as I ate my dinner. When Tony said, "I am Iron Man", it felt like I could remember that no matter what, he's still my hero too. I felt like he knew I needed to be reminded of that. So, once I was done with my dinner, I came back in here and finished up the sketch and put some minor background colors in. I'm currently working on the lineart and will have it up tonight. It was meant to go out yesterday, but I fell asleep on my keyboard lol.

✨This is a blog transfer! You've been tagged because you liked this on my main blog! I apologize for the inconvenience. ✨

@darsynia @sobeautifullyobsessed @fanartka @harlekin6 @icytrickster17 @stewardofningishzida @cirocity @mrs-cookie @foxssketching @ronearoundblindly

#commission #my art #mutual's story art #tony stark #iron man #post infinity war #original female character #leigh #darsynia #tony stark fanart #Spotify

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alittledizzy · 2 years

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7 and 17

things you said that i wish you hadnt from this prompt post

"Did you find the screenshots yet?" Phil asks.

"Yes," Dan says, stomping across the room. "I found the fucking screenshot."

He comes back two minutes later with a tub of ice cream (Phil's ice cream, the full dairy one that he has to take a tablet with so he can digest properly) and a bottle of rose.

Phil scrunches up his face sympathetically. "That bad?"

"Don't know what you mean," Dan says. He grabs a coffee mug and peers into it.

"Just had water in it," Phil says.

Dan fills it three quarters full of rose and then pushes it toward Phil. Then he takes a drink straight from the bottle.

"Can I do anything?" Phil asks.

"Yeah, tell me that it doesn't matter how much I fucking want something for a fucking video, never google image search my own name in relation to anything prior to 2018."

"Want a cuddle?" Phil asks.

Dan shakes his head. "No. Just gonna take this bottle of wine and this ice cream and go dwell in the darkness regretting my existence."

Phil lets him go without pushing. Sometimes Dan just needs to cry in an empty room to get it out of his system. Phil managed to work through how own emotions in response to that impulse years ago, and it's been better for them both since.

He sips the mug that Dan left him and then with an idle sense of curiosity and mild foreboding, picks up his phone and types dan howell 2010 screenshot into google. He taps on the link that takes him to images, and immediately understands what drove Dan to the dire combination of actual dairy and alcohol.

There are pictures of Dan, of course. Stills from videos and pictures of the two of them together, all fairly innocent and nostalgic.

But most of what he finds is Dan's social media statements captured forever in time. There are a couple he distinctly remembers, but he can't recall the when and where of most of them. It's strange, he always thinks, how people on the internet know their past selves so much more than Dan and Phil do. When Phil thinks about himself this long ago, he thinks about the growth and the journey to who he is now. But this Dan - and this Dan's Phil - might as well still be actual real people existing in this moment because of the energy that goes into preserving them.

Phil opens a few of them, scrolling through. Most are Dan talking about him. Phil wants to find Dan's old affections, so earnest and public, as endearing as old love letters should be. But instead he feels desperate and exposed, chest and throat prickling with heat at the way it's beyond his control to censor who gets to see these versions of themselves.

His eyes land on an image of himself in a blue checked shirt making a heart with his hands. It gives him a flash of deja vu so strong it nearly turns his stomach. He puts his phone down, then picks it back up and makes sure to back out of the tab so he won't jumpscare himself with it later.

He can't go back in time and take Dan's hands away from the keyboard. He can't go back and delete that video before people see it. He can't do anything about the past except pretend it doesn't exist in favor of looking toward the future.

He knocks back the rest of the mug of wine and gets up, leaving his phone on the sofa. "Dan," he calls out, barging into the office.

Dan's eyes are red. "What?" He asks.

"Come on," Phil says. "We're going to the cinema."

"I can't," Dan says. "I'm working on-"

"We are going to the cinema," Phil says again, firmly. "We can decide what we want to see when we get there."

Dan locks eyes with him and then gives in. "Okay," he says, pushing the blanket he'd wrapped himself in off of his shoulders. The wheels of the office chair roll over it as Dan pushes away from the desk. "But I'm picking."

#phan #phanfic #askbox meme

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screadingchallenge · 2 years

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Behind the Keyboard Volume 21

Behind the Keyboard is a series of interviews with different Schitt’s Creek fanfic authors. The series will last as long as there is interest (from authors) and capacity (from me). If you are an author from the Schitt’s Creek fandom who would like to participate, send a DM to this account.

Each author was given ten questions. The first five questions are the same for every author, the last five will vary.

Let’s meet our next author:

@chelle-68 / chelle68

How many fics have you written?

19 (Crazy…I only meant to ever write one and get it out of my head.)

When did you publish your first fic on AO3?

June 23, 2021 (holy crow, almost a year!)

Describe your writing process from “Oh, I have an idea” to pushing publish on AO3.

Well, I guess it’s pretty much like anyone else. I have a thought or an idea pop into my head that I think about until I need to jot things down in my notes app. Sometimes that’s just a sentence, sometimes a jumble of words like “David smells brownies/reminds him of Adelina/gets emotional”. When I think I have some real time, I open a document and start writing and see if what I had bouncing around in my brain will come out into a real story. I’m not even really sure how it’s going to end until I get there. Once I get through a first draft, I go back over it and rework things or sentences; tweak things here and there and then see if one of my lovely betas are available to help me make it something actually coherent. I’ve discovered recently that I really need to take time to write more things in my notes as I’m thinking of them because any time away from those notes makes me wonder where I was going with it or a scenario is fully mapped out in my head but now I’m looking at my notes and thinking “oh yeah…gee, I had something pretty good. Now where is it hidden in my mind?” A few weeks ago, I had a really fun thing all pictured in my head with dialogue etc, then my life went wacky. Now that things are settling down a bit, I want to write it but it’s foggy right now. I wish I had grabbed my phone when I was first thinking it through and just jotted it all down, even if it was 3am. And yeah, currently, everything I write is on my phone. I’m looking into a laptop and tablet. I haven’t had my own for a very long time. Any suggestions? I’m leaning towards the MacBook Air? Or iPad.

Tell me about your most recent fic? What do you love about it? Is there anything you think you could have done better?

My most recent fic came into my head at around 4am a couple of weeks ago when I couldn’t sleep. I hadn’t thought about writing or even reading much the past few weeks and honestly wondered if I would ever write anything again. My mind and days have been so full of real life. But suddenly there it was. Just a little thing. I could see David whispering something to Patrick while he was sleeping and I got up that morning and actually wrote something. It was the first time in weeks that I actually had some time to myself and it just all came out. It was nice to know that I could still do it. I think that’s what I love about it the most. A sign of life, so to speak. That I’m starting to come out the other side of this messiness in my life. I’ll always look at that one and remember that feeling of knowing everything was going to be ok. It’s called If Only You Knew.

As far as doing it better, yeah, I always think that. I’m my own worst critic. Comes from a very long history of low self-esteem starting in childhood. One of my favorite writers recently described having “imposter syndrome” and I went “that’s it!” But I’m trying to be better about believing in myself and trying to accept compliments and be more sure of myself. I will say, I am very new to writing so I need to start slowing down and learning more about the process and technical things, but also to let my mind open up, work harder and dig deeper. My mind tends to operate at a “let’s get this done quickly and efficiently” level. I think that comes from working in a business that is all about making a deadline every day and my creative mind has been pushed into near extinction.

What advice would you give to someone who’s thinking about publishing their fic for the first time?

Just do it! And I know that sounds like a Nike ad, but it’s true. Just open a document, grab a notebook and a pen, whatever works and just start writing the words that are in your head. Even if you think it’s rubbish. It’s most likely not but just the start of something. Get it all written down. Play with it. Go over it. Tweak it. Rewrite it. Rework it. Then when you’re ready, find yourself a really great, honest beta or two (or more) and be open to their suggestions and thoughts and corrections. I love mine. And I have made the most amazing connections and friendships from writing and opening myself up to this experience. Then when it’s ready, take a deep breath and hit “post”. It’s scary but I promise, people are really good. Nobody is going to scream at you to never do it again. At least nobody has said it to me yet. It’s such a rush knowing you’ve put yourself out there like that. And be proud of yourself for doing it.

Most memorable comment you’ve had on one of your fics?

Honestly, they’re all memorable and cherished. I love every single one because someone took not only the time to read something I wrote, but also took the time to leave a comment, even if it’s just an emoji. Knowing someone was moved or something I wrote made them laugh: it fills my heart, truly, and means the world. I go back and reread them. They make me smile. I will say one comment that I was very moved by was actually a reply to a comment that I left on someone else’s fic. I had commented how much I enjoyed it and how I was happy they had decided to start writing again and the author responded that reading my stories had made them want to find their old AO3 password and try posting again so that really touched me. That was a bit mind-boggling, actually.

What parts of writing are easy for you? What parts are hard?

I don’t know if any of it is easy as it’s still so new to me. I guess writing introspection comes easier to me. Getting into someone’s head like David or Patrick and figuring out what’s happening in their minds at any given moment. That’s fun. I could write that all day. A lot of my fics probably read like they do go on all day.

What’s hard. The banter and teasing between David and Patrick is tricky. They have such a love language of trolling each other that’s so witty and quick. I absolutely love it but writing it is challenging. Stevie is hard because there’s a fine balance of, again, her quick wit and teasing but you have to be mindful of not tripping over into her just being mean. She has a big heart and doesn’t want to hurt anyone but she also needs to protect it.

And sexy times. I haven’t written a lot of smut and I struggle with it. I don’t want it to be just an instruction manual of which parts are going where and I need to let myself just go with the emotions of what the characters are feeling. I think that’s what is sexy and hot. What they’re feeling and experiencing. The heart behind the actual act (acts?) itself. It’s a matter of getting out of my head and stop overthinking it.

How much of yourself do you put into your stories or characters?

I think what drew me into Schitt’s Creek initially was the fact that I saw a lot of myself in these characters. I could identify with David, Patrick and Stevie in so many ways that I think it comes through in my writing, because I understand them in many ways. I have been in so many shitty relationships that I didn’t want to let go of or let people treat me badly because at least I could tell myself I was wanted or needed, like David. Trying to find connection wherever I could. I’m also a people pleaser like Patrick, to the point of making everyone else happy even if it makes you miserable or keeps you from being your true self. Not wanting to hurt people or rock the boat, so you keep things to yourself. Stevie, not knowing quite where she fits in or where she’s going in life. I cry every damn time she sings “Maybe This Time”. It’s such an amazing turning point for her and I feel that. Heck, I even see a lot of myself in Rachel. Chasing a relationship that doesn’t work for years. Or trying to make one work for all the wrong reasons.

Do you think your fics have a brand? What is it?

I guess just that a lot of them are very introspective. Not really sure if I think there’s a brand. It’s just me. Rambling.

Tell me about your current WIP if you have one.

I don’t really have anything except some lines of dialogue in my notes app. It’s a continuation of the high school AU I wrote for Media Fest, Paradise Found.

I have notes jotted down for a David leather jacket fic (which is the one I wished I had written down all the thoughts in my head at 3am) and I have an idea of writing something about Rachel and her backstory. Another one about an original character I wrote about in another story of mine ages ago. Just thoughts jumbling all around. Can’t wait to invest in that laptop. Typing on my iPhone is making my thumbs tired. And having life quiet down so I can think about writing.

This was really fun! Thank you so much!

#behind the keyboard #meet the authors #sc fanfic #schitt's creek #schitts creek

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sunny6677 · 2 years

Text

Crumbled Papers

A (Hetalia) Japan x Male! Reader

Chapter 5

-----------------

As the next few days had passed, Y/N had been exploring more parts of the house.

Most days involved Japan just coming in to see if he needed anything, or to say good night or good morning. Japan was polite enough to make him breakfast and dinner, so he usually felt relieved.

Japan had owned a lot of things for his house; an onsen in the back, a plethora of Sakura Trees all around his house, and a totally beautiful view. He was basically any Ghibli fans dream man.

Y/N still felt a bit odd in his presence though.

While he wasn't rude or anything, it still felt a little strange to be around someone he had barely ever talked to in his life before. It was a little weird to have a man of such a status living with him.

Y/N sat comfortably in front of the open door, as sunlight treaded in beautifully, it's rays embracing all that it touched.

In its warm grasp, Y/N sat still and was deep in thought.

Hellfire still surrounded him, even in such a calm moment like this. He didn't know how he would ever put it out.

Y/Ns breathing felt shaky as he thought about the fire again, the roaring and gruesome flames that almost consumed him whole as he narrowly escaped from his collapsing house.

And he swallowed his fears back up. The fire became more intense as he took out his phone, and went to YouTube.

A song. Maybe that would calm him down.

His trembling fingers typed desperately against the keyboard on the search bar, his lips were quivering and salty tears barely stayed sealed behind his eyes.

The song he was wanting to play had shown up on the search suggestions, and he immediately clicked.

He tapped on the video, and luckily, no ads played. The familiar guitar intro sounded, and he felt his breathing still shaking.

It was his favorite song in the whole world; "Thats Alright, Mama". While it did soothe him in the harshest of times, it would usually take a minute or two to fully calm him down.

His heart slowly stopped pounding as he took a deep breath in, and another breath out.

He repeated this, making his heartbeat more stable. A sense of relief started to overcome him as the grand, smooth voice of Elvis Presley blessed him.

"Pardon me, but," Japan's voice suddenly showed up from behind him, causing him to flinch slightly; "what are you ristening to?" He asked, looking down at him curiously.

Those cold, pupil-less eyes of simbersite glared down at him once more.

"Um-- uh.. its-- its uh, called Thats Alright, Mama. Its um-- a very good song! Hehe.." Nervously laughed the once trembling Y/N.

Japan replied with a calm, less shaky voice; "Mm.. werr, if it's arright with you.. may I sit down here?"

Y/N slightly widened his eyes, but immediately replied to his question with a fast; "Um-- yeah, yeah! Sure!"

Japan's face was devoid of emotion as he quietly stepped to the empty spot next to Y/N, and slowly sat down, crossing his legs and playing his hands on his lap.

The song that Y/N was playing still played silently, as the sun reflected onto them both.

A strange feeling inside Y/Ns chest appeared, and a bead of sweat dripped down his face.

He didn't know why, but anytime Japan walked in on him doing something, this is just the feeling he got. It only ever seemed to go away when he went away. So Y/N silently prayed he would get bored and leave.

The song finished, Y/N felt less hellfire now, yet it still remained present.

So Y/N went to go play another song, but as he did, Japan spoke once more; "I wonder.. is that song you prayed part of your curture?"

"Huh? Oh-- um, it ain't a song from my country-- but uh, it sounds really similar to some of the songs in mine, heheh." Y/N said back, typing in the name of another song.

Japan quietly hummed in response, and sat in silence again.

"How Do You Think I Feel" by Jimmie Rodgers Snow began to play, and the hellfire began to fade a little bit more again.

Y/N lifted up their legs, and wrapped their arms around it in an attempt to soothe themselves twice as more.

"You seem to rike more upbeat songs, don't you, Y/N-kun?" Said Japan, making Y/N avert his eyes softly as wind gently blew against his body.

"Um, yeah, I suppose.. it reminds me of my culture after all, heh." Said Y/N, practically burying his face inside his legs.

"Hmm. If it's arright, I'd rike to hear your curtures music after this one is over. If it sounds rike this, then I'd rove to here some more." Japan politely said, staring into the endless skies of Yellow Topaz and baby blue.

"R-- Really?.. Um, okay.." Said Y/N in response. He hadn't ever heard someone say they were interested in his culture before. So, he didn't know what else he could say.

Inhaling, he decided to suggest something as well.

"Maybe I could play some of your music too, if you don't mind.. I, um.. think it's catchy as well. So.. yeah, heh."

Y/N looked down at his lap as red overtook his face, Japan only made a slightly shocked look in response to his suggestion.

"Rea-- rearry? A-- Arigato, i didn't know you were interested in it as werr.."

"Well, you do tend to make a lot of good songs, especially the rock ones.. I might just be saying that cuz I like rock-music, but still."

"Mmm.. werr, after this, may I rook up the song?"

"S-- Sure, pal."

The song continued on, and then finished after a few minutes. Y/N readjusted his position to be more comfortable, and Japan slowly looked over to them.

"Eto-- that was a rearry good song, but-- may I rook up my song now?" He asked.

"Uhh, yeah.. yeah, man. I like your music anyway."

Japan took Y/Ns phone slowly, and went to the search bar.

He typed in something that Y/N couldn't see directly, and tapped on what he could only assume to be a video of some sort.

A familiar instrumental then began to play.

"Flyday Chinatown" by Yasuha began to play, and Y/N slowly bobbed their head and body to the rhythm of the song.

"Heh, hey, I know this one.. its pretty damn catchy, I'd have to admit." Y/N said, a warm smile appearing on their face.

"Oh, rearry? I figured you probabry wourdnt know this one."

"Well, course I know! I make sure to keep up with every country in the best way I can, even if that means listening to their recent hits for hours on end.. can't imagine feeling embarrassed if they referenced something to their culture I didn't know."

"I see, werr.. your efforts to understand my curture do amaze me, Y/N-kun. I'm armost a rittle impressed.."

Y/N sat still, unsure of what to say, and then fixed up his posture.

"Well, who can't be? I'm naturally great after all." He said with a boasting, charming grin on his face. Japan didn't say anything, but then let out a small, barely heard giggle.

Y/N's lips slightly parted, he didn't expect for him to laugh of all things. He seemed like a pretty serious guy. Yet, he couldn't help but laugh right after him.

Birds chirped in the Sakura Trees, and cicadas chirped as well, letting out a beautiful chorus of nature. Y/N didn't realize, but the hellfire that consumed them was but a tiny flame as of now.

#hetalia #hetalia x reader #aph japan #aph japan x reader

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blueskrugs · 1 year

Text

length: 2.5k words

full fic

april

Madison sees the Avs’ WAG jackets on Instagram the night they start the first round. The WIld had played the night before, an ugly loss Madison hadn’t been able to tear her attention away from. She could have had one of those jackets, sitting next to Syd and all the other girls. Instead, she’s back in her apartment in Denver, alone.

She wishes she could have stayed in Minnesota with Tyson for the first two games of the series. She gets a text from Tyson after the game that’s just a thumbs down emoji. Madison “dislikes” it out of solidarity. Tyson doesn’t call her that night. Madison has to remind herself that it’s okay, that they don’t have to talk all the time.

She watches anxiously two nights later as the Wild drag out a win, clutching a glass of wine for emotional support the whole time.

Before she can think too hard about it, Madison’s opening her laptop. She’s in the middle of searching flights to St. Louis when her phone rings. It’s Tyson, and Madison doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“I miss you,” she says, before Tyson can get a greeting out. She has perhaps had a little too much wine.

He chuckles. “It’s been less than a week, baby.” But then he adds, “I miss you, too.”

Madison shoves her laptop away and flops backwards on her bed. Last minute plane tickets are so expensive. So are playoff hockey tickets, apparently. She wonders if it would be easier to just drive to St. Louis. “Wish I could be there,” she says next, even though she had just turned down Tyson when he’d asked her to stay.

“Yeah, me too,” Tyson says after a beat. He doesn’t offer to fly Madison out again, though Madison can tell he wants to.

She doesn’t tell him that she’s only a few clicks away from buying herself tickets and meeting him in Missouri. Though she should probably do it while she’s not sober, before she can talk herself out of it in the morning.

“Oh, good game, by the way,” Madison remembers to say.

Tyson huffs. “Are you already in bed?” Tyson asks. Madison can hear him banging around his hotel room, tinny and muffled where her phone has slid off her pillow.

“Sorta,” Madison tells him. She pulls her laptop closer again. She could fly out after work and make it to the arena without missing too much of the game, probably. She winces again at the outrageous prices for the game. There aren’t even any good seats left.

Tyson speaks again. “Go to sleep, we can talk in the morning. I just wanted to say good night to you.”

“In a minute,” she whines. She’s trying to remember her credit card number without having to get up and dig it out of her purse.

Tyson must hear her keyboard clacking. “What are you still doing on your computer?”

“Online shopping,” Madison lies. Well, half-lies. She is spending plenty of money right now. She triple-checks that her flight is booked correctly and that she purchased the ticket for the game before she finally slams her laptop shut and tosses it aside. “There, I’m done,” she tells Tyson.

“Buy anything good?” Tyson asks through a yawn.

“Hope so, we’ll see.”

On Friday, Madison rushes off the plane, rushes through baggage claim, and rushes through renting a car. She’s cutting it close on time, with less than half an hour until puck drop. She drives as carefully and quickly as she can on the unfamiliar roads to the arena, one eye on the clock the whole time. The streets and parking around Enterprise Center are a fucking nightmare, but when she finally parks and makes it to the front doors, there’s still lines of people milling about, waiting to get in, too.

Madison checks her watch. Puck dropped five minutes ago. She pushes around a group of people who are somehow already drunk and towards the front of a line. All hockey arenas are the same, in a way, but Madison is immediately overwhelmed and disoriented. The first period is half over by the time she manages to get to the upper level and settle in her seat, but at least she finally made it.

Madison takes a photo of the ice and texts it to Tyson with her usual black heart emoji. He’ll see it eventually.

Madison has to keep herself from cheering too loudly for every Wild goal, surrounded by Blues fans as she is, and she’s probably one of the only people in the arena who’s happy when the Wild manage a neat win.

She follows the throngs of people outside and back to her rental car. She has a text from Tyson waiting for her, just a string of exclamation marks. Another text comes through while she’s waiting for traffic to thin out, a request for Madison to call Tyson in all capital letters.

Tyson’s breathless when he answers Madison’s call. “What the hell are you doing in St. Louis?”

“Surprise?” Madison says weakly.

Tyson laughs. “Hell of a surprise, babe.” He must pull his phone away from his ear, because Madison can still hear him speaking, but distantly. “Hang on, I’m trying to get you the address of the hotel, you can meet me there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Madison says. Tyson’s gone again, not really listening.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go, I’ll text you where to go, and I’ll see you soon, okay?” He hangs up without letting Madison reply, but he texts again seconds later with the name and address of the team hotel.

Madison is anxiously idling in the hotel driveway when the team bus pulls in behind her. Tyson bounds off the bus almost before it comes to a full stop, and he races over to Madison’s car door and taps on the window.

Madison rolls down the window. “And what if it hadn’t been me in the car?” she teases.

Tyson is reaching through the now-open window to try and unlock the door, his tongue sticking out the way it does when he’s focusing on the ice. “I would have apologized. A lot.” He successfully presses the unlock button and yanks the car door open. “Come here, come here,” he says.

Madison laughs and climbs out of the car. Both of her feet aren’t even out of the car before Tyson’s sweeping her up in a hug so tight she swears she can feel her ribs shift. He sets her down and immediately cups her face.

“You’re here, I can’t believe you’re here.” Tyson narrows his eyes, and he squishes Madison’s cheeks where he’s still holding her face. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming.”

Madison pries Tyson’s hands away enough to talk. “I wanted to surprise you.” Tyson’s teammates are still filtering off the bus, and they should probably move inside, too. “Can you let go of me so I can get my bag out of the trunk?” she asks.

Tyson considers this. He slides one hand down Madison’s arm until he can tangle their fingers together. He also leans into the car and deftly turns it off, holding the keys up with a grin. He nudges the door shut. “We can get your bag out of the trunk.” He proceeds to drag Madison around to the back of the car and drags her suitcase out of the back with his free hand. He stares between the suitcase in his hand and the open trunk before Madison takes pity on him and slams the trunk shut.

Madison hangs back while Tyson hands the car keys off to a valet, and then he’s dragging her towards the elevators, happily rolling Madison’s suitcase in front of him. At least the rest of the Wild players have all disappeared, sparing Madison from their stares and jeers. She tucks herself closer to Tyson in the elevator, suddenly self-conscious. Tyson kisses her temple.

Madison is suddenly exhausted as soon as they enter Tyson’s room. Tyson flips the light on as Madison kicks off her shoes. Tyson left the curtains open earlier, and Madison can see the Arch, light up above the river, through the window. She’s too tired to give it more than a half-hearted glance on her way to face-planting into the pillows.

Tyson’s laughing when she rolls over and brushes her hair out of her face. “I’m so fucking happy you’re here,” he says, jumping onto the bed next to Madison, and, really, that’s all that matters.

The Wild lose the next game at Enterprise, and Madison holds Tyson tightly for a long time in the hall outside the locker room before he has to get on a plane. They lose again at home, then yet again back in St. Louis.

Just like that, hockey season is over.

Tyson calls Madison after the last game. He sounds like he’s been crying, but he tries to be cheerful for Madison. She just wishes she could hug him, but she’s back in Denver. She knows the Avs swept the Predators already, and they’ll be facing St. Louis next. It’s not difficult to imagine how Tyson feels about that.

“Come home with me,” Tyson blurts. He’s on the phone with Madison, getting ready to leave his Minnesota hotel room behind. He survived locker cleanout and exit interviews, and now he’s ready to sleep for about a week.

Madison, in the middle of complaining at work, freezes. “I—what?” She takes another moment to process. “Aren’t you coming back to Denver first?” Madison knows his apartment sits half-abandoned, filled with things too difficult or unnecessary to move after the trade.

“Well, yeah, but like, after. You should come home with me,” Tyson repeats. He’s been dying to introduce her to his mom for months. He hopes his mom likes Madison as much as he does. He is a little worried about his sanity if Madison and Kacey get along as well as he thinks they will, though.

“I’ve never been to Canada before,” Madison says thoughtfully. She’s barely travelled abroad at all, except for one trip to the UK after she graduated high school. Her passport has been collecting dust since then.

“So you’ll come?” Tyson asks.

“Is there even anything to do in Edmonton?” Madison teases.

“There’s so much to do, like—” Tyson pauses. It’s been a while since he’s had to play tourist back home. Madison is giggling on the other end of the line. “Shut up, we’ll figure something out.”

Tyson feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in months when he steps out of the airport in Denver. He wonders if any place will ever feel like home the way Denver does.

Tyson had managed to wheedle JT into picking him up, and he even brought coffee. Tyson ignores the way it almost feels like an apology. JT has nothing to be apologizing for, but Tyson just sips his coffee.

The apartment smells stale when they walk in. Tyson’s mom had done a good job of cleaning for him, at least, and there aren’t any dirty dishes still stacked in the sink. He and JT are quiet as they walk through the apartment, opening windows. Tyson feels like he’s walking through someone else’s life. He stares for too long at his bed, freshly made and untouched for weeks.

He shakes it off and goes to find the moving boxes.

“So, this is it, huh?” JT says.

He could be talking about all the boxes they’ve spent the last few hours filling boxes and separating them into piles to be shipped off to Minnesota—Tyson finally signed a lease for an apartment there—or to be sent back home for his family to deal with. An alarming amount of Tyson’s clothes is Avalanche-branded gear, and more of it got packed away to keep than Tyson is willing to admit.

He could also be talking about the end of everything they’ve known together in Denver. Tyson’s spent years accepting the fact that hockey is a business before everything else, has gotten used to the revolving door of teammates each season. It’s been a long time since Rookie House days with Kerf. Tyson is going to walk out that apartment door, and he’s never going to be able to go back. A chapter—or book, really—in the story of his life ended for good.

Tyson sighs. “This is it.”

The apartment is stripped bare when Madison steps through the door, left unlocked by JT and Tyson.

She drops her laptop bag and kicks off her shoes, saying, “You should be more careful, anybody could just walk in here.”

Tyson drops the box he’s holding and whirls around. Madison winces as its contents rattle. There’s no time to say anything else before Tyson is bounding across the room and wrapping her in a huge hug.

“What, no hug for me?” JT asks from somewhere behind them. Tyson turns to glare at him, but Madison shoots him a smile.

“Hey, JT,” she says. She lets JT drape an arm around her in a half-hug.

“Betrayal,” Tyson says. He is ignored.

They leave most of the boxes for the moving company to deal with. Madison bundles Tyson into her car with his bags of clothes, complaining the whole time about wanting dinner. She lets Tyson hold her hand across the console as she drives him to her apartment.

It’s not the first time Tyson’s been to Madison’s apartment, but it still feels strange to be there instead of his own. They’ve spent so much time there the past few months, watching movies on the couch, doing things other than sleeping in the bed. He misses it already, all the memories they made as they fumbled their way into a relationship.

He says as much to Madison, expecting her to tease him for something so objectively dumb—to miss an apartment he lived in half of the time for like six months—but the look she gives him is almost sad.

“That’s a bit dramatic,” she says. Tyson pulls her in by the hips, letting her lean her weight on him. “But I guess we’ll just have to keep making more memories, yeah?”

Later that night, tangled up in Madison’s sheets, Tyson stares at the dark ceiling. He can feel Madison, looking rumpled and in his shirt, watching him. She nudges his calf with her toes. He doesn’t look at her, focused on keeping his eyes from welling up. Then Madison’s hand is on his cheek, turning his head towards her.

“How you doin’, bud?”

Tyson lets Madison pull him close and hold him tightly. He slides a hand under her shirt and to the bare skin of her hip, just feeling the comforting warmth of her skin.

“What if it’s never like this again?” Tyson whispers back. This—Denver and the Avalanche, friends who become family; Madison in bed next to him, loving him and wearing his clothes. Minnesota had been okay, but Tyson worked his ass off and never felt settled. Maybe it was the endless hotel life, maybe it was the team, maybe it was him. He feels like a child, begging his mom to tell him everything was going to be okay.

Madison doesn’t know how to comfort Tyson. It probably never will be like this again. Madison can’t see the future, and she can’t promise Tyson anything, either. “I don’t know, baby,” Madison admits. “I don’t know.”

Tyson doesn’t cry, but they both lay awake for a long time.

june

#cait writes things

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