#spotify wrapped is here and it feels like christmas

[runningupthatvecna]

[katyobsesses]

I think my glee obsession is returning in full force

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part 19

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: It's time. Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: angst; Miguel crying; mention of injuries; mention of death; mention of someone sacrificing their life; use of sedatives; Nonviolent Communication? More like Nonviolent [lack of] Communication Music (Spotify playlist): "Present" - Lloyd Vaan "Fade Into You" - Vitamin String Quartet "That Home" - The Cinematic Orchestra Masterlist A/N: Another update so soon? It's a Christmas miracle in October!

Part 19

Miguel tenderly gazes at you from his hammock, his pinky finger wrapped around yours. He feels a gentle breeze rustling his hair, a contrast to the warmth emitted from your hand near his. He can hear music and conversation taking place from afar, but none of that matters.

Miguel is so at peace right now, he even forgets that next week you’ll likely be moving out of the penthouse.

He simply focuses on the now, on this moment of tranquility with you.

Gazing at you, Miguel can’t help but think about how he’ll remember this weekend forever, even when he’s seventy. He’ll gaze at the moon and be reminded of tonight, how you’re sharing a thermos with freshly brewed coffee and holding each other’s pinky fingers under the moonlight. He’ll recall your whispered question about the children you were meant to have, but didn’t, and the way his answer seemed to satisfied your thoughts. He’ll remember the way you subtly lowered your arm, trying to play it off as nothing, and how he knew what you hoped, maybe even longed for: his touch.

His crimson eyes shining like rubies in the night gaze up at you one moment and the next they’re closed.

His eyes move rapidly under his eyelids, confused.

He opens them, but his vision is a blur. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with an ache all over his body, as if he hasn’t moved in days. Miguel repeatedly blinks, his mind trying to figure out what’s going on. He succeeds in clearing his vision, but the confusion remains.

Miguel was at the beach with you just now, hanging on a hammock below yours and holding your pinky finger, but now he’s here.

At an infirmary room.

Alone.

Miguel feels frozen for a second before he looks down at himself, finding his body clad in a hospital gown and laying on the bed. His confusion grows tenfold. Dread spreads throughout Miguel’s chest while he searches the empty and cold room he was in last year.

Why is he here? He was just on the hammock, his pinky finger wrapped around yours.

Where are you?

That thought has Miguel instantly sitting up despite the pain shooting through his body. His eyes search for you, for any sign of you in this room. He looks at the floor, the tables, and the uncomfortable chair you slept on last year pressed to the wall a few feet away. It’s empty, no sign of a pillow or blanket on it. He looks around once more, wondering where your duffel bag is at. It should be here somewhere, right?

Yet, Miguel finds nothing. No trace of you.

Where are you?

Where did you go?

The dread in his chest intensifies with every second, his mind a mess with thoughts. His heart rate shoots up, triggering an alarm that has the infirmary staff rushing through the door. In seconds, a doctor and nurses are at his side, trying to assess what’s wrong. They find the usual distant and stoic boss under distress.

“Why am I here? How did I get here? I was somewhere else,” Miguel says while they check the monitors, his voice filled with stress. “I was at the beach just now — with Dulzura. Where’s Dulzura at? Y/N?” he asks. “Where is she?”

“Sir, you need to calm down. Everything is okay,” the doctor replies in a calmly manner that only seems to frustrate Miguel even more.

“Where is she? Why isn’t she here?” Miguel continues to ask.

“We’re going to call Mrs. Jess and Mr. Peter B., alright?” the doctor replies, giving a subtle nod to a nurse on the other side of the bed.

“I’m not asking for either Jess or Peter. I’m asking you for Y/N. Just tell me where she is!” Miguel says, his voice rising out of frustration. All he wishes to know is that you’re here somewhere, somewhere close to him so the dread in his heart can cease.

Yet, the staff refuses to answer his questions and instead, fill his bloodstream with a drug.

“¿Dónde está? [Where is she?]” Miguel says softly, the sedative doing its job. “I was at the beach. I was with her,” he adds. “Dulzura?” he whispers, eyes fluttering. “Por favor, Dulzura… [Please]” he continues, his vision becoming blurry once more. “Stay…”

♡

When Miguel wakes up again, he detects voices in the room. For a few seconds, they sound far, far away.

He groans when he begins to feel the body ache all over again, still there. “Dulzura,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Miguel - it’s alright. We’re here,” a voice says.

“You’re going to be okay, pal,” another one adds.

“Where’s Dulzura?” Miguel manages to say, his eyes struggling to open. “Where is she?”

“Who’s Dulzura?” the second voice asks.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” the first voice says. “He never called Gabriella that.”

“Then, who… is he calling for?” the second voice questions.

“God knows what’s going on in his mind right now,” the first voice replies. “Look, his eyes are fluttering. Miguel? Can you hear us?”

At last, Miguel opens his eyes, groaning. He looks around, his vision blurry for a few seconds before they focus on the faces near him.

Jess and Peter.

“What - what happened?” Miguel asks, searching for you once more. He tries to spot your favorite blanket, the one you had over your legs just yesterday while reading a book in front of the fireplace at the bungalow, but he can’t find it. Your sweatshirt is nowhere in sight, too. There’s not even a hint of your scent in the air, as if you haven’t been here in days.

“You’ve been out for a few days, pal,” Peter says gently, eyebrows furrowed. “You took a lot during the fight trying to help Miles save his dad. By the way, he’s safe. They both are. And, we defeated the Spot, too.”

“Wh-what?” Miguel whispers, his mouth feeling dry. This makes no sense.

Jess sighs, giving Peter a look before turning to face him again. “We’ll explain everything, okay? But you need to remain calm.” With that, Jess tells Miguel everything. Peter listens, adding a few details here and there when necessary.

Miguel listens, his heart sinking and sinking with every word. His chest is filled with such a heaviness, he feels that if he was standing, he’d surely drop to the ground due to the weight.

How could it be? None of what Jess and Peter are saying makes sense, but according to them, Miguel has been at the infirmary for days after Miles and him, along with half of the Spider Society, worked together to save Mr. Morales and stop the Spot from unleashing chaos on the multiverse.

Miguel didn’t go unscathed, however. He was seriously hurt during the encounter, putting his life at risk for the sake of the multiverse and Mr. Morales’s life.

He thought it was only fair — even just — after being incorrect about the canon event theory. So, Miguel went into the fight ready to sacrifice his life. He had nothing else to give, nothing else to lose.

He was ready to lose his life.

And he almost did.

Apparently, Miguel did in fact die for a few minutes, but the infirmary team resuscitated him. Due to the shock and trauma his body received during the fight, it’s taken several days for Miguel to wake up.

“We’re glad to have you back, pal,” Peter says, donning that pink robe he’s been wearing since Mayday was born, but Miguel can’t force himself to care about anything right now.

He doesn’t care about what everyone has been doing around HQ over the last few days when Jess fills him in. He doesn’t care that everything is running smoothly. He doesn’t care about anything at all.

Both Jess and Peter watch him, giving each other subtle looks, though they’re sure Miguel wouldn’t even notice them if they were obvious ones to begin with. Miguel is distant, more than ever. His body may be here in front of them, but his mind is elsewhere. Far, far, far away.

They have no idea of the immense longing and pain the leader is under while he stares at the windows with the same sentences echoing in his mind over and over again.

It was all a dream.

You were just a dream.

You don’t exist.

Miguel was hurt badly, so much to the point he died for a few minutes, but that doesn’t affect his intelligence to figure it out. He dreamed of a life after the events with the Spot — a total of two years with you at his side.

He tries to swallow the knot in his throat while Jess and Peter converse, not knowing what they’re talking about. He tries to focus on the conversation, tries to pretend to be okay, but there’s a horrible, heavy feeling that grows and grows in his chest with every second, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

He puts on a facade.

He’s okay.

He’s okay.

He’s okay.

Miguel repeats the sentence, trying to make himself believe the biggest lie he’s ever told himself.

He keeps himself at bay, but he’s like a weak dam that finally crumbles when Jess and Peter leave.

It’s only in his solitude, in this horrible loneliness, within his cold and empty infirmary room, that Miguel’s chest heaves dramatically. His breathing speeds up, his chest heavy like lead.

His beautiful crimson eyes swell with tears, his vision becoming blurry once again. The knot in his throat never left, just temporarily paused. He feels it grow in this horrible and cold loneliness. It hurts. The knot in his throat hurts so much, giving him a burning and sharp barbed wire-like feeling. The thought that actual barbed wire pressed to his skin would hurt less crosses his mind before the devastating reality weighs down on him.

Miguel presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, sobbing his gentle heart out.

It has to be a nightmare. It has to be.

His lips tremble before a cry escapes from within.

How was he just there with you? Holding your pinky finger in his, in perfect solitude on the beach?

Miguel can almost taste the coffee you made just to enjoy on the hammocks. He cries at that, at how much you love coffee and the way your eyes seem to twinkle when he says he’ll make café de olla [coffee pot] just for you.

“God — “ Miguel says through his sobbing, his face tear-stained. “Please, please wake me up. I’ll do anything. Just wake me up from this dream — I beg you.”

But Miguel doesn’t wake up.

This is his life and you’re not here.

There’s no you.

You don’t exist.

Miguel cries and cries, until those crimson eyes can’t cry anymore.

He spends the rest of the day mourning and longing for you, the bitter truth crashing over him like rogue waves. He’s longing for someone he’s never met, someone he’s not sure exists, not even out there in the multiverse.

♡

Despite doctor’s orders, Miguel is back in the lab the next day. He stands on his platform, crimson eyes scanning over his screens. His platform is elevated all the way to the ceiling, where Miguel wishes to be alone and undisturbed. He wants to forget, but he cannot.

The lab’s counters are unorganized, parts and tools scattered about.

No one will volunteer to help organize them every week, Miguel knows that now. There’s no quiet conversation between you and Lyla, who asks questions about your comfort food or plans for the weekend.

There’s no hidden Mexican candy in the cabinets for you to eat. There’s no hidden scarf in his drawers with your scent interwoven within its fibers.

Miguel freezes.

Your scent.

Your soft breathing when you sleep.

Your voice.

He slumps over his platform at the realization, wincing at his wounds from the movement. He can smell it, somehow, even now. There’s no trace of it anywhere, but he can remember it and God, he holds on to it, desperately, like a man half dead clinging to life.

Miguel hears your soft breathing and voice then, plays it his head. He prays to God and every saint he knows he never forgets either sounds.

“Mierda [shit],” Miguel murmurs, a slight tremor in his voice. “¿Donde estás? [where are you?]” He wonders, his chest tightening the same way it does every time he thinks of Gabriella and his brother, Gabriel.

And he knows… He is mourning you just the same despite being made up.

“Dulzura,” Miguel whispers, eyes closed as he remains slumped over his platform. Images of you flash in his mind like a movie.

The time he found you sick in your apartment, passed out and in pain. He made pasta for you and cleaned up your space a bit, even fixed the cabinets of your kitchen.

The night of Día de los Muertos [Day of the Dead] while you looked at his ofrenda [altar], the lit candles which gave your face a gentle glow.

Miguel recalls the times you brought him lunch and coffee cups too small to actually do much to his body, but him accepting them nonetheless after months of your offerings.

He remembers the Christmas Eve when you showed up with food, looking nervous because you were in his penthouse for the first time. He remembers your look of surprise seeing him dressed in normal clothes for once.

All these images flash in his mind, all the way to lunches on rooftops and sleeping on his living room floor to putting together that puzzle of two butterflies in a meadow during the beach trip.

“Miguel?” Lyla speaks suddenly. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“No,” Miguel replies, straightening up. His voice is weak with a hint of harshness as an attempt to hide his true feelings. “I’m fine.”

He repeats that to himself.

He’s fine.

He’s fine.

He’s fine.

He pushes through the first half of the day, his mind and heart a mess.

Even as the days go by and turn into weeks since the situation with Miles, Miguel feels lost.

One morning after showering at the penthouse, he stands in the halfway to the bedrooms. He knows better than to, but he pushes the door open to Gabriel’s old room. Of course, it’s the same as it’s always been since his brother’s death.

Somewhere in his long and intricate dream, you stayed here in this room after a fire on your building. You made it yours with a lot of hesitance, your idea being that you didn’t want to be a ‘burden’ to him.

Miguel recalls telling you to stop thinking that. You could never be a burden to him.

But now you are, only because he must carry on living with the mere imagination of your existence in his life.

♡

Miguel’s stomach grumbles while he works. He’s tempted to ignore the hunger and keep working to avoid his thoughts, but then he remembers that you would’ve disapproved of that behavior. An image of you frowning in disapproval flashes in his mind. Even though it’s just an image and he now knows he somehow made you up, he still can’t find it in himself to be the reason for a frown on your face, real or not real.

He engages the platform to lower it, deciding to go to the cafeteria. He stares at the ground, arms at his sides, a feeling of defeat filling him.

In that moment, Miguel wishes he would’ve never woken up.

Miguel sighs heavily in desperation and sorrow. He covers his face with both hands. He would’ve blissfully stayed in that dream, where things were great with his best friend. He swallows the knot in his throat now, the feeling all too familiar, for Miguel has cried every day since he woke up.

Miguel clears his throat and wipes the beginning of his tears away before dragging himself out of the lab, even though all he wants to do is stay in that dark and empty space — alone. He doesn’t want to look at the spider members, who’ll probably continue to stare hoping for something from him after everything that happened with Miles.

His mind hasn’t even wrapped itself around that situation and how everything he’s worked for has turned out to be wrong. Then, there’s the loss of Gabby, his sweet little Gabriella.

And of course, there’s the loss of someone he’s never met.

You.

He should’ve never woken up.

Miguel walks out into a hallway, a few spider members greeting his sight. He avoids their eyes, unable to meet their gazes. His steps feel heavy as he walks down one of the many hallways of their base, memories of him and you walking together flashing through his mind.

You’re everywhere.

And yet, you’re not.

Miguel almost turns around and heads back to the lab, even if it means not eating. How is he going to manage to walk past the conference rooms where you both spent time together each week, talking over coffee before meetings started? He doesn’t want to gaze inside because he knows only the ghost of you on your unassigned assigned chair next to his will greet him back.

He makes it past them, but only because he keeps his gaze down.

Somewhere, he hears a door open and a new set of footsteps join him. He doesn’t have it in himself to look up, even though the footsteps sound familiar in the midst of his internal turmoil. He hears a gizmo go off, probably the other person’s. He looks up, only by instinct, and freezes as his eyes capture the smallest glimpse of someone’s suit as they turn a corner.

It’s the smallest, shortest glimpse, but it’s there.

The colors of your suit.

His breath gets caught in his throat and before Miguel knows it, he’s walking faster. He turns and enters another hallway, missing the individual once again as they turn the corner. However, this time, his gaze is much more focused, so he’s able to spot not only the colors, but also part of the design of the suit for a fragment of a second, causing his heart to race.

His steps are determined as he continues to walk, following the person’s tracks. He can’t help but feel like he’s chasing his lifeline, feeling more alive than he has in weeks.

He must be going crazy, Miguel thinks.

It’s foolish and yet, Miguel follows.

He enters the cafeteria, met with a buzz from spider members having lunch. He looks around as they walk in front of him, blocking his way. He wishes he could silence them for a second as his gaze searches for you in the midst of the crowd. He spots the colors of your suit again, straight ahead, and follows, ready to push anyone if he must.

Miguel sighs in frustration as he pushes past a group, keeping his eyes in the same spot as to not miss the individual.

“Miguel-” someone says.

“Not now,” he replies as he keeps walking, not even sparing a glance.

At last, there’s the individual. Their back is to him but there’s your suit. Identical.

“No puede ser [it can’t be],” Miguel breathes out as he keeps walking, not sure what he’s even doing. All he knows is that there you are, or at least it seems so and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t talk to you, his best friend.

His steps slow down as Jess steps into view, facing him. She says something to you just as her eyes find Miguel. He watches as she gives him a nod and says something else to you, or at least he thinks it’s you.

With his heart racing, Miguel keeps approaching.

“Miguel,” Jess says, acknowledging him verbally. “I’m glad to see you. I was about to go and look for you to introduce someone to you — someone I think would be a great asset.”

He doesn’t say anything as he comes to a halt, just five feet away from you, your back to him still. As if in slow motion, he watches you turn around and there.

Your face meets Miguel’s eyes, your reflection finding a home in them.

There you are.

You are real.

You exist.

Miguel stares at you, his heart racing. He feels his breathing pick up but this time out of gratitude, happiness, and so much more. You’re here. You’re real.

You look at him with those eyes he knows so well, but there’s no recognition in them. You don’t recognize him at all.

“This is Y/N,” Jess starts.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you say with a nod, not even offering your hand. “I’d shake your hand, but Jess has told me you…” you trail off.

“I’ve informed her,” Jess says, referring to no physical touch.

Miguel stares at you, his heart in pain. You’ve called him ‘sir’ instead of by his name or the nickname you gave him, Migs.

He lifts a hand, his pinky finger out, hoping you know.

You blink at the sight, an expression of confusion on your face when you see the gesture. You glance at Jess, hoping for an explanation.

Miguel gulps. “You don’t - You don’t remember… You don’t know me?”

“Sir…” you say gently, confused.

“Dulzura,” Miguel says, looking at you. “You really don’t remember me?”

“Miguel — what are you doing?” Jess asks, confused and alarmed.

“You don’t remember when I found you sick at your apartment?” he asks. “All the times I made you café de olla? You don’t remember the night we said we had each other. Always?”

“I don’t know what - Jess what’s going on?” you ask, turning to her.

“Dulzura, please,” Miguel says. “I’m begging you. I can’t bear this anymore,” he continues, feeling like he could die right now.

“Miguel, you need to calm down, okay? Please, get something to eat and rest. You’ve been working too much,” Jess says. “You’re scaring the recruit.”

“She’s not just a recruit. This is Dulzura,” Miguel says, frustrated. “She’s my best friend,” he adds, hoping you will remember, but no matter what he says, neither you nor Jess believe him.

“Dulzura, please. Please tell me you remember,” Miguel whispers, tears swelling in his eyes. “I’ve missed you so much. I’ve thought of you every day since I woke up, please. It’s been weeks since I woke up in that empty infirmary room, searching for you. We went to the beach because you invited me, remember? We bought groceries the day before, went shopping together. We made red chilaquiles [Mexican dish] that first morning we spent there and some of our friends showed up. We went for walks and I gave you a seashell. Don’t you remember?” Miguel asks in distress, noticing the lack of recognition on your face. “We put together a puzzle and talked about parenthood. You made me realize I’m open to the idea of one day experiencing that and romantic love, even if I’ve accepted I might not get to. Please, Dulzura! Please, please, please! How do you not remember? Dulzura, Dulzura, Dulzura…” Miguel repeats, brokenhearted and crying.

Miguel sits up in bed.

He gasps for air, chest heaving in the night. There’s tears streaming down his face and he feels sweaty as he looks around.

“Dulzura,” Miguel whispers, and at the thought of you, the bed covers go flying. He's on his feet in a second, walking barefoot towards the hallway.

Please, please, please… Miguel thinks as he walks past the door frame. He's barely taken three steps when he runs into something.

Someone.

“Miguel?” your sleepy voice breaks the silence of the penthouse, gently killing that dread in Miguel's chest and replacing it with a calmness — alleviating his soul.

“Dulzura,” Miguel breathes out, before turning the light on in the hallway. He needs to make sure you're really here, that you’re not a figment of his imagination. Relief washes over him when the sight of you in your pajamas, looking sleepily at him, greets him. He instinctively steps closer.

“Migs?” you ask softly. “What's wrong? I heard you calling for me. Are you alright?” You search his body and face for signs of injury, but find none.

Miguel raises his hands, that relief taking over along with the need to touch you, to feel your body to fully confirm you’re in the flesh. He moves them closer until they're near your face, in a cupping form. His hands tremble.

“Migs?” you whisper, noticing his trembling hands, a sight that breaks your heart, and their proximity to your face along with how they seem to be ready to cup your cheeks. “Did you have a nightmare?” you ask gently.

Miguel nods. “One of the worst nightmares of my life,” he answers, his hands growing closer.

You watch intently, sleep fading away quickly due to Miguel’s trembling hands and the fact that he seems to be seeking physical contact.

And Miguel would’ve, if only Lyla hadn’t popped up out of nowhere.

“What’s going on?” she asks, looking around. “Oh, you’re awake?”

Miguel’s hands drop to his sides, realizing what he was going to do.

“I - what?” you ask, confused by the entire moment. Miguel was just about to cup your face and now you’re left here in the hallway with Lyla floating between you.

“What’s wrong, Lyla?” Miguel asks quietly.

“Your gizmo detected you talking while the recording you always play at night was active. It’s past three in the morning. It made no sense for you to be talking at this hour if you have the recording playing, so I figured you were having a nightmare, but I see you’re actually awake and talking with Y/N, so,” Lyla explains.

“It’s alright,” Miguel forces himself to say. “Everything is okay.”

Looking between Miguel and you, as if trying to make sure it’s true, Lyla nods. “Alright, have a good night, you two!” With that, Lyla disappears just as fast she appeared.

You blink softly and turn to Miguel, noticing a bit of perspiration and his tear-stained face. He still looks somewhat startled from his nightmare.

“Come with me?” you ask softly.

Miguel nods, already having an idea of where you’re both going.

A few minutes later, he’s sat on one of the chairs in the kitchen with you at his side. There’s a pot with water and a few cinnamon sticks on the stove and two mugs on the counter ready to be filled with sweet canelita [cinnamon tea].

You stay quiet to give Miguel a few minutes to gather himself, some time to calm down. You glance at his hands, noticing they’re thankfully no longer trembling, which puts you at ease. Earlier, you were still sleepy and startled by everything, but the sight of his shaking hands broke your heart. You wonder if he dreamed about Gabby again, about losing her.

You sigh quietly, deciding not to ask right now and continue to give Miguel a moment, at least until the canelita is ready.

A few minutes later, you silently pour the liquid into both mugs and add a bit of sugar, before returning to the counter with them. You place one in front of Miguel and offer him a smile, hoping to comfort him.

“Thank you,” Miguel says softly, tired. He picks up the mug and blows on it gently, accepting the kind and warm gesture.

You gently stir yours with a spoon, looking at him. “Always…” you reply softly, lifting your mug to your lips now and also blowing on it to cool it off a bit. After some seconds of debating internally, you decide to speak. “Do you want to talk about it?” you ask.

Miguel closes his eyes, feeling better now that he’s out of that horrible dream. His breathing has gone back to normal and his mind is clearer. He nods. “Yes…” he simply responds before Miguel tells you everything about his nightmare.

Despite looking better, his voice falters at some points, especially when he reaches the part where he saw you at the end but you didn’t recognize him.

“And then, I woke up,” Miguel says. “I was - I was - I had to make sure you are here… That’s why I was going to your room.”

You nod, your heart aching for Miguel. You can imagine what he felt — feels — when you place yourself in his shoes. You’d be hyperventilating if you had dreamed of that.

“I’m sorry you dreamed that,” you say softly, wondering what triggered it to begin with. “It was just a dream though,” you add, hoping to reassure him. “I’m here.”

Miguel nods, looking over at you. “I know, you’re here. Safe.” Miguel is eternally grateful for that.

“And that dream isn’t realistic because I would remember you,” you say, trying to lighten up the mood. “There’s no way I would forget about my best friend.”

Miguel slowly smiles for the first time since waking up. “You would still remember me?”

“Always. How could I forget you?” you reply. “You’re…” you smile and look away for a few seconds. “You’re one of the most important people in my life. My brain, maybe because of some unfortunate injury might for a short period of time, but… My heart will always know you, always remember you.”

Miguel’s smile widens, his heart filled with tenderness. He forgets all about his nightmare with your words for now, comforted. “My heart will always know you, too, Dulzura. In every universe.”

You both keep smiling before turning your attention to the drink, both feeling more at peace right now. The two of you take notice of the time. Like Lyla said earlier, it’s past three in the morning, almost four at this point.

Miguel and you silently realize something. You’ve been in bed for hours at this point, since ten to be exact, but only an hour ago you both managed to get some sleep. Nerves, disappointment, dread, and God knows what other emotions has kept the two of you up because of what awaits in a few hours.

Your return to your apartment.

After arriving back to Nueva York from the beach trip, Miguel and you finally talked about you moving out. You realized you needed to address it, or at least you thought you had to, so you did.

After discussing with Miguel that you’re moving back, which he accepted and understood, knowing it’s time, you both went to the apartment to clean it. He’s helped you deep clean the space and move some things around, trying to be a supportive friend. The only space left to clean is your living room and of course, you’ll have to unpack the belongings that are now sitting in Miguel’s living room, ready to be transported in a few hours back to your universe.

Despite your silent and respective realizations at the same time and the fact that you’ve only managed to sleep for an hour, if even that, neither of you mention anything about it. Neither of you share that you’re unhappy with the situation.

Miguel doesn’t want you to leave, to move back to your apartment, but he knows he can’t ask you not to. He knows how much the apartment means to you because of Peter and all the memories it holds. It’s a special place, Miguel knows that, so he won’t, even if he wishes he could.

Even if the words are threatening to spill at any moment from his mouth.

Next to him, you refuse to say what’s on your mind, too. You don’t want to move out, even if you love your apartment so much. You do, you really do.

You love your building.

You love your little apartment, its coziness and warmth.

But most of all, you love the memories made within those walls. The moments you shared with your family, back when your parents were alive along with Aunt May and of course, Peter.

Just days ago, you stood outside it on the street and saw phantom memories play in your mind, like a film. You saw Peter and yourself walking side by side chatting, grocery bags in his hands, and remembered how he always tried to hold most of them despite your superhuman strength. You watched the two of you enter the building, still talking. Up above, you saw the light from the living room turn on before images of Peter sprawled on the old couch, which is still stored in Miguel’s building, with you on top of him came to mind.

Within a few seconds, you found yourself physically inside your empty apartment. You stood in the living room, looking at everything you left behind. Miguel offered many times to help you take everything to his universe for the time being, but you declined each time. The things that truly matter are here at his universe right now, everything else you can do without.

You took a turn around the room, realizing.

You stayed here, despite the years, even when everyone moved on. Your former friends kept their relationships, or found new partners. Some of them even have children of their own. They moved on and you stayed here, in this lovely apartment building you happened to come across one day. It was pure coincidence and later that week, Peter and you came to check it out. The apartment had opened up and rent was good, perfect for two people fresh out of college. Shortly after, you moved in and hosted your housewarming party.

It had its details, its little flaws, but it was your place. Peter’s and yours.

And nothing sounded better than that.

But as you stood there a few days ago, you couldn’t help but see it differently. Something happened while you were gone and you don’t know what it was, not yet, but it felt different.

Different in a good way.

That’s all you knew in that moment before you remembered you had somewhere to be. After some time of debating and debating, you finally decided to give Harry Osborn a chance to be a part of your life again. You hadn’t seen him in weeks at that point because he was out of the country for some business, but with his return a few days ago and your own from the beach trip, you decided to say yes.

You sighed when you gave the space one more look, holding on to that feeling, before you slipped out, stopping outside the window. You glanced back, trying to decipher that feeling one more time.

You gave up and swung off without a second glance of that apartment building you came across so many years ago.

So, yes, you do love your apartment, but… You turn the mug with canelita in your hand. You’d be lying if you said you’re ready to move back. You swallow the words and take a drink instead, thinking it’s not right.

It’s not like Miguel and you can simply continue to live like this, right? You both have your own spaces and you don’t want to overstay, even if Miguel has told you many times that you’re welcomed. That his home is your home.

You both have your own homes, so it’s time for you to return to yours.

Right?

Right.

So, then, why are you both still disappointed?

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the hour. Maybe these feelings will pass.

All Miguel and you know, respectively, is that the next fifteen or so hours are dreaded, but neither of you can say a thing out of respect for the other.

You both hide your true feelings about your move, thinking it’s the right thing to do.

Neither Miguel nor you say anything at four in the morning while drinking canelita. Not when you have breakfast together for the last time as his temporary roommate. Not when you both pick up your belongings and travel to your universe, knowing you’ve left a bedroom vacant of life once again. Not when Miguel and you deep clean the living room, move furniture around, and hang your pictures back again on the gallery wall.

Neither of you say anything, even when you order pizza for dinner after only eating sandwiches for lunch. At this point, everything is ready. Every single room in the apartment has been cleaned; surfaces have been dusted, the floors have been swept and mopped, furniture has been moved and found a new home within the space, and your belongings have been unpacked.

Your gallery of photographs is back. Peter’s record player sits on the bookcase and the records are back in its original spot. The box containing his belongings is back in the closet. Your clothes are in their appropriate spaces, though some laundry still needs to be done. Your personal hygiene items have taken residence in the bathroom and dresser once more.

Tomorrow you’ll just have to buy groceries to restock the now clean fridge.

You’re set to go, something you realize while having dinner with the TV on in the background. Miguel and you talk, avoiding your internal thoughts about this move, and opting to focus on other things — anything to forget that in a short while he’ll be leaving.

Yet, time reminds you both of the reality. The hours have flown by too fast.

When Miguel glances at his gizmo, he realizes he should probably head home now, but the truth is he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to leave you or your presence and go to an empty home that awaits him.

Noticing Miguel’s glance at his gizmo, makes you check the time yourself. You mentally wince. It’s getting late, and that only means Miguel will soon depart and leave you alone.

You push the feeling away, telling yourself that you shouldn’t even feel like this. This is your home after all. You should be happier to be here, to sleep on your old bed, not Gabriel’s.

Miguel frowns at the gizmo, it’s time.

“It’s late,” Miguel says slowly, noticing that his tone betrays his lack of enthusiasm to leave. “You’re probably very tired after all the cleaning we did. You should rest,” Miguel continues, telling himself to think of you. You’re probably tired and want to rest on your own bed at last after so many months of not doing so.

“I…” you trail off, wanting to say that you’re not tired, but you realize Miguel might be after helping you, and you don’t want to keep him up any longer. “Yes, a little.”

Miguel nods, your lie making him think he’s right about your exhaustion. He slowly stands up, straightening his top. He smiles at you. “I’ll let you rest, then,” he says, hesitantly reaching for his gizmo. “I’ll see you… tomorrow, maybe?” he says, not sure. Miguel realizes that he might not see you on both days of the weekend anymore, that you’ll both go back to your routines before the fire, in which you’d have Saturday dinners and see each other again until Monday at HQ.

“Yes, tomorrow. We can discuss what time to have dinner…?” you say, sounding more like a question as you stand, too.

“Yes, of course,” Miguel replies, nodding. He sighs and steps into a clearer area of your living room, opening a portal that takes him a few seconds to launch, not of out technical difficulties but because he’s stalling. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Rest, okay?”

Standing in front of him, you nod. You question why there’s a heavy feeling in your chest, one you don’t like, but hide with a smile. “I will, you, too.”

Stalling for several more seconds, Miguel finally takes a few steps back. “Bye,” he says, too softly, unwillingly.

“By-bye,” you say, stuttering a bit.

Miguel manages a smile, a small one despite his chest growing tighter. He turns around, forcing himself to or he might never leave. He stops himself from glancing back at you one more time because he has a feeling that if he does, he might just shut this damn portal and stay another hour. Or, two.

You watch gloomily as Miguel disappears into the portal, the sight obliging you to bite your lower lip because his name is at the tip of your tongue. You want to call out his name and ask him to stay another hour. Or, maybe two.

But you both refrain from doing what your bodies are begging you to do and in the end, you’re both alone in your homes with a portal that grows smaller and smaller unlike the heavy feeling in your chests.

You look around the apartment when the portal disappears entirely. This is home, but if it’s home, then why does it feel different? Something has changed in the space — something that now makes you feel like… It’s not yours entirely despite the furniture and memories you hold within it. You shake your head and decide to distract yourself with laundry, hoping it’ll help with that heavy feeling in your chest.

Back in Nueva York, Miguel gazes out of his living room’s windows. He sighs, noting the silence. There’s no music, no TV, no sound of your footsteps from somewhere - no sign of you here.

Miguel shakes his head. Okay, maybe that’s a lie. There’s traces of you across the penthouse because you helped him redecorate over the last few months. The penthouse feels better than it did in the past. There’s no denying that. It feels homier. He glances to Gabby’s altar, the candle flickering. That’s his favorite change to the penthouse, an addition you suggested on Gabby’s birthday.

There are signs of you in the penthouse, yet… Miguel turns around and faces the living room. Something left with you and now the penthouse feels different.

Miguel pushes the thoughts away. He can’t be thinking like this. It’ll do no good because it’s not like he can change anything about it. He can’t ask if you’re open to being roommates again, in a more permanent way. You love your apartment too much to leave it and Miguel would never ask you to abandon it, nor suggest some other kind of arrangement that involves you not living there. On top of that, you’re probably glad to have your own space again anyway.

He sighs again and looks at the time, realizing that just about now you’d be wishing each other a good night. His heart aches at the realization, knowing that you won’t be able to do that anymore, have that little endearing closure to the night.

“Shock,” Miguel says, realizing just how much your return to your own place is affecting him. He rubs his forehead, wondering how long it’ll take him to get used to this when his thoughts are interrupted by his gizmo. He hesitantly checks, hoping it’s not something from HQ because he doesn’t have the right mindset for it right now, but he finds your name instead and his heart leaps. He instantly opens the notification.

Dulzura Good night :)

He smiles, chuckling quietly to himself before he replies.

You sit on your bed, gizmo in hand while you wait. Of course you remembered that about this time you would’ve wished each other a good night, if only you were still there at the penthouse. You glance around the room again before laying down, the bed feeling strange now, too. A second later, your gizmo beeps, so you immediately bring it up to your face.

Migs Good night, Dulzura :)) sleep well

You smile, holding the gizmo close to you before you sigh. It’ll take some time to get used to this.

Miguel and you complete your night routines like every other night. You brush your teeth, wash your faces, and do the the rest of it as always until you get in bed, in respective universes.

You both lay to sleep, alone, in your homes.

That’s nothing new, of course. You’ve both slept alone for so long, but a loneliness creeps up on the two of you while you lay on your beds, unable to sleep. There was comfort, more than comfort, in knowing you were both down the hallway from each other — just feet away. Now, there’s universes between you.

You both try your best to sleep, but nothing works. For Miguel, not even your sweatshirt and the sound recording helps him.

Hours go by. You toss and turn, and do it again, and again, and again. Miguel wonders if you’re asleep now, then decides you must be. You’re sure Miguel is, too.

Another hour later and you can’t bear it any longer. It’s no use. You slip out of bed and change into your suit, placing your gizmo on your wrist. You leave your apartment a few minutes later in the middle of the night, ignoring the fact that you’re barely back at your apartment and for some reason leaving it in search of a distraction because you can’t sleep. You swing around your city, eyes scanning for a diversion of some kind. You almost wish there was a robbery.

Finding nothing, you stop on a rooftop and look through your gizmo. It’s past two in the morning and you’re here instead of home. You sigh and look around the empty rooftop before clicking on your gizmo again, quickly inputting information. A second later a portal opens. You step into it, leaving a rooftop just to step on another one.

You’re not even sure why you chose this dimension, but you find yourself on Earth-42, on top of the tallest building in the city where you once stood with Miguel to gaze at the city below and where you nearly lost him over a year ago.

You quietly walk around the area, staying clear of it because you don’t wish to sit where you found Miguel nearly dead, before sitting down with a huff.

“No sleep tonight,” you say to yourself, already giving up on the idea of getting some rest tonight. You slip off your mask, placing it on your thigh and lean back to observe the empty rooftop, surrounded by silence.

It doesn’t stay that way for long though. Your eyes widen when you see another portal open a few seconds later, making you wonder who’s stepping out. Your curiosity is satisfied a second later and you’re met with that familiar blue and red suit you know all too well, but the wearer of it even more.

Miguel steps out of the portal, his back to you. His eyes move across the rooftop, silently wondering why he even came here of all places. He decided to leave the penthouse a short while back and swung around Nueva York to distract and maybe tire himself out before deciding to travel here instead, something in his gut telling him to do so.

“Mi-Miguel?” you ask, causing him to turn around immediately.

His mask is disengaged instantly, his face revealed and indicating equal surprise. “Dulzura?” he says, walking immediately to you like a moth drawn to a flame. “What - what are you doing here? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Miguel asks, bombarding you with questions while his gaze searches your body for signs of injury.

“No, no, I’m okay,” you quickly reassure him, noticing the way his face relaxes at your words. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is okay. What are you doing here?” Miguel asks again, crouching in front of you now.

“I asked you the same thing,” you reply softly, trying to get Miguel to answer first because you’re suddenly too embarrassed to share that you couldn’t sleep, or rather, share the reason why.

Miguel mumbles something under his breath, not wanting to tell you his reasoning for being awake either. “I couldn’t - I had some trouble sleeping tonight,” he admits a few seconds later. “You?”

You sigh. “I couldn't sleep either,” you confess, looking down to fidget with your mask.

Miguel's eyes widen a little. For some reason, he didn't think that would be the reason for you being here, considering you hardly have issues sleeping. “Why?” Miguel asks softly, noticing the way you're avoiding his gaze. “Did you… have a nightmare?”

“Oh,” you glance at him again, shaking your head. “No, no, I didn't. I just couldn't sleep at all. I haven't slept even a bit. Maybe it's just, I don't know, my brain being weird,” you huff out. “Wait - did you have one?” You ask softly, remembering that about twenty four hours ago, Miguel was having that nightmare about you not existing.

Thankfully, Miguel shakes his head. “No, no nightmares for me. I just couldn't sleep,” he says, moving and taking a seat next to you now, leaning back.

“I'm glad to hear that,” you reply, genuinely relieved it wasn't another bad nightmare like the one he had several hours ago. You recall how Miguel’s hands trembled, the way he looked at you, and his erratic breathing. Of course, the fact that he almost cupped your face comes to mind, too. You wonder if Miguel would've gone for it, if Lyla hadn't popped out of nowhere.

You both sit there now, on that same rooftop Miguel nearly lost his life at over a year ago. Your eyes sweep across the city, staying silent for a few minutes before Miguel breaks the silence.

“May I be honest?” he asks softly.

“Always, please,” you reply.

“I couldn't sleep because I missed — I missed you and your presence,” Miguel confesses with some trouble, his cheeks feeling warm due to the revelation.

You turn to look at him, smiling slowly. “Already?”

“Already.”

“I missed you, too, Migs,” you admit, smiling.

Miguel smiles now, sleepily. “You did?”

“Yes, I did.”

“It's relieving to know I'm not the only one,” he says, comforted, but also touched that you've been missing him, too. “I’m sorry you haven't slept, though. Are you not tired?” Miguel asks, his eyes searching your face.

You nod now, feeling some exhaustion within you that wasn't there earlier.

Miguel hums, still staring at you and thinking about how you’re both far more comforted with each other on this open rooftop in the late hours of the night than alone in the safety and comfort of your respective beds. He smiles softly when he notices your gaze become more and more sleepy.

“Maybe we need to…” Miguel starts quietly, thinking. “Maybe we need — or should consider — something.”

“Something?” you ask before a small yawn escapes your lips.

“We’re on a rooftop, instead of at home,” Miguel states, raising his eyebrow.

You nod, realizing what Miguel is saying. You missed each other on the first night and found yourselves in another universe without even planning it because neither of you could sleep. You wonder if Miguel is thinking what you’re thinking about.

“What are you suggesting?” you ask, intrigued.

“We can discuss it tomorrow, or well, later,” Miguel replies gently with a smile, glad that you seem interested on this ‘something’, too. “How about we leave this place?”

Leave? That’s the last thing you wish to do now that you’re in Miguel’s presence, but you can’t just stay on this rooftop all night, can you? “Home?” you ask, disappointed.

“Home,” Miguel says, standing up in seconds and offering you a hand to help you up.

You accept it and stand up with his help, dreading going home. You’re likely just going to stay up anyway. However, you nod to avoid showing your disappointment, even when Miguel opens a portal for you. He gestures with his hand towards it.

“Alright, we can discuss the something else later,” you say, stepping closer to the portal.

“We can. When we get some rest,” Miguel replies gently as you walk further in.

“Right, okay,” you mumble. “After some rest.”

You sigh subtly and step into the portal, touching ground again a second later. You look around, eyes going a little wide. Behind you, Miguel steps out of the portal, too, and straight into his penthouse’s living room.

Home.

You turn around to face him, surprised, and Miguel can only give you a sleepy grin.

“You can go upstairs to your bedroom, or we can stay here in the living room,” Miguel offers, feeling sleepy at last. He very briefly recalls something Lyla said a while back. Something about important people in your lives bringing you comfort and making it easier to sleep. Maybe that study was right after all because he’s suddenly feeling sleepy within a few minutes of being in your presence after he spent hours laying in bed, tossing and turning, helplessly seeking sleep but not finding it. Despite feeling sleepy, Miguel realizes he’s still not ready to part ways, even if it’s just rooms apart.

“I’m still not that tired,” you lie, not ready either.

“Me neither,” Miguel lies, too. “So… Living room?”

You nod. “Living room.”

“Do you want something to drink?” Miguel asks. “I can make some canelita.”

Half an hour later, Miguel and you sit on the living room floor. This time, though, you’re both sitting on the same side of the coffee table. There’s blankets and pillows on the couch behind you for later, but for now, you talk while enjoying the warm drink — growing sleepier and sleepier in each other’s presence when you couldn’t feel even an ounce of sleep before.

“It’s almost fall,” you state sleepily before taking a drink.

“Almost that time of year,” Miguel replies, realizing it’s true. The summer will soon end, another season approaching your lives. “The best time of the year.”

You chuckle. “Pumpkins everywhere, cold weather, sweaters — the best time of the year indeed.” You yawn.

“You’re sleepy,” Miguel comments, glancing at you.

“I’m not,” you counter softly.

“Right,” he replies, amused.

“I’m not. I’m just — yawning.”

“Because you’re sleepy,” Miguel says, noticing the way you’re blinking to stay awake.

You hum. “Nope, I’m still wide awake.” You yawn once more. “Do you remember the puzzle we completed last week? At the beach?”

“Yes, of course,” Miguel replies, sleepily. How could he forget? You both discussed something so personal while putting it together.

“I think I’m going to buy some,” you share, eyes feeling heavy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Do you want to, maybe, do another one with me?” you ask, half awake and half asleep.

“It’d be a privilege,” Miguel replies, gazing at you sleepily.

“Yayyy, maybe I can find a jigsaw of a thousand pieces.”

Miguel chuckles next to you, noticing the way you’re leaning back. “I’m sure we can put it together in two or three days.”

“That sounds reasonable,” you state, unwillingly succumbing to sleep. “I’ll buy some this weekend.”

“I can get some, too,” Miguel says, picking up his mug to take a drink and stay awake. “If you want to come along you —” Miguel stops talking when he feels something on his bicep. He turns, still holding his mug with the other hand.

His gaze softens when he realizes you’ve fallen asleep on him and now your head rests on his arm after claiming not to be sleepy only a minute ago. He quietly chuckles through his nose to avoid waking you up. After putting his mug away, Miguel gently pulls the blankets off the couch and places them over the two of you before he gets comfortable, ready to give in to his sleep, too.

He relishes the warmth of your body next to his, knowing that later today, maybe you’ll both agree to something because sleepless nights are no way to live. Miguel knows that better than anyone else. While the Miguel of two years ago sought those nights because they were a refuge from his nightmares, the Miguel next to you now does not. He’s open to staying up late to talk or watch a movie with you, or something of that sort, but staying up to avoid sleep and nightmares?

Not anymore.

Never again.

And so, Miguel finally dozes off next to you, sleeping peacefully at last and without nightmares of losing you.

Previous ⋅ ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ⋅ Next

A/N: Ummm, this is weird...? I'm back already, so, hiiiii! Another update is here! I hope you don't hate me after the first half of this chapter 😔 it was just a dream! But hehe, thank you for reading!! Also, thank you so much for the lovely comments on the last update! I have yet to reply to everyone because I had the motivation to write this chapter and basically I've been doing this all day, but I'm so happy a lot of you enjoyed it and liked the latter part of the chapter!! :))

Thank you again so much!! See you very soon...!!😌

Alondra❤️

taglist:

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credit for green divider to @/vysleix

[aflame4goinghome]

Antithesis

j.t.k x reader & j.m.k. x reader

part I

summary: You’ve been going out with Josh for a few months now, but his twin brother still hasn’t warmed up to you. Despite your efforts, Jake can’t stand you and he makes sure to tell you every chance he gets. Finally, one night it seems like you’re about to get some answers, but the truth is a lot more complicated than you ever could have hoped.

word count: 4k

warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI!! swearing, mentions of smoking (tobacco & marijuana), drinking, kissing, sexually implicit language, heavy petting, cheating *kind of* SMUT: semi-public sex, fingering (f. receiving), dirty talk, praise kink if you squint

listen to the official playlist on Spotify here

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅∙⋅∘⋅✺

“Baby, you almost ready to go?” Josh pokes his head into the threshold of the bathroom from your bedroom with a soft smile.

“Oh, yeah, just another minute,” you reply, putting on the finishing touches of your mascara before turning toward him and slinging your arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in.

“You look breathtaking, as always,” he says with a smirk.

You and Josh have been going out casually for about six months now, but it never got to be very serious. You went on a few dates and had some heated nights together, but his band started its newest tour a month after you met, so the time that you’ve spent together since then has been sparse.

You first met Josh one night while out with your friends at your local bar. You’d gone to get yourself and the other girls another round when you saw him sitting there at the bar next to you. Almost immediately, his honeyed words and sweet smile drew you in. He told the bartender to put your drinks on his tab, you took the drinks to your friends, then you sat down next to him and the two of you got comfortable rather quickly.

You took him home with you that night and you couldn’t seem to forget him after, no matter how hard you tried. He was handsome, sweet, and ridiculously good in bed. You’ve had your fair share of flings over the years, but nothing could compare to him. As you fell asleep that night with his arm draped over your torso, you knew you were done for. Living in Nashville your whole life, you always vowed to never date a musician. You knew that they were wild and unreliable, but damn, this one just trapped you.

Soon after, he embarked on the band’s world tour. You didn’t always hear from him that often, but you never expected to. He called you after a show every once in a while, usually half-drunk and looking for some relief after a stressful day, missing you. You miss him too while he’s gone, but you’re still trying to avoid getting too attached to the idea of him being yours. You knew that he’d eventually get tired of you or find someone else while on the road. But despite never putting a label on it, he’s remained loyal, which surprised you.

After getting home from the European leg of his tour, he invited you to go with him as his date to a Christmas party at his brother’s house. Events like this made you nervous, considering the complicated nature of your relationship, but you could never really find it in you to say no to him. You’re feeling reluctant to go to this party in particular though, and not for the usual reason.

Josh’s twin brother, Jake, hates you. Yes, hate is a strong word, but you are convinced that he absolutely loathes you. You still haven’t been able to figure out why, no matter how hard you tried. You haven’t encountered him that many times, but all of the times you’ve seen him, he would never lay off you. He would question everything you said, scoff at your remarks, and you even caught him glaring once or twice from across the room when he thought you weren’t looking.

After every time, you would ask Josh about it and he would make excuse after excuse. “Oh, I’m sure he’s just having a tough day,” or “Maybe he just misheard you,” or “He’s probably just feeling a bit protective of me.” Whatever the reasons were, you had no interest in entertaining it.

The two of you aren’t even that serious, so you feel no desire to impress his brother. Besides, his younger brother Sam and their best friend and bandmate Danny have both taken quite a liking for you. Screw Jake, you didn’t need his approval anyway. So why were you nervous to go to his house?

You snap out of your daydream and come back to reality, looking up at Josh with a smile. “Thank you, baby. You look quite dashing yourself, you know.”

You’d decided to wear a midi-length black dress with a high slit, pairing it with a pair of black heels. You opted for simple makeup and added red lipstick for the season. It was a simple look, but elegant for a Christmas party. Josh was wearing a pair of khaki pants with a white pullover sweater, adorned with his favorite symbol, and some tan winter boots. His cheeks were rosy from the cold weather, a perfect canvas for the little white dots that decorated his cheekbones. They’re lifted slightly as he smiles at your compliment, revealing a toothy grin.

“You’re an angel. Shall we?” he asks, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“We shall.”

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘ ⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✺

You both pull into Jake’s driveway and when you notice the lack of cars in front of the house, it becomes clear to you that you’ve arrived early. Great.

Josh turns the car off and gets out to round the car and open your door for you. You smile timidly at him as he takes your hand and helps you out of the car, then laces his fingers with yours and walks you to the porch.

“I promise, you’ll have a great time. Trust me,” he assures you as he knocks a few times on the large mahogany door. Much to your delight, it’s not Jake who opens the door, but Sam.

“Hey guys! Thank god you’re here. Jake thinks he’s running behind so he’s become so insufferable. Come on,” he says, clearly exasperated by his older brother already. The two of you follow Sam into the kitchen where you find Danny standing at the kitchen island, plating an array of cookies and appetizers.

“Oh, hey Josh. Y/N,” he says with a soft smile, then goes back to his task. You turn to your right to see Jake standing at the oven, hastily taking out a roast and placing it on top of the stove with a sigh. When he hears Daniel’s greeting, he turns his head and captures your gaze. You watch his eyes droop a bit as he turns back around, removes his oven mitts, and approaches you.

“Hello, brother. Nice of you to finally join us,” Jake mutters sarcastically, reaching over to grip Josh’s arm and giving it a light smack before turning to you. “Was this one holding you back? Probably takes hours to get ready, doesn’t she?” he jokes, stepping toward you to pull you into a one-armed hug, which is surely a formality. “To no avail, it seems,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, so quietly that only you can hear.

You scoff at him and roll your eyes as he pulls away, and turns around to head back to the oven. He speaks to you both as he walks away, facing away from you. “Would you both prepare the bar? All the booze is out in the garage, I’d like it in here.” Josh looks over at you apologetically then answers, “Yeah, Jake. We’ll go get it.” He takes your hand in his once again and you both walk back to the foyer to step out and grab the drinks.

Josh puts in the code and the garage door slowly rises, revealing the large pile of alcohol on the side wall. As you go to grab a few grocery bags of liquor bottles, Josh takes a pack of beer in each hand, opting to take the heavier stuff.

“I’m sorry about him. That’s just how he is, you know? He’ll warm up to you,” he says, looking at you and trying to gauge your reaction.

“How long does it take to warm up to a person? We’ve been seeing each other since June, Josh. Sam and Danny don’t seem to have any issues with me. So why him?” you ask, feeling frustrated.

Josh lets out a heavy sigh, looking at you with softened eyes. “I don’t know, Y/N. I’m sure he has his reasons. He doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve. I’ve known him since the womb and I still can’t always figure him out.”

“Well, it’s making me crazy,” you pout. He puts the cases of beer down and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your shoulders. “I’m sorry, baby. Just ignore him for tonight, okay? I just wanna have a nice night with my girl…” he says, placing his hand on your chin to tilt it up to meet your eyes.

“Fine… but you owe me,” you tease with a smile, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Oh, I’ll make it worth your while, darling, trust me on that,” he replies with a smirk, biting his lip. He leans down to capture your lips in his for a moment, moving his hand from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you into him. His other hand which was once planted on your waist moves down to grip your bare thigh, exposed by the long slit in your dress. You sigh against his lips as his grip on your thigh tightens, pulling away from him slowly.

“We should get back…” you whisper. “Sorry, I’m just insatiable for you,” he says with a wink before reaching down to grab the beer and turning to walk out of the garage. You quickly follow, pressing the button the shut the door and then returning inside Jake’s house.

When you and Josh return inside, Jake has finished cooking and went upstairs to change into his party attire. The two of you stand around the kitchen island with Sam and Danny, chatting for a while as you wait for Jake to return downstairs in time for the rest of the guests to arrive.

You hear footsteps down the stairs and turn your attention to see Jake waltz back into the room. He’s put on a black button-down shirt, only fastening a few of the buttons on the bottom, leaving his bare chest exposed. An array of silver necklaces sits upon his exposed chest, the coins attached to the chains lying just right against his smooth skin. His wavy brown hair rests almost perfectly on his shoulders, which you notice has grown quite a bit since the last time you saw him. You think for a moment that it suits him, but you quickly shake that thought out of your head.

He’s wearing a pair of simple black dress pants with matching black ankle-length boots, seemingly leather. And of course, he could not go without his dark sunglasses, despite it being nighttime… and winter. Arrogant asshole.

Through the lenses, you panic as you see his eyes find yours. A smirk forms on his face as he finally approaches, and you already know that he’s about to piss you off.

“Didn’t anyone teach you that it’s impolite to stare, sunshine?” Jake says proudly, leaning against the kitchen island awaiting your response.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jacob,” you scoff, standing up from your seat in the kitchen to go to the bar and make yourself a drink. Your cheeks flush as your back is turned to the rest of the group and you try to shake off the sudden feeling of embarrassment as you reach down to pour some tequila into your glass, topping it off with soda water.

Convinced that your face has finally returned to its natural color, you walk back to the kitchen, retrieve some ice from the freezer, and add it to your glass. You return to the island and stand behind where Josh is seated, placing your hand on his back and rubbing it slightly.

They’re caught up in a conversation regarding their time in the studio a few days back, but your eyes meet Jake’s once again. He takes a sip of his glass of neat whiskey, which he’s seemingly already poured for himself, not taking his eyes off of yours for a second.

What the hell is his problem? It can never just be a simple night, can it? Before you have the chance to question him, the doorbell rings and Jake retreats to open the door and greet his new guests. Perhaps you can catch him later to question him, but for now, you plan to just have a good time.

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘ ⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✺

The night has gone smoothly so far, despite your concerns. Jake’s stayed out of your way, spending most of the time speaking with some record executives in the living area by the record player, attending to the music once the record ends every once and a while.

You’ve stayed by Josh’s side all evening, standing by the bar talking to Sam and Danny. You’ve already had three tequila sodas in and are luckily feeling much more relaxed. Not only that, but about three drinks in is usually when you start to crave a cigarette or two. So, you excuse yourself from the group and retreat to Jake’s back porch, stopping in the foyer quickly to grab your coat.

You slink out of the back door and sit down on the porch swing, pulling out a pack of American Spirit cigarettes and a black lighter. The porch is lit dimly by a string of lights, extending from the porch to the small garden next to it. The ground is laid with a thin layer of snow, probably only about an inch or two, and the pine trees in his backyard also have little blankets of snow resting upon them. It’s quiet, almost too quiet.

Then, as if the universe heard your thoughts, you hear the door open from your right. Much to your dismay, it’s Jake who walks out of the house onto the porch, with a joint already hanging out of his mouth as his eyes meet yours. He removes his sunglasses and his lips turn upward slightly as he walks over to sit next to you on the swing. You sigh quietly as you put your cigarettes back into your pocket, picking up on his hint and opting to smoke with him instead. What did you have to lose?

You reach up with your lighter still in your hand, lighting the joint between his lips for him. His eyes burn through yours as he inhales for a few moments before removing it from his mouth and blowing the smoke out to the side.

“Needed a break from the festivities, sunshine?” he asks, raising his eyebrow at you with a smirk, offering you a hit. You take it willingly, taking a drag and shaking your head.

“Not necessarily. It’s just about that time of night when I’d want a smoke,” you answer candidly, shrugging a bit before passing the joint back to him.

“Didn’t want your boyfriend to come with you?” he teases, taking a long drag. You roll your eyes at him, leaning back onto the back of the swing as he hands you the joint back and you take another hit.

“He’s not my boyfriend. And no, I just wanted to have a few minutes alone. You can see how well that worked out,” you say, taking one more hit before giving it back. He just looks at you for a moment with a puzzled look on his face, which soon turns back into a smirk.

“Well, who am I to let a lady sit out in the cold by herself?” he says, turning his body toward you more on the seat. His left arm moves to rest on the back of the seat, with his hand gripping the seat behind your head. You’re suddenly very thankful for the dim lighting, which you hope is successfully hiding the newfound pink tint of your cheeks from the proximity.

“What a gentleman,” you say sarcastically, taking a drag of the joint and crossing your legs as you turn your body toward him to mirror him. He takes it from your fingers and puts it out in the ashtray on the table in front of you, then sits back in his original position. The slit on your left leg causes your legs to become much more exposed to the cold, causing you to pull your coat over your legs slightly. To your surprise, Jake moves his right hand from his lap and slides it slowly to rest on your exposed knee, underneath your coat.

“You are cold, I can feel it,” he mutters, moving to sit a bit closer to you, looking down at your knee and then back up to meet your eyes.

“What are you doing?” you ask with a confused look, searching his eyes for any hint of what he’s thinking. You’ve never been this close to him before and for some reason, your immediate reaction wasn’t to pull away.

“I’m warming you up, sunshine…” he answers, his gaze still not breaking away from yours as he moves his hand from your knee to your outer thigh, rubbing it with his thumb.

“Jake, why do you call me that? I don’t get it,” you ask, hoping to finally get some answers about how he feels about you. Now was as good a time as ever. His lips turn up into a cocky smile, even showing a hint of teeth as he formulates a reply.

“Because you light up the sky, Y/N… and I shouldn’t look at you, or else I’ll go blind,” he finally answers, stroking your thigh again with a bit more force this time, causing you to take a deep breath and swallow harshly. “I shouldn’t touch you, or else I’ll get burned.”

Your eyes soften as you look back at him, still trying to wrap your head around what he’s trying to say. Before you have a chance to question him further, he continues.

“So, if I shouldn’t look at you… or touch you… then why do I still desire to?” he says inquisitively, gazing down at your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes. "Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight… For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light… Perhaps my own desire will be my downfall, hm?”

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you gaze up at him in shock. “Jake… what are you saying? I thought you hated me…” you say, in almost a whisper now.

“Sunshine, I’ve never hated you,” he answers, moving his hand slightly further up your exposed thigh. “I’ve just been resisting the light… but I’m not afraid to get burned anymore.” Oh. Your mind is spinning, from the combination of alcohol, weed, and hushed confessions.

Before you have the chance to tell yourself that you should take some time to think about this, your body acts without your permission and your lips crash against his. Immediately his hand snakes into your hair on the back of your neck, pulling you into him as his other hand continues to grip your thigh. Both of your hands find themselves tangled in his hair, tugging on it lightly, eliciting a groan from him into your mouth.

He pulls away from you for a moment as he moves his hand toward the inside of your thigh, inching closer to your already aching core. “Can I?...” he asks, and you nod feverishly. His lips find your neck as you lean your head back against the back of the seat, his fingers snaking slowly up the inside of your thigh.

His fingers find the black lace covering your lower lips, which is already soaked through from all the buildup. You feel him smirk against the skin of your neck as he feels the slick between your legs and then moves the fabric to the side. He runs his fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness before sliding one finger inside of you, causing you to gasp quietly.

His thumb rubs small, quick circles around your clit as he moves his pointer finger in and out of you, then inserts a second finger along with it. “Fuck, sunshine, so tight for me. Bet that feels so good, huh? Did you need it bad?” he whispers against your neck, laying wet kisses down to your collarbone. “God, yes, so good. Needed it so bad, Jake,” you mutter, already overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips and hands on you.

“God’s not here. There’s only me,” he says, increasing the speed of his fingers inside you, curling them upward to hit that special spot far back. You feel how close you are now, barely holding on. Your hand is gripping his shoulder hard, your nails digging into him through his shirt.

“That’s it, baby, come on. I know how bad you want it,” he says, kissing his way back up your neck to your chin. “Want you to come all over my fingers while my brother waits for you inside. Bet you look so gorgeous when you come. C’mon, make those pretty sounds for me, sunshine.” You whine, probably a bit louder than you should have, as his fingers finally coax your orgasm out of you. Jake’s lips find yours to muffle the sound of your cries as he works you through it, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you come down from the high.

He pulls away from you, keeping his eyes on you as he slowly removes his fingers from you and brings them up to his mouth, sucking your release off of them with a low groan. His left hand cups your cheek, pulling you closer to him, leaving only a few inches of room between you.

“So fucking perfect for me… Looks like my wings are melting, love. Too late to turn back now,” he says, his eyes glued to yours. “No regrets?”

“No regrets,” you answer, resting your forehead against his, taking a deep breath before pulling away and standing up, walking back toward the door. You turn around for a moment, meeting his gaze and looking at him softly, before heading back inside to find Josh.

You find Josh in the kitchen, standing at the island with Sam. “Hey, baby, I was wondering where you went,” he says, snaking his arm around you.

“Oh, yeah sorry. I just went out for a smoke and got distracted,” you answer with a soft smile.

“Are you tired? We can head out if you want, I’m sure Jake won’t mind,” he asks with a smile. You nod and turn to see Jake walk through the front door; you guess that he went around to the front of the house to not raise any suspicion. Smart.

You both say your goodbyes to everyone before walking to the foyer, leaving Jake for last. Josh hugs his brother and pats his shoulder, then grabs his keys and walks out the front door.

“Goodnight, Jake,” you whisper timidly, looking up at him.

“G’night, sunshine…” he says with a wink, stroking your cheek lightly as you smile at him, then back away and walk past him out the door. Your cheeks are flush as you walk out to Josh’s car, getting in and buckling your seatbelt before he drives off.

“Did you have a good time, sweetheart?” Josh asks, looking over at you for a moment as he drives.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” you answer, looking out the window.

You try to think over tonight’s events as you drive down the long and winding road toward your house. Never did you expect Jake to act that way toward you. You had been convinced that he hated you, but all this time he was just… afraid of his desire for you? It still didn’t make sense to you, but you’re fearful of the feelings that your encounter with Jake has brought to light.

He was so different from Josh, in every way. While Josh was sweet, Jake was assertive. While Josh was desirable, Jake was seductive. It was like he cast some sort of spell on you. Jake is the antithesis of Josh. And for some reason, that intrigues you. But now what? Now that you’ve entertained Jake, there’s no way that either of you will be able to resist the temptation of having each other again. God, what have you gotten yourself into?

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅∙⋅∘⋅✺

read part two here

Leave a reply or send me a message if you want to be added to the taglist! And as always, let me know what you think! I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter!

Our dear reader has a lot of decisions she has to make now, doesn't she? I guess we'll find out in the next chapter ;) see you then

Taglist:

@itsafullmoon @vanfleeter @klarxtr @itsdannysworld @lipstickitty @peaceloveunitygvf @wildmoonworld @ignite-my-fire

[sodomizers-soul]

Sodo/Dews Autism

under the cut as there’s talk of eating disorders.

Starting off, man has ARFID (Avoidant/Restricted Food Intake Disorder), it started in the pit, leading to why he’s a little malnourished.. there’s very little he’ll eat, but Mount always makes sure he has a stock of his safe foods.

Stimming: fluffy things. anything fluffy. he looks after copias rats just because he likes to hold them. shakes his hands a lot.

MUSIC. ALL THE TIME. i’m not even exaggerating here. he’s always got his headphones on, something like 102,000 minutes on his Spotify Wrapped.

copia bought him an ipad. big mistake, he’s never off it. pure minecraft kid. has literally made the ministry on there.

he’s very easily overwhelmed, he wears loops on stage because he can play without his earpiece. his compression shirt helps keep him grounded too.

doesn’t have meltdowns often, but by god satan, when he does it’s not by half. lots of tears, sometimes shouting. he just needs a hug sometimes, and to be told his feelings are valid.

he doesn’t like showing his hyperfixations, sees them as stupid. thinks they’re childish. until he gets the kuromi build a bears for christmas off the girls.

definitely sees himself as a burden, but he’s working on improving his mentality, more so since Phantom and Rora came along, he feels like he has to set an example.

[coff33andb00ks]

Recipe for the Perfect Christmas 4/12

One part small town girl coming home from the big city. One part handsome stranger. Five parts lifelong friends (don't forget to include their partners). One part stubborn father. A dash of Christmas spirit. Part: Four of Twelve Pairing: Oscar Piastri x ofc (with appearances from Mark Webber. Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Esteban Ocon, Pato O'Ward, and George Russell) wc: 6,423 warnings: none soundtrack: spotify ⋆❆⋆ apple music

When she awoke late Sunday morning, she could feel a surge of excitement. The weather forecast had called for a light dusting of snow. She didn't linger in bed as she usually did and, just as she had as a little child, flung back the covers and hurried to the window. Jerking the curtain aside to peer out, she grinned as she took in the sight.

Snow. Not a dusting, but what looked like a good six inches. Flakes still fluttered lazily down from the sky. They disappeared on the blanket of white that coated the back yard. Natalie watched for a moment, gleeful, as the wind rustled the row of balsam trees that bordered the edge of the property and sent a cloud of snow swirling through the air. Snow was different here than in the city, with its slushy streets and grouchy population. There, the attitude was that a little snow wasn't a good enough excuse to stay at home. But here…

Letting the curtain fall, she grabbed her robe and shoved her arms through the sleeves. Her shoulders weren't sore, thankfully, though she knew it was because she hadn't had to prepare croissant dough the night before. Later, in the afternoon, she would need to go to the bakery and do it, but for now she was only concerned with getting coffee then enjoying the snow day. She would take a good shower and dress in her comfiest clothes, then start a pot of soup and bake some bread. Then she would watch a couple of Christmas movies.

And, she decided as she descended the stairs, she would drag out the Christmas decorations. Her father had even mentioned getting a tree in the next few days. She had once campaigned heavily for an artificial tree, a pre-lit one that could be reused for years and years. Now, the thought of going with him to purchase a tree and then putting it up with him made her smile. She was looking forward to the little traditions. She was looking forward to help him untangle the strands of lights, to listening to the history of the old family ornaments as they hung them on the tree. She was even looking forward to him complaining that trees just weren't the same as when he'd been a boy, when apparently the entire county had set off into the woods to find and cut down their own trees.

Entering the kitchen, she stopped short and blinked in shock. Her father was there, at the table. Not dressed for church but in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, his feet in the ridiculous red fluffy slippers he preferred. There was a cup of coffee and his breakfast plate in front of him. There was a smile on his face.

And, sitting across from him, also with a cup of coffee and a plate, was Oscar.

"Good morning, sugar," Mark greeted her, lifting his cup.

"Morning," she said, wrapping the front of her robe around her and fumbling to tie the belt. "Good morning, Oscar…"

He smiled and wiped his face with a napkin. "Good morning."

"They canceled church," her father announced. "Looks like I'm staying home all day."

Natalie nodded, eyes still on Oscar. At the kitchen table. Eating breakfast with her father. He was somewhat dressed for the weather, and she supposed he'd taken his boots off at the door. "I see."

"The streets are a mess," Oscar said, cutting into his pancakes.

"Saw him outside with that little pup of his," Mark said.

"He made me come in to eat."

"Yeah, really twisted your arm." Mark chuckled. "I put the rest of the pancakes and the bacon in the oven to stay warm, sugar."

"Did you leave Penny outside?" she asked, finally moving from the doorway. Spying the dog lying on the rug in front of the sink, she smiled.

"I'd have left Oscar out in the snow before I left her."

"Me, too," Oscar said.

"So you two are doing alright?" After bending to give Penny a head rub, she moved to fix herself a cup of coffee. She hadn't seen Oscar since the day he'd told her about the dog. At least, not to talk to.

"She's great."

"How was the vet?" She looked at the dog, who seemed to be in perfect health. Her coat was sleek, and she could see that it had a tendency to be shaggy. Even though it had only been four days since she'd seen the dog in Oscar's truck, she could tell Penny was being well looked after. She was still a little scrawny, but Natalie had an inkling she would be at a healthy weight before Christmas.

Penny's brown eyes shone up at her, and Natalie would have sworn the dog smiled.

"Fine. Got her shots and everything. She didn't have a microchip, and the vet said he hadn't heard of anyone missing a dog like her, so she's mine now." Oscar's fork gently clattered against his plate. "She's going the week after Christmas to get fixed. Oh, and I had her chipped, just in case she decides to run off."

Natalie glanced over to see him smiling fondly at the dog, who'd curled up and gone back to sleep. She doubted the dog would leave what was obviously the perfect, doting owner.  Leaning against the counter, she sipped her coffee, still perturbed that he was there. When he had come to dinner, they had eaten in the dining room. The kitchen was more intimate, she thought. But she had to remind herself that it wasn't her house. If her father was comfortable enough with the man to let him sit in his kitchen, she had no option but to accept it. Not that Oscar's presence really bothered her. What bothered her was how she felt around him.

A little off. She couldn't describe it, really, just that she was a little off. Her stomach would do a funny jump when he graced her with one of his smiles. Listening to his laugh made her feel a tiny bit weak. And when he spoke it was like her ears could hear only his voice. And the few times he had sang had made all of that worse. She wasn't used to feeling like that around a man. Not even around Pierre, who she had known for years and had fallen in and out of love with. Rather, the man she had thought she'd loved.

"What are your plans today, sweetie?" her father asked.

Dragged from her thoughts, she saw that her coffee cup was empty and moved to fix another. "Not much. Soup and bread and maybe some movies. I thought I'd pull out some of the Christmas decorations."

He nodded. "Guess we can go look for a tree this week."

"I'd like that."

"Are you gonna decorate for Max?"

Natalie tried to tune out Oscar's reply, but that was impossible. She listened as he said that yes he would be decorating. She listened as he explained there was only a little more work to be done on the house, mostly embellishments like trim and painting the bedrooms. Eve and Max had ordered furniture that was supposed to start being delivered that week and he would have to start arranging as well. Getting a plate and fork, she helped herself to bacon and pancakes, carrying the last of both to the table for her father and Oscar.

Penny lifted her head, sniffing inquisitively, then laid it down on her paws with a heavy sigh.

She tried not to notice that Oscar tore a piece of bacon in half and then lowered his hand. Smiling when the dog stood and slowly approached the table, she watched the bacon disappear then watched his hand lovingly rub Penny's head. Penny's tail wagged with joy, and when she realized there would be no more bacon, she leaned against his leg.

"I can't wait to see the old place done up for Christmas again," her father was saying when she pulled out a chair and sat down. "Fernando and Beth used to make it so beautiful. Nothing fancy or anything, just candles in the windows. Lights on the porch and around the roof. And three trees."

"In the living room window and the two turret windows upstairs?" Oscar asked with a grin.

"Yep, exactly that. How did you know?"

"It's what Eve wants to do." He chuckled. "She brought a ton of boxes yesterday filled with candles and lights. She's got sketches of what she wants me to do."

"Did they drive back last night?"

"No, they're still here. They were still sleeping when I left." Oscar leaned slightly to look at the clock on the microwave. "Grace is probably waking them up to see the snow now."

"I hope they can get back to Fairview safely," Mark said.

"Me and Max don't like driving in snow," Oscar admitted with a quick grin. "Eve doesn't like it either. If I know them, they'll probably stay until tomorrow."

"Doesn't the girl have school?"

"Half days. Eve's getting her transferred to here the week before winter break." Oscar nudged his empty plate away and reached for his coffee. "That's one reason Max brings her down with him all the time, so she can at least know the other kids by sight."

Mark nodded. "That's smart."

"Don't tell him that, he's already got a big enough ego."

Muffling a laugh into her cup, Natalie gave her head a small shake. From what she had seen, neither Oscar nor his friend had a big ego. Finishing her pancake, she wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. "I'll get the dishes after I get dressed," she told her father, carrying her cup to the coffeepot for more. "Good to see you, Oscar."

"You, too," he said, pushing back his chair as she left the kitchen.

She lingered in the shower, then took the time to blow dry and braid her hair before pulling on her fleece-lined leggings and oversized sweatshirt. Slipping a pair of fuzzy striped socks onto her feet, she glanced at her phone and saw a message.

Pierre.

She bit her lip and opened the message, reading it twice before locking her phone and tossing it onto the bed.

I think you're still being unreasonable. I can take care of you, you don't need a job. Most women would leap at the chance to not have to work. Don't be stupid, Nattie.

She hated that nickname. She hated the condescending words. She hated that she had wasted years of her life with him. Hated that she had spent so many hours in the past weeks trying to explain her point of few and feelings, only for them to be brushed away like unimportant dust.

She hated him, she decided, snatching her phone up and firing off a request that he not contact her again. She even went so far as to delete him from her contacts. And, as laughter from downstairs filtered up to her room, she swiped to delete the messages, too, so she wouldn't be tempted to send him a message when a late night made her sentimental.

When she got downstairs she saw her father in the living room, in his chair. His bad leg was propped up on an ottoman, and he had his tablet on, watching a youtube video.. Pausing in the doorway, she opened her mouth to tell him she was going to make bread and soup when she saw the small dog sitting almost politely in the other armchair.

"Mom would have a fit," she said. "No animals on the furniture."

"No, that was just the cat," her father told her, glancing at her over his reading glasses.

Natalie smiled, thinking of the hyperactive cat she'd had as a child. "Did she follow you in here?"

"Yeah." He turned his attention back to the tablet.

She was about to ask if Oscar had left her with him for a particular reason, then heard the gentle clink of dishes from the kitchen. Leaving the doorway, she went into the kitchen, sighing when she saw Oscar at the sink. Most of the dishes had already been washed and were on the rack, and she grabbed a clean dishtowel from the drawer before approaching the sink. "You didn't have to."

"I know," he said. The sleeves of his gray sweatshirt, and the red flannel shirt beneath it, were rolled up to his elbows. "Least I can do."

"The least you could do would be saying 'thanks' and leaving." As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew they could be misconstrued. Taking a plate to dry, she sighed. "Not that I'm trying to kick you out. Dad likes you. And between you and me, I think he loves Penny."

"Are you saying you don't like me?" he asked.

"No!"

"So you don't like me."

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I like you," she promised.

He gently bumped her arm with his. "It didn't hurt to admit that, did it?"

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes and bumped his arm in return. "And earlier I was thinking that you don't have a big ego."

"I don't," he said, nudging her shoulder with his bicep.

"Please, I'm surprised your head can fit through the door," she snorted, nudging him back.

"My ego's stored in my butt, thank you." He flicked soap bubbles towards her, grinning.

She leaned back slightly to check, then nodded. "Mmhmm, I see."

"Did you just check out my ass?" He flicked more bubbles at her.

Natalie shook the water off a fork, making sure to aim it at him. "You brought it up."

"I have to, it's attached."

A surprise bark of laughter escaped her, and she dropped the fork on the counter. "Oh my god, that was corny."

"Made you laugh," he pointed out, snorting on a chuckle.

"I appreciate that." Picking up the fork, she dried it. "But I still say you've got to have a big ego."

"I really don't," he insisted. "I know I'm a complete dork. I'm sometimes socially awkward, I'm self-conscious, and I second-guess myself all the time."

"I find that hard to believe," she said. "I know I've only known you for… A week?"

"Has it only been a week?" He stopped washing the plate he was holding and let it slip back into the soapy water. "Yeah, we met at the bonfire."

"Seems like longer than a week," she murmured. Feeling his eyes on her, she moistened her lips. "Anyway, you always seem comfortable with yourself. Like you know what you want and how to go about getting it. I guess I could be wrong, and I probably see it because I don't know how to go about anything."

"Sure you do."

"I really don't. I just go along and do what I think people around me expect me to do."

"How do you mean?"

"Like… Coffee. I really prefer the powdered creamer. You know, the cheap, probably has some chemical in it that'll eventually kill me stuff?" She set the dishtowel down and gathered the flatware to put in the drawer. "I love it. Coffee doesn't taste right without it. My friends at work always got lattes with almond or soy milk and no-fat whip or whatever, so I did the same thing. I didn't want to be viewed as weird. Or judged because I like basic stuff. I just want regular coffee with a little creamer and some sugar and sometimes a little flavoring. But I never got it because…"

"Because you were worried they wouldn't like you?"

"No, not that." She sighed, moving back to stack the plates so she could put them away. "I never got it because I didn't want them to think I was the simple country girl."

"You wanted to fit in."

"Exactly."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Everyone wants to fit in."

"Dad gets almond milk just for me," she whispered, glancing at the door to make sure her father wasn't coming in to fuss at her for lying to him. Setting the plates down next to the rack, she bounced the toe of one foot against the floor. "Pierre only used it, and I said I'd started using it, and now—"

"Pierre?"

Damn it. Drawing in a clear breath, she nodded. "Yeah." She gestured lamely, trying to remember what she had said to him the last time they'd spoken. "He's the reason I'm not ready to dance in the rain."

"I've got one of those, too." He smiled. "Lauren."

"Lauren?"

"Ex."

"I didn't know you were with someone."

"I'm not, anymore." He seemed so at-ease about it. As though there weren't bitter feelings. And, when he smiled, she understood there weren't. "We both realized it wasn't the happily-ever-after we'd hoped it would be and split before things could get bad."

"That's both sad and sweet," she said. She wished she'd been smart enough to realize the same before it had all turned to hostility. "I'm sorry it didn't work out for you, Oscar."

"I am too. But," he said, pulling the plug in the sink and turning on the water to rinse his hands, "I'm happy for the time we had together. I still think she's a great woman, and I consider her a friend."

"That's great," she said. And she meant it. She wondered if, in the future, she would still consider Pierre a friend. She doubted it and wondered if that meant she weren't a good person.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out with Pierre," he said softly, turning off the water.

Handing over the dishtowel, she sighed. "I'm not."

"You're not?"

"He showed his true colors when things went to hell for me."

"Was it him that called the other day?" he asked, draping the towel over the edge of the sink.

She nodded. She didn't want to remember how disappointed she had been that her moments with Oscar had been ruined. "Yeah, that was him."

"It's none of my business," he said, unrolling his sleeves. "But do you—"

From the pocket of his jeans came a faint buzzing. With a sigh he pulled out his phone and looked at the screen.

Natalie held her breath, wondering if he would complete the question or let the call interrupt their talk. She wasn't sure yet which option she wanted. On the one hand, she hated this rehashing of her feelings that she wasn't good enough, that she was stupid. On the other, it was almost cathartic, because he seemed to understand. So few people did. Even those that cared couldn't understand. She didn't know if he cared, or if were just being a good, considerate person. She just knew she appreciated his empathetic ear.

"It's Max," he said, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"It could be an emergency."

"If it was an emergency, Eve would be calling. Max would be too busy freaking out. I'll call him back in a few minutes."

She had an inkling he wouldn't start to ask if she didn't prompt him. She sighed, watching him button the cuffs of his red flannel before tugging down the sleeves of his sweater. His hands fell, and after watching his fingers drum the edge of the counter, she lifted her head to meet his eyes. "What's none of your business?"

"Do you still love him?"

"No." She frowned, not expecting the answer to come so quickly. Surprised at the sudden realization that she didn't, she exhaled a shaky breath. "And now I'm away and looking back, I don't think I ever did."

"Really?"

"I loved the idea of being in love." Taking the stack of plates, she stepped away and opened the cabinet door. "And everyone around me was getting their mate, you know? Everyone was getting engaged or married. Susie and Estie have been together forever, but they didn't get married until five years ago. I needed a date and asked Pierre, and then it was just…"

Oscar didn't speak while she sighed, but he did move over and take the plates from her, reaching up to set them in the cabinet. Closing the door gently, he dropped his hand to her shoulder and gave a gentle, understanding squeeze.

She felt the burn of tears. "It was just easy. He was successful, he was okay-looking, and he liked me. Then everyone started having babies and, well, I've always wanted kids. So I let things get more serious with him. And when he proposed last year, I said yes. Now I realize I said yes because I wanted the big wedding and for Dad to walk me down the aisle and so I could start having the kids I'd dreamed of, and that he was just there. I would have said yes to whoever asked."

Oscar's hand slid away and she gasped when he reached around her. She half-expected him to embrace her but he didn't, instead plucking a paper napkin from the holder on the counter. He slipped it into her hand then took a small step away, leaning against the counter. She knew he was watching her and raised the napkin to catch the tears before they could fall. But she couldn't catch the words that began to spill out.

"I've struggled with work since Covid. I was a staff writer on a paper and to save money they cut a lot of us. I found a spot at a local magazine and things were okay, but I had to take a pay cut. Pierre asked me to move in with him then, and things were okay. Then a few months ago the magazine I was working for folded. We didn't even know that the issue we were putting together would be the last until they called everyone in for a staff meeting. I had spent what little savings I had on wedding stuff, but I figured… Hey, I'm a writer, it'll be easy to find a job." She sniffed. "That turned out to be a lie. No one wants a staff writer anymore, they want to hire freelance people. Or get AI to do it. So I tried to find something else. But there was nothing. At least, nothing I could do, because all I have is a degree in English. I thought about teaching, but I don't have the level of education needed, and I'm not eligible for financial aid so I can't go back to school."

He remained silent, and when she glanced at him she saw compassion in his eyes.

"He wanted me to just focus on the wedding. We'd get married and I could be a housewife. I could stay at home and have babies and have his supper on the table when he got home at night. I know millions of women do that every day, and I think they're amazing. But it's not for me. At least, the picture he painted wasn't for me." She frowned, thinking of the archaic, misogynistic life he had dreamed up for them. "He just assumed I'd be grateful. He actually said that. That I should be grateful he was giving me every woman's dream. But… It wasn't my dream."

"What's your dream?" Oscar asked gently.

"I don't know anymore. I just know I don't want to be a character in some 1950s sitcom, only meant to care about the roast in the oven or the dry cleaning. I don't want that kind of marriage, you know?"

"You want a partnership."

"Exactly!" Whirling to face him, she nodded. "I want fifty-fifty. I don't want all of one thing to be my problem or his, I want us to share the work. It's what I grew up around. Mom and Dad were partners in everything, home and work. Some of my friends thought it was weird that Dad would fix dinner sometimes, or that Mom would be outside changing the oil in the car, but it seemed perfect to me. Even looking back now, it was perfect. Yeah, there were times they got stressed, and they argued about things, but they always came together in the end. Maybe I'm stupid and naïve, but that's what I want."

"You're not stupid." He frowned. "It's not stupid to want that, Natalie."

"Pierre thought it was," she muttered.

"Pierre's an asshole."

Natalie's jaw dropped.

"Sorry," he sighed. Then, making a face, he shook his head. "Wait, no, I'm not sorry. I don't know the guy, but he sounds like an absolute cunt."

"Oh my god," she breathed. "That's exactly what Dad calls him."

"Mark didn't like him?"

"He couldn't stand him."

"And you still got engaged to the guy?" Oscar whistled under his breath. "Wow, maybe you are a little stupid."

Gasping, she threw the napkin at him. Then, to her surprise, she began to laugh as he batted it back to her. Back and forth the napkin went, until he hit it too hard and it soared over her head. Gasping again, this time with breathlessness, she leaned against the counter. "That felt great."

"Laughter is the best medicine." He bent to get the napkin and crumpled it into a ball. "You should laugh as much as you can."

"Some days that's hard."

"Just think of raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens."

"And bright copper kettles and warm, woolen mittens?"

"That's the ticket," he said with a grin.

"Thank you, Oscar."

"For what? Making you laugh or calling you stupid?"

"Both, and for listening to me talk. I'm sorry for just unloading all that on you."

"You needed to unload," he said with a shrug. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out his phone and glanced at the screen.

"Is Max calling you again?"

"Texting. The kids want to do a snowball fight." He looked at her, and she could sense the question lingering between them.

"I haven't had a snowball fight in years."

"It's girls against boys," he said. "Girls are outnumbered."

"That is so sexist and unfair."

"You want to come?"

"Yes, because the numbers need to be even. Just let me get bundled up.."

Huddled behind the bush, Oscar grabbed Lucas's hand before he could wade through the snow towards his mother and sister. "Hang on," he said, tugging the boy back to safety just as a snowball whizzed by his head. It landed with a smack on the slat of the fence around the back yard. "We've got to be sneaky."

"'Neaky," Lucas agreed, nodding his head. "Daddy."

Leaning to peer around the edge of the bush, Oscar saw Max disappearing around the front corner of the house. He knew the plan. He and Lucas were supposed to be a distraction so Max could attack from behind. "Yeah, Daddy's sneaky."

"Nattie."

"No, I don't think Natalie's sneaky," he said, peering over the top of the bush. Ducking his head when he saw a perfectly aimed snowball sailing right towards him, he grunted. Eve and Grace were brutal. And they had the best weapon in their arsenal: Natalie. She had immediately dragged the other warriors – because they weren't girls – into a conference when they'd gotten to the house, and he had only caught the words 'strategy', 'plan', and 'idiots'. He could only hope that he wasn't included in the part about idiots, though he had a sinking feeling he was.

And she'd brought reinforcements. Susie had arrived with Michael and Hannah. Lilli had shown up with George, who'd pulled out actual battle plans. Esteban came a few minutes after his wife and kids, called George a moron, then called on Pato and Lando. Amira had climbed out of Pato's truck, and those two kept disappearing behind a tree to kiss instead of actually fight. Carlos and Sasha were there, too, but for some reason they didn't participate, instead watching the battle from the relative safety of the back porch.

Ducking as a snowball thrown by Lilli came perilously close to hitting him, he dragged Lucas back again. "She's just a pro at this."

"Nattie," Lucas said again.

"Yeah, Natalie."

Lucas giggled and pulled away from Oscar. Turning, Oscar saw Natalie leaning against the nearby oak tree. With a groan he watched Lucas slowly make his way through the snow to her, somehow managing to not be hit by any of the snowballs flung from the each side.

"Lucas," he hissed under his breath. "You're deserting me?!"

"Nattie!" The boy giggled, lifting his arms as soon as he was within reach of her. "Daddy 'neaky!"

"Lucas, don't!"

"Daddy's sneaky?" she asked, sending Oscar a look while lifting the boy to her hip.

"Daddy run." Lucas pointed to the corner of the fence, where Max's footprints were still visible in the snow. "'Neaky."

"It's an ambush!" Natalie hollered, darting out from behind the tree. "Behind you!"

Oscar stayed where he was, laughing as chaos descended upon them all. Snowballs landed, George yelped, Max practically cackled, and somehow Lando ended up face down in the snow. He finally stood, just in time to see Hannah heave a large snowball directed at her father's face. There were yells of outrage, and he wasn't sure who threw the two snowballs that pelted him in the face.

"Looks like it's a wrestling match," Natalie said. Laughing when he gaped at her, she set Lucas down, eyes on the boy as he began the arduous task of toddling through the snow towards his parents and sister. Once he'd fallen into the pile of bodies and was laughing, too, she twirled in the gently falling snow, her long braid falling over her shoulder.

It struck a chord. Touched a memory. "Hey," he said suddenly. "I've got something you might want."

"Oh?" she asked, eyes widening slightly as she stopped in front of him.

A snowball slammed into the back of her head and, from near the fence, came Susie's shouted apology as Natalie collapsed dramatically.

Chuckling, Oscar held out his hand to help her up.

"It's something I found when I was up in the attic." Snorting when her eyes widened further, he hauled her to her feet. "It's a couple pictures, not something gross."

"Pictures?" She kept her hand into his and stepped through the snow to the back porch.

"Yeah. It was a box with pictures of the town from a while back. Luckily they all had names or places on the back, or I'd have had to bring them all to your dad." He felt her hand squeeze his through their gloves and smiled as they mounted the steps. Her hand slid away while they stomped the snow off their boots, and he opened the door, motioning for her to go in first while he pulled off his gloves.

Penny darted out, yipping, giving Natalie's ankles a quick sniff before going to check out the snow. She made it down one step before snorting and turning to hurry back into the house. After kicking off his boots inside the door, Oscar led Natalie into the living room.

She pulled off her gloves. "How far back are they?"

"Going by what I saw, probably the 80s?" Oscar grabbed the box from the mantle and lifted the lid. The ones he had known would interest her were at the top, separated from the others by a slip of paper. Handing them over to her, he closed the lid and pushed the box back onto the mantle.

"That's Mom," she whispered, staring at the first photo.

"I thought it was. I didn't know her maiden name, but I knew her name was Marie."

"I've never seen this." Natalie sank onto the arm of the couch. "I wonder if she ever did…"

"I'm guessing they're pictures Mr. or Mrs. Alonso took," he said. He unzipped his coat, eyes on her as she stared at the photo. "You look like her."

"You think so?" She looked pleased at the thought. "I always thought she was beautiful."

"She was," he agreed.

She was silent while going through the pictures. Smiling, exhaling breaths of laughter, she studied each one, turning them over to read the note on the back. When she had finished she lifted her head and her eyes shone with unshed tears. "Oscar, these are wonderful. Can I keep them?"

"Of course."

"After Mom died her friends put together a little photo album of her through the years. Pictures they'd taken, you know. I treasure it. And I'll treasure these. I can't wait to go show Dad." She swiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You're fine," he whispered, glancing around for the pack of tissues that Eve had to have set somewhere. He found it on the coffee table next to the stack of coloring books Grace had brought. Handing them over, he waited until she'd dried her eyes. "I'm gonna try to get the rest to the people who are in them, or something. There's pictures of Main Street that someone would probably want."

Nodding, she unzipped her coat and carefully tucked the photos into the inner pocket. "Thank you so much, Oscar."

"You're welcome."

"I'm gonna go. I need to show them to Dad." She stood.

"I'll walk you back."

"You sure your blood won't freeze?" There was a playful gleam in her eyes as she headed to the back door. She stopped suddenly, bending to give Penny a rub.

"I'm fine."

"I just thought I'd ask. You can't drive in snow, you expect the streets to be clear like they are in movies…" Waiting while he put his boots on, she pulled her gloves on. "Next you'll tell me you don't know how to build a snowman."

"I know how to build a snowman," he scoffed, hoping she wouldn't ask him to prove it.

"How about snow angels?" she asked, tugging her hat down firmly.

"That's just jumping jacks laying down," he told her.

"I'll allow it," she sighed.

The back door opened and the kids spilled in, pink cheeked and giggling. Standing aside until everyone else had come inside, Oscar smiled at the laughter and chatter that filled the kitchen. The women buzzed around, gathering mugs and starting hot chocolate while Lando started a FaceTime call with Maddie to check in, passing his phone around so her friends could speak to her. Penny went from person to person, sniffing and wagging her tail.

"Girls' night tomorrow," Lilli insisted, dropping marshmallows into the bottom of each mug. "I'll do the charcuterie."

Dizzied by the overlapping chatter of the women as they planned their girls' night, Oscar sidled out of the way, gathering the kids' coats to hang up. Lando flashed him a grin, moving to help.

"Maddie's on bed rest isn't she?" Oscar asked.

"Yeah, but I think she'd borrow her mom's gun and shoot me if I tried to stop her from going," Lando muttered. "You busy tomorrow night? We can meet up and hang?"

"I don't have—"

"We'll go to Carlos's. He's got the most room," Lando decided. "I'll text you tomorrow with details. Hey, Carlos!"

It was loud and chaotic, but Oscar found himself still smiling as he sipped his cocoa. Natalie met his eyes across the kitchen and when he lifted his eyebrows she nodded.

 Eve stopped him at the door. "Did you give her the pictures you found?"

"He did," Natalie said from behind him. "I'm heading home now so I can show them to Dad."

"If we find more we'll let you know." Eve rolled her eyes when Oscar cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. If he finds more, he will let you know."

"Thanks." Natalie grinned.

"Next time it snows, we'll have another fight." Eve leaned to take Lucas's empty mug.

"It's a date. As long as someone doesn't cheat."

Oscar threw up his hands. "That was Max."

"I think he learned his lesson." Eve smiled sweetly. "I'm going to light the fireplace. See you!"

"Bye," Natalie said, then skipped down the steps.

A chorus of goodbyes rang out as Oscar bent to clip Penny's leash to her collar.

Oscar followed Natalie, not minding the lack of conversation as they walked along the sidewalk, Penny between them. At least, he supposed it was the sidewalk. A snowplow had been through, and what had once been the narrow sidewalk was now a steady pile of snow. When they reached the end of the block he caught Natalie's arm as she stepped over and onto the street. There was no traffic so they stuck to the edge of the street. He could see snowmen on front lawns, evidence of sledding along sloped driveways.

"Do you think it'll stop snowing?" she asked when they neared her house.

As though an answer, the snow began to thicken. Oscar stopped and tipped his head back. She giggled, steps slowing, and gave a slow twirl.

"Not the same as the rain," she said softly. Snowflakes clung to her hat. To her braid. To her eyelashes. One landed on the end of her nose and he watched it melt.

"I guess. But it's special in its own way."

"Have you ever danced in the snow?"

He shook his head. "Never got the chance."

"Maybe you should."

He looked on indulgently, a smile pulling at his lips as she twirled and spun. Penny barked, tugging on the leash, and he let go, watching the dog bound around Natalie. The snow swirled and danced around them and he was reminded of the snow globes his mother collected, with their colorful figures seeming to sway each time he shook them. He felt a little dizzy just watching, as he had always thought the figures in the snow globes would be after a vigorous shaking.

A giggle rang out from Natalie, and he had the sensation of something slipping into place. Something new and strange but familiar and comfortable at the same time. Like finding a favorite shirt he had thought he'd discarded. Like the first thunderstorm in the summertime.

Like something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Natalie stopped, eyes shining brightly as she bent to scoop Penny up.

His stomach dipped when she turned to face him, his dog snuggling close to her chest. Certain she could hear his heartbeat despite the small distance between them, he swallowed. "I don't think it's gonna stop snowing for a while."

Her eyes sparked, growing luminous as Penny tucked her head beneath her chin. "I hope it doesn't."

[mikelogan]

2024 in gifs ♡

as of December 12, 2024

post your favorite and most popular post from each month this year (it’s okay to skip months)

i was tagged by the lovely emily @katebeckets and i'm literally incapable of choosing only one favorite set so sorry in advance lmao

JANUARY

favorite: rainbow mike flanagan repeat cast members (1117) + kate siegel set (1695) most popular: spn season 5 gag reel (emphasis on gag) (2456 notes)

FEBRUARY

favorite: scenes from an italian restaurant carrie x big satc set (33) + friends 'when were you under me' set (469) + candyman 2021 cyan/orange set (557) most popular: lisa frankenstein magenta/cyan set (4752)

MARCH

favorite: smosh pink google search (213) + crystallized seasons (145) + breakfast club color palette (1323) most popular: jordan peele film parallel (1592)

APRIL

favorite: candyman 2021 magenta/blue set (242) + wish i was here blended quotes (57) + last night in soho past/present transitions (732) most popular: crimson peak ghosts (2597)

MAY

favorite: hill house luke/robin lyrics (324) + dance hall days the idea of you set (58) most popular: evil dead rise red/blue set (1683)

JUNE

favorite: i took a break from giffing throughout all of june and most of july most popular:

JULY

favorite: i only posted one gifset this month!most popular: mike logan: smirky edition (61)

AUGUST

favorite: purple repo! set (718) + blue/gold bohemian rhapsody set (200) most popular: scary movie 3 cindy, the tv's leaking (1005)

SEPTEMBER

favorite: mike flanagan shows + quote (870) + faceless midnight mass (1962) + evil dead 2013 set (773) most popular: red color isolation beetlejuice set (2083)

OCTOBER

favorite (a lot bc of my halloween event let me live): neon flanagan formula set (990) + blue/orange practical magic set (1697) + horror vhs rainbow set (413) + maxxxine soundtrack (270) + poc in horror set (1749) + purple/orange criminal intent halloween set (46) + final girls set (717) + signs blue/green set (805) most popular: houses as characters in horror (3982)

NOVEMBER

favorite: yellow color isolation the substance set (1698) + midnight mass: the art of horror quotes (683) + the good wife appreciation set (142) most popular: the substance/the shining parallels (2789)

DECEMBER

favorite: smosh vs. zombies appreciation set (105) + chappell roan lesbian flag/spotify wrapped set (150) most popular: chappell roan in a nonsense christmas (408)

no pressure tags (as always): @kathrynmhahn @connie-rubirosa @miwtual @vinnymauro @swearphil

@bo-kryzze @mulderscully @anyataylorjoys @evilvvithin @six-demon-bag

@kvtnisseverdeen @raviposting @cindylouwhos @laurabenanti @shaunashipman

@swkywalker @zen-dayas @bellamysgriffin @jackharkness @hamishlinklaters

and literally anyone else who'd like to do this! please feel free to say i tagged you!

[sleepymccoy]

It's strange to me that we have Christmas songs but not Easter songs. So I've put together an Easter playlist for the season! Here is a link to it on Spotify

And here's my thinking for each song, I hope it makes you chuckle. it's only slightly sacreligious

Breadline by Warumpi Band and Wine, Beer, Whiskey by Little Big Town are The Last Supper, where Jesus has his buddies eat his flesh and blood in what must've been a super normal meal for everyone

Then there's a bit of betrayal! Judas by Lady Gaga and Money by Lime Cordial are Judas selling Jesus out. Then we have No No No by TheFatRat is the denied thrice thing that I don't really remember.

We've got Kiss by Prince followed by Red Right Hand by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, as Judas betrays Jesus with a kiss then feels guilty and kills himself

Now we move onto the Pilate and Herod stuff with Good Morning Judge by 10cc, followed by Whip It by DEVO (thinking about Jesus getting whipped to DEVO is the most sacrilegious this gets imo lol) and Won't Go Down Easy by JAXSON GAMBLE cos Jesus doesn't let up despite the thrashing

Then we've got Camel Walk by Southern Culture on the Skids, which is Jesus carrying the cross through town. You know, carry shit like he's a camel! Sure! Aaand Hammer and Nails by The Bones of J.R. Jones as he's strung up on the cross.

We move into more straightforward religious music with The Lord's Prayer by Sister Janet Mead, and a cover of Chop Suey by Robyn Adele Anderson which ends with Jesus yelling at his dad (God, not Joseph. I hope Joseph visited Jesus on the cross).

And then we have Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen as Jesus calls out to his mum for help, followed by Sign of the Judgement by Cassandra Wilson cos no one comes to help him, and he dies up there to Gallows Pole by Led Zeppelin

Hey St. Peter by Flash and the Pan is a nod to Jesus being dead but being turned away from heaven or whatever admin happened to bring him back. By Myself by FIDLAR is kinda how I reckon he'd've felt just hanging out in a cave being left alone by everyone. It's a mess for Jesus right now, rock bottom. Then This Year by The Mountain Goats cos it's actually a hilarious resurrection song

Jailbreak by AC/DC for when he gets out of the cave. Boys in Town by Divinyls cos our main boy is in town again, but he is absolutely on the way out. Spirit In The Sky by Norman Greenbaum as he returns to heaven and There's A Light by Shirley Ann Lee to remind us there's some real religion going on, and I assume that Jesus and God start getting along again eventually

And then wrapping it all up with Chocolate Jesus by Tom Waits, because chocolate really is what it's all about now

[malcolm-reeds-pineapple]

Are you looking for a gift for your dad? Here is a gift guide for Weird Dad Genres

Brought to you by the child of a Weird Dad with low/no cost options. I’ve noticed that a lot of people with good dads they like a lot don’t know what to give their dads because all the gift guides around require a man to have a baseline level interest in sports, beer and cars for them to be usable. Disregard this post if your dad sucks or use this advice for a person you like that falls into one of these sub genres.

NPR/CBC Dads

I’m Canadian and have a CBC dad so I’m hoping there is overlap

Tickets to a live taping of their favourite radio show

Merch that supports CBC/NPR and their favourite radio show

Teaching them how to use a podcast app if they don’t know already

History Dads

MASH related literature

Civilization 6 on PC

Book/audio book about their favourite historical era, particularly on a niche topic by a professor of some variety

Researching their favourite era enough to have a meaningful conversation about it with them/being willing to listen to them talk about it

Stoner Dads

Lighters, papers, doob tubes, pipe cleaners, other disposables

Weed lol (depending on regional availability don’t get arrested buying a Christmas present lmfao)

One hitter, a nice pipe, a grinder, a tray, anything like that but shop around to find something they’d actually like.

Randy’s Black Label glassware cleaner and some vase beads!!! I cannot stress this enough!!! This combo leaves glassware SPARKLING.

Cleaning his glassware for him or degunking a grinder (do NOT empty the keef catcher or I’ll kill you myself)

Music Listener Dads

Physical copy of an album they like or one you listened to together

Needles from their turntable if they have records, or alternatively a Kallax shelf from Ikea for storage (actually the best record storage I’ve ever found)

Year subscription to Spotify

Some sort of merch for their favourite artist that goes with their vibe (ie: my dad doesn’t wear band shirts so I give him coffee mugs)

A playlist of songs you listened to together. If you wanna go crazy silly haha you could also get a record out of a dollar bin and draw a cover for it and put a QR code to the playlist inside or you could go old school and do the same thing but actually have a mixtape or burn the playlist onto a CD

Music Playing Dads

Varies a lot depending on skill-level and instrument, but I’m gonna do this as if they were a hobbyist as I’m sure there are gift guides out there for professionals

Any sort of disposable they would need (reeds, picks, strings, sticks etc) but make sure you find out what they prefer (ie pick weight) or if give them a few different options when they’re just starting out to help them figure out what they like

Larger peripherals that they might not want to buy for themselves (NOTE: don’t buy anything too expensive unless you know they want/need it. If you’re not sure, you can always wrap up an IOU in a cereal box so you can go on an adventure later with them and make a day out of it)

If they play piano you can pay for a tuning however this can be pricey and requires planning

Sheet music/tabs printed out in a binder with lyrics. You can also decorate the binder if you’re crafty like that

Nature Dads (rocks/geology)

Idk how niche this is but my dad is a rock dad

Rock tumbler and/or accessories like grit and media

A vug of some sort of crystal if you’re feeling incredibly wealthy or in the likely case that you’re not, get him a few points of a crystal or a few tumbled stones for them to add to the collection

A nice cabinet for display purposes (depends on the size of the collection of course and availability, but my dad has a vintage China cabinet for his rocks that we got at auction for like 100 bucks.)

A map with local areas of geological interest for them to check out with a little blurb about each one. Bonus points if you go on day trips with them or make the map cute if you’re skilled like that

Pop Culture/Sci Fi Dads

If they have trinkets, a display cabinet (like in the above section) is a good idea if they don’t have one

Coffee table books with behind the scenes stuff in it

If there’s a convention nearby and they’re that type of person you could get them tickets

I’ll be honest sci fi/pop culture people are pretty easy to buy for imo but my best advice is to prioritise practicality over dust collectors unless you know for sure they want something else in their collection. I’d also caution to stay away from buying Funko Pops where you can unless they collect them

General Dad Gifts and Advice

Some sort of nostalgia thing that’s personal to them. Examples: snack from their youth that they talk about a lot, a board game they played growing up that they can’t find anywhere, a book he read you growing up (I gave my dad Just Me And My Dad from the Little Critter series one year and he welled up and still maintains it’s one of the best gifts he’s ever gotten)

A good joke gift like my family have been giving each other the same copy of The Search For Spock for 14 years and it’s hilarious to us. Alternatively you can wrap up one of his own possessions and give it to him but make sure that it’s obviously his so he doesn’t think you just gave him another one.

Drill bits never go amiss if a person already owns a drill btw like drill bits are Good and Righteous Things

Always try to write an inscription in a book you’re giving as a gift with a small blurb about why you picked this book and the year and occasion.

I try to stick towards practicality and sentimentality in my gift-giving since for the most part we all have enough dust collectors. Consumables that are part of a hobby/interest are always a great option since they’re something you go through fairly regularly that can add up price wise

Never underestimate the power of a home made gift or a box of little treats. If I gave my dad his favourite peanut butter and a few cans of Fresca, he would be just as happy as if I bought him a brand new stereo. As dumb as it sounds, it really is the thought you put into a gift that counts, even if they’re little coupons someone can cash in for an afternoon of manual labour.

Even if you’re broke, try to give what you can. Thrifted gifts and homemade gifts are just as valuable as brand new gifts if the person you’re giving it to is worth giving a present.

Also while we’re on the topic, don’t give gifts to anyone who doesn’t appreciate you as a person like if you’re dad’s not good to you then either don’t give him shit or give him 20 bucks if you feel like it

Please feel free to add onto this if you have advice for gifting to a niche sub genre of dad/person.

[bokutosbabe]

hey hey can i get paired too? my top artist is ive and my top song is ive's off the record, have a nice day! and thank you in advance♡

if your top artist was ive and your top song was off the record, i'd pair you with...

reo mikage

AND

nagi seishiro

જ⁀♡⊹｡° forbidden fruit

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event! - masterlist -

♡ content — reo mikage x gn! reader, nagi seishiro x gn! reader, gn! reader, reader and them have been best friends since high school, set in future (nagi and reo still play together), in readers apartment, christmas time!!

♡ synopsis — you've always had feelings for reo mikage and nagi seishiro, but you can't...no you won't...ruin your friendship for your own greed.

Your apartment felt warmer than usual, though maybe it was because the three of you were crammed together on your couch, wrapped in an oversized blanket that barely managed to cover everyone’s legs.

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the living room as the opening credits of The Polar Express began to roll. The scent of freshly popped popcorn lingered in the air, mingling with the faint cinnamon aroma from the holiday candle you’d lit earlier.

Matching pajamas—red and green plaid for all of you—added to the festivity. It had been Reo’s idea, of course, to get a set for each of you. Nagi complained the whole time, muttering about how it was too much effort to change, but here he was, sitting on the other end of the couch, legs stretched out over yours and Reo’s.

Reo was beside you, a little too close for something platonic but not quite close enough to be anything more. He had his arm draped casually along the back of the couch, fingers brushing against your shoulder in a way that felt entirely intentional.

The quiet hum of the movie played in the background, but none of you were really paying attention.

“You should’ve seen their faces when Nagi scored that last goal,” you said, trying to break the tension that had been hanging in the air since they arrived. “The crowd went wild.”

Nagi smirked lazily, his head tilting against the cushion. “It was nothing. Just another game.”

“Yeah, nothing,” Reo scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You nearly tripped over your own feet trying to pull that off.”

“Still scored, didn’t I?” Nagi replied with a yawn, kicking Reo’s shin lightly.

Reo glared but didn’t move his legs from the tangle of limbs you all had going on. Instead, his hand slid down from the back of the couch to rest on your shoulder, his fingers brushing against your collarbone. It was subtle, but you noticed it immediately.

You shifted slightly, unsure if it was because you wanted to lean into the touch or escape it.

“They only went wild because Reo set it up perfectly,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to neutral ground.

Reo’s lips quirked into a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Finally, someone appreciates me.”

Nagi snorted. “they're just being polite.”

“Am not,” you said quickly, glancing between them. “You were both amazing.”

That earned a quiet “hmm” from Nagi and a softer look from Reo.

The movie played on, but the tension was almost suffocating now. Every movement, every glance felt loaded. Reo’s fingers lingered on your shoulder a little too long, while Nagi’s legs stayed draped over yours as if he’d forgotten how to move.

You loved nights like this—being with them, laughing, teasing—but the more time passed, the harder it was to ignore the undercurrent running between you all.

Reo shifted closer, his hand sliding from your shoulder to rest lightly on your arm. “You’re quiet,” he said softly, his voice low enough that Nagi didn’t seem to catch it.

“I’m just tired,” you murmured.

“Tired from cheering for us so loudly?” Nagi teased, his golden eyes flicking to you with that mischievous gleam.

You laughed, but it sounded more nervous than you’d intended. “Exactly.”

Reo’s thumb traced a small circle against your skin, almost absentmindedly, and your heart raced in response.

And then Nagi shifted, his legs slipping from yours as he leaned forward to grab a handful of popcorn. He didn’t say anything, but the way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long made you swallow hard.

They weren’t subtle. Neither of them was.

But neither were you, were you?

Because you didn’t pull away from Reo’s touch, and you didn’t stop the way your gaze flickered to Nagi, wondering if he noticed—or if he cared.

The truth was simple but impossible to say out loud: you wanted them both. You didn’t want to choose. You couldn’t.

The movie’s cheerful music and warm holiday theme contrasted painfully with the knot in your chest. You glanced at Reo, then at Nagi, and then back at the screen, wondering how much longer you could pretend this was just a normal movie night.

But for now, no one said anything.

Reo’s hand stayed on your arm. Nagi’s leg brushed yours again as he shifted back into place.

And you all sat there, tangled together in a way that felt like it could either fall apart or come together entirely, depending on who had the courage to say something first.

my nagireo x reader agenda WILL rise

i hope you liked it!

[jolalibrary]

spotify wrapped.

so i kinda made a few friends do a Spotify wrapped of THEIR fics as a way to celebrate themselves and what they've written/begin plotting this year. and i may have hidden for a while from doing it, but... here it is [yes, i made mine square for the aesthetic, sue me]

HERE IS MY FIC WRAPPED OF 2023

LATE NIGHT TEXTS

i think originally i had this as second, but the more i think on it, if it wasn't for this fic, i wouldn't have met so many of you. it wouldn't have gotten me through a tough depressive period and it wouldn't have healed the fear of writing romance. it is also the one fic i personally read to cheer me up, and coming up with new ideas for them is my FAVOURITE thing ever. i never expected a single soul to love them, but fuck, i'm so glad you all do.

I LIKE THE WAY YOU

i am a sucker for best friends to lovers, so naturally writing this has been a blast. it's special to me because my own husband was my best friend, and much of the themes are the same (minus the fwb part) and the best part of writing it, has been revisiting some of those feelings. i also really pushed myself with the spice. and that writing two people in love, who won't admit it, is actually so much harder than i thought.

BE GOOD, BE QUIET

a self-indulgent fic with joel miller? yes pls. no one will ever be able to understand how terrified i am writing JM. but this one flowed from me. everything from the storm to the way they look at one another made me grin. it was so much fun to write, and i'm so proud of myself for not letting fear stop me from writing it. also, this is hot as fuck - i cannot believe i wrote this.

AREPAS

this pair stole my heart when i first wrote them. they also gave me the confidence to birth late night texts. the softness in this, but also the cheek/wit, just had me grinning when i edited. I'll forever love this for what it did for me as a writer.

ANYTIME / COMING UNDER THE CHRISTMAS TREE

okay, okay. i cannot easily pick a fifth, so i chose two. but they're both so brilliant, and self-indulgent and born from this place of 'i want to write this, so fuck it' and yet, somehow, you all love it? and is that not a message for jo in 2024 to write more of the things she loves? also, cmon, one is pure fluff and one is pure spice ;).

[the specialist mention to nowhere to run. you were a beauty, you're brilliant and my brain created you with the hope of healing. and in some ways you did heal me, but you also made me sad, and anxious, but i'm glad you were written, and i do love you, even if i don't act like it]

tagging: if you see this, i IMPLORE you to celebrate yourself. here's a link to the canvas template to do it -> Canva Template Link

[acespaceacepilot]

i'd bleed for anything if it held me the right way 🩸🗡️💥 a wyll/astarion playlist on spotify

(song list + lyrics that made me chose them below the cut)

man or a monster (feat. zayde wølf) - sam tinnesz

it's so hard to tell which side you're on / one day is hell, the next day is the dawn / the lines are blurred, you keep rubbing your eyes / the tables turn, now it's time to survive

eat your young - hozier

i'm starving, darling / let me put my lips to something / let me wrap my teeth around the world / start carving, darling

until it doesn’t hurt - mother mother

i wanna fight, i wanna bite / i wanna swallow all the light / but i'ma stay right here / i'ma stay inside / i'ma just sit tight for another night / if i can't make it right / then i won't make it worse / i'ma just sit tight until it doesn't hurt

biting down - lorde

skip a hit, don't make a sound / (it feels better biting down) / breathed so deep i thought i'd drown / (it feels better biting down) / listen to the beats resound / (it feels better biting down)

furthest star - dirt poor robins

behold the day she found me here / so near the end of love's career / i feared every flower that appeared / had been uprooted by my peers / but then my autumn prayers were heard / just before the frost emerged / and i'll have my just deserts / when, once again, i'm next to her

flesh and bone - black math

break the truth inside of me / climbed down to hell on the devil's tree / i clutched a branch of soot and flame / the thought that rose, to scorch my feet

de selby (part 2) - hozier

what you're given, what you live in / darlin', it finds a way to live in you / and your heart, love, has such darkness / i feel it in the corners of the room

my body is a cage - arcade fire

my body is a cage / that keeps me from dancing with the one i love / but my mind holds the key / you're standing next to me / my mind holds the key / i'm living in an age / that calls darkness light / though my language is dead / still the shapes fill my head

gilded lily - slowed + reverb - cults

now it's been long enough to talk about it / i've started not to doubt it, just wrap my head around it / i remember when you told me it's an everyday decision / but with my double vision, how was i supposed to see the way? / haven't i given enough, given enough? (x4) / always the fool with the slowest heart

dispense with sentiment - we are scientists

i've been turning this over in my head / but i've been trying not to pick it apart / it's an overture to something, i guess / but i'll be goddamned if i can say to what / it's like i'm winding up to speak / for the first time in weeks / i'm trying to make sense / can we start again / and drop our defenses? / it might just be best / if we start dispensing with sentiment

graveyard whistling - nothing but thieves

all that afterlife / i don't hold with it / all your gods are false / just get used to it / let's go out tonight / kill some stubborn myths / set those ghosts alight, get into it. // ok, i admit / i'm not innocent / i did everything and i would again

crying wolf - julien baker

'cause i'm not crying wolf / i'm out here / looking for them / in the morning when i wake up / naked in their den / i'll swear off all the things i thought / that got me here / in the evening / i'll come back again

blood bank - bon iver

that secret that we know / that we don't know how to tell / i'm in love with your honor / i'm in love with your cheeks / what's that noise up the stairs babe? / is that christmas morning creaks?

bite the hand - boygenius

who do you think you are? / who do you think i am? / what do you wanna say? / what do you think will change? / maybe i'm afraid of you (x2) / i'll bite the hand that feeds me (x2) / bite the hand (x2) / bite the hand that needs me (x2)

metaphor - the crane wives

don't look too hard 'cause you won't like the scars he left in me / i've gotten good at making up metaphors / i've gotten good at stretching the truth out of shape / and all these words are sweet and meaningless / you can't trust a single thing i say

various storms & saints - florence + the machine

i'm in the throes of it / somewhere in the belly of the beast / but you took your toll on me / so i gave myself over willingly / oh, you got a hold on me / i don't know how i don't just stand outside and scream / i am teaching myself how to be free

savior complex - phoebe bridgers

baby, you're a vampire / you want blood and i promised / i'm a bad liar / with a savior complex / all the skeletons you hide / show me yours, and i'll show you mine

see the day - the altogether

the sleeping slip has begun to fray / i never thought i'd see the day / the pious hunter stops stalking prey / i never thought i'd see the day

myth - beach house

if you built yourself a myth / you'd know just what to give / what comes after this / momentary bliss? / the consequence / of what you do to me / help me to name it

posthumous forgiveness - tame impala

ever since i was a small boy / no one else compared to you, no way / i always thought heroes stayed close / whenever troubled times arose / i didn't know, ain't always how it goes / every single word you told me / i believed without a question, always / to save all of us / you told us both to trust / but now i know you only saved yourself

slowing down - the backseat lovers

whisper in my ear / that you need me / but if you saw it clearly / would you leave me? / i'm honest to you / but i'm lying to myself / and i don't wanna hear it / it has something to do / with the balance of my blood / and when i'll have to spill it

only - ry x

coming from the cold / buried under heat / lay you on the floor / i was only falling in love / cut me like a rose / turn me like a beast / hold you to the floor / i was only falling in love

daylight - david kushner

tellin' myself it's the last time / can you spare any mercy that you might find / if i'm down on my knees again? / deep down, way down, lord, i try / try to follow your light, but it's night time / please, don't leave me in the end

touch - sleeping at last

i know, i know the sirens sound / just before the walls come down / pain's a well-intentioned weatherman / predicting god as best he can / but god, i wanna feel again

will anybody ever love me? - sufjan stevens

will anybody ever love me? / for good reasons / without grievance, not for sport / will anybody ever love me? / in every season / pledge allegiance to my heart / pledge allegiance to my burning heart

holy lover - keaton henson

i think i love you / baby, please, don't be afraid of me / i think i love you / and oh, holy lover / i'll be the colors i can't see / and i will try harder / avail my father, live every need / and i've been so lonely / oh, please, just hold me so i can sleep

true love will find you in the end - someone, benjamin longman

but how can it recognize you / if you don't step out into the light, the light / don't be sad i know you will / don't give up until / true love will find you in the end

the moon doesn’t mind - lord huron

the sky doesn't care what my poor heart wants / and the desert can't hear my cries / the moon doesn't mind that i'm left all alone / and she's gone, gone

my love mine all mine - mitski

'cause my love is mine, all mine / i love, my, my, mine / nothing in the world belongs to me / but my love, mine, all mine

to build a home - the cinematic orchestra, patrick watson

this is a place where i don't feel alone / this is a place where i feel at home / 'cause, i built a home / for you / for me / until it disappeared / from me / from you

[hd-wireless]

📻🎶 H/D WIRELESS 2023 - WEEKLY WRAP-UP #3

The third week of posting has come to an end! Enjoy catching up with this week's selection of wonderful works. 

There's a work for everyone in this fest (and if you haven't found what you're looking for yet, we're far from done with posting).

As always you can listen to the prompted songs for the works we post on two playlists:  

Click here for Spotify (many thanks to @evaeleanor for helping us out there) ❤️

And here for the YouTube playlist.

Please enjoy this week’s entries below the cut:

🎶 H/D Wireless Art 🎶

📻 Your Heart's a Mess [G, Pencil & Copic markers]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Hearts A Mess' by 'Gotye' 🎵 Summary: Hogwarts eighth year. Malfoy, visibly scarred (from Sectumsempra? from the war? from his treatment by the Ministry?) and visibly heavy-hearted (from regret? from his father's imprisonment? from how the other students torment him?) has driven Harry to distraction. It's 6th year all over again: he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy. How he wishes the feeling was mutual.

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic and Art 🎶

📻 Waking Up Slow [E, 21,886, Digital Art]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'The Christmas Song' by 'The Raveonettes' 🎵 Summary: 'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July, Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why, There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more, Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore, Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss, And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶

📻 Burst of Love [E, 3,805]

🎵 Song Prompt: Jealous by Nick Jonas 🎵 Summary: The year after the War is both the worst and best one in Harry and Draco's lives. Draco somehow becomes one of the most requested influencer on Instagram, Harry is finally free and discovers he has quite...a passion inside himself. We all know how this is going to end.

📻 Rich Friend [E, 1,130]

🎵 Song Prompt: Rich Friends by Portugal. The Man 🎵 Summary: As far as Harry can tell, Draco Malfoy is still rich as hell. He’s just not a wizard anymore. Featuring: Draco Malfoy trying to make it as a Muggle pop star, Harry Potter as our confused and horny hero, bad driving, good music, and the mysterious magic of falling for someone.

📻 Seven Days, Seven Memories [E, 25,668]

🎵 Song Prompt: Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want by The Smiths 🎵 Summary: In a universe somewhere, deep down in the Department of Mysteries, behind Door 13, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, can be usually found. Except Malfoy is nowhere to be found when Harry goes looking for him. What he finds instead is a Pensieve and a box full of memories

📻 so scarlet it was [E, 19,932]

🎵 Song Prompt: Maroon - Taylor Swift 🎵 Summary: Draco’s back for his Eighth Year as part of his parole. He’s doing his best not to annoy any war heroes and avoid Harry Potter as if his life depends on it. Too bad Harry has other ideas. 

📻 A Pureblood's Guide to Driving and Apostasy [E, 9,218]

🎵 Song Prompt: I'm On Fire by Bruce Springsteen 🎵 Summary: Draco Malfoy should be happy - he's engaged to a suitable young lady, chosen by his father, and on the way to restoring the family name. Except he isn't happy at all. That is, until Pansy (or is it fate?) brings him to a magical garage where his whole worldview is set on fire.

📻 Snitches & Sitches [T, 4,565]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Once Upon a December' by 'Liz Callaway' 🎵 Summary: After a Quidditch accident, Harry's life turns upside down when he suffers a case of retrograde amnesia. Surrounded by people and places he should remember, Harry must cope with his slow recovery, all the while feeling like there's something very familiar about the blond with gray eyes who keeps wistfully staring at him.

📻 Can't Get You Out of My Head [E, 26,343]

🎵 Song Prompt: Can't Get You Out of My Head by Kylie Minogue 🎵 Summary: Draco was quite fine with his own company, thank you very much. So, when a potions’ accident left him unable to rid his head of Harry Potter’s infernal internal monologue, Draco was less than thrilled. He was, however, an internationally educated Potioneer; he could find an antidote without having to admit to Potter the access he’d had to his thoughts…actions…personal life…personal time…right?

📻 Sod Off Potter [T, 1,787]

🎵 Song Prompt: Sod Off Potter by Rattlebones 🎵 Summary: So sod off Potter Will you say what you want? Sod off Potter Will you say what you want is me? Potter please ↳ Sod Off Potter - Rattlebones Draco regretted the decision to return to Hogwarts after the war. Why couldn't bloody Potter just leave him alone? It wouldn't be so bad if Draco hadn't been harboring a secret crush on Harry for years.

🎶 H/D Wireless Podfic 🎶

📻 [Podfic] You Are Not Alone [, 1:49:56]

🖋️ Original author: Juh_Nunes 🎵 Song Prompt: Sorry - Halsey 🎵 Summary: Orginal Summary: Draco dreaded going back to Hogwarts after the war. He was sure this would be his worst year yet: the school hated him, the Slytherins have abandoned him, and his dorm was overrun with Gyffindors. There was no way anything good could come out of this mess, right?

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

aaaaaahh ive been silent for too long (a week or so but it feels like years) life is horrible for making me do so much in december omg ive been so tired and busy and just so done with the year can we just fast forward to christmas??? anyway GIRL i listened to a few (3) bad omens songs (concrete jungle, nowhere to go, the death of peace of mind) and wtf it seems like you've done it again, I like those songs ✨ also how in the world did sleep token sneak into my top 5 artists in my Spotify wrapped and granite into my top 3 songs??? you have magical powers because there is no other explanation for that. anyway i hate life i hate the world i very much hate the existence of people, i need sleep, considered hibernating but ultimately decided against it so now im just so fucking close to a mental breakdown and everything makes me cry/want to cry especially feeling happy so yayyy😃

how are you doing?? i hope youre well lovey🩷🩷🩷

Hello, my gorgeous! We ride at dawn because who the fuck allowed life to be so harsh to you?!? I hope you manage to find a bit more time to yourself because you need that. Always here if you need anything but for now I’m giving you a massive cuddle!✨✨✨✨✨

I was hoping death of peace of mind would make it there hehehehe… and looks like it did, huh… 😏🙂‍↔️ no, shit… st in top 5? I’ve been working overtime here. 😂 I didn’t even know you were listening to them? Why was I not informed????

I’m back at the office and with a bang cause my period has me in a chokehold this morning. I came back to 47 letters and that’s just from yesterday alone. But I’m eating my banana, laughing at how everything is burning and falling apart as I listen to Vore. 😂 so far have zero shits to give today. Might pop into a bookstore and treat myself to a new book even if I just spent 116 euros on new books. Let this be a sign that you should treat yourself too. 🤲🏻👹

[guineverist]

hello i am back at it with my fic inspired by is it over now? i've now cursed my spotify wrapped with 144 more listens and have realized that getting this done by christmas was insanity and new years might be a pipe dream

first, i'd like to sincerely apologize to everyone who thought tyler was on a crime spree. but! while he is not homiciding people he is also not in the narrative besides like 3 mentions including the one here, which might help?

second, i couldn't decide for a hot sec what snippet to post but ended up on this one. unlike the last part i posted this is a place where we are is it over now?-ing instead of friendship/barolena-ing

.

He enjoyed this side of her. It wasn't something he ever expected to see, not when it came to him.

Rebekah used to rant to him with grudging respect about the particular brand of petty ruthlessness Caroline used in high school politics. She quickly stopped when she realized exactly why he was actually listening, of course, but that was still another snapshot he never imagined he'd be able to witness for himself.

He was experienced with her insults and her very thin mask of neutrality, but not this. He couldn't even be sure which of his crimes she was extracting such vengeance for, but there was no doubt it was about him.

(In his more pessimistic moments, he convinced himself it was his crimes against Tyler. Revenge for driving him off, using him against her, whatever she had on her mind at the time. But other times he was sure that she was angry at herself, for the things she didn't allow herself to feel but couldn't stop anyway. And wasn't that a curious thing?)

Sleeping around? Preying on jealousy? It was so human, exactly the type of pettiness one would expect from the average American high school student. But Caroline had never been average, had she?

It was the threat, he eventually decided, that made it so intriguing. The fact that she knew who he was and decided to prey on jealousy of all things. She had to have done the calculations and chosen this course of action anyway, knowing that she was likely signing the death warrant of whoever she spent the night with.

He would likely never tell her truth on that matter. It would give her the wrong ideas about redemption when he much preferred her anger; but he owed them, in a way, for the window into her soul that they unknowingly opened. These traits of hers, divorced from the places where they would be “acceptably” used, showed who she could be, given enough time.

[coff33andb00ks]

Recipe for the Perfect Christmas 8/12

One part small town girl coming home from the big city. One part handsome stranger. Five parts lifelong friends (don't forget to include their partners). One part stubborn father. A dash of Christmas spirit. Part: Eight of Twelve Pairing: Oscar Piastri x ofc (with appearances from Mark Webber. Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz, Esteban Ocon, Pato O'Ward, and George Russell) wc: 4,689 warnings: smut!!! mdni!! soundtrack: spotify ⋆❆⋆ apple music nav: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve

"The number you have called…"

Natalie groaned and ended the call, scowling as she leaned to plug it into the charger. "He still won't answer."

"I'm sure he's fine," her father said, not looking up from his book.

Turning to scowl at him, she softened when she saw Penny curled up next to him on the couch, her head resting on his lap. During the week she had forced him to stay home and rest, he had discovered he liked stretching out on the couch, especially when the dog came for a visit. He had said the uncomplicated company of the dog had helped him feel better. Natalie wasn't sure if it was Penny or the rest, but he had bounced back to almost normal, resuming his morning duties at the bakery and not being quite as grouchy in the evenings.

"He always answers, though," she pointed out. Feeling restless, she crossed to look out the front window. Though it was past sunset, she could see the trees swaying in the increasing winds and the steady fall of snow. The across-the-street neighbors had put their exterior lights up that day and she watched them bounce and sway as the cedar they were wrapped around bent with the wind. The storm was supposed to have only lasted the afternoon but it had stalled after passing Halifax. She could see the cars starting to turn white, as well as the driveway and walk. The sky lit above and she gasped as, seconds later she heard the faint rumble of thunder.

"Thundersnow?" Mark asked, glancing up from his book.

"Yeah," she said, letting the curtain fall back. The wind seemed to pick up, straining against the windows, and she shivered despite the warmth of the living room. "I hope it ends soon."

"The thunder? Or the snow?"

"All of it." Natalie picked up his empty mug. "Do you want more coffee?"

"Make a pot of tea," he requested, slipping the postcard from Hawaii he'd gotten from his cousin between the pages of his book. He set it aside and reached to rub Penny when she squeezed closer to him. "And you should probably check the soup."

"Right." She should probably check other things, too. If the storm got bad, the power would go out. She wasn't worried about the cold. Years ago when her parents had upgraded their heating from the baseboard propane heaters to central heating, her father had kept the baseboard heat installed and had it regularly serviced to make sure it was in proper working order. They wouldn't freeze. But she had to go down to the basement and make sure the furnace was working, and she had to slip outside to get some firewood for the fireplace in the living room. And she had to get out the candles and kerosene lamps. And—

Her phone began to ring and she nearly threw the coffee mug aside. Grateful it was empty, she tightened her grip on it and rushed to get her phone from the end table. She hated that she sighed, disgruntled, upon seeing it was Susie and not Oscar. Unplugging the phone, she answered the call and headed into the kitchen. "Hey, Susie."

"Just checking in. You guys okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine. Things okay out there?" she asked, setting the mug in the sink and reaching for the kettle.

"The horses are all cozy in their stalls, the barn is battened down, and Estie's pacing like the nervous wreck he is." Susie let out a soft laugh. "He's really not, he's outside triple-checking the generator."

"Does he think the power's gonna go out?" Natalie filled the kettle and carried it to the stove.

"It's blinked here a couple times, so it probably will. If this stupid storm would just go away…" Susie groaned. "We'll be fine. Esitie said he can come out there if you need help getting Mark's furnace going."

Natalie opened her mouth to say she was sure it was already working, and sighed when her father called out from the living room.

"Tell Esteban the furnace is already on, we won't freeze!"

"Dad said to tell Est—"

"I heard him. I won't keep you, I just—"

"Have y'all heard from Oscar?"

Susie paused. "I haven't. I'll ask Estie when he comes in. Why?"

"He came by this afternoon with Penny and said he'd be back to get her before dark." Natalie switched on the stove before lifting the lid off the pot of soup she'd made for dinner. "He had to run errands, but we haven't heard from him since he left."

"I'm sure he's fine," Susie said automatically.

"I know, I am too, I just…"

"Worry about him because you're a little bit in love with him."

Natalie set the lid down with force. "I'm not—"

"Gonna tell me the sun's shining, too?"

"If you guys hear from him can you let me know?" she requested.

"Of course. But I'm sure he's fine. The traffic is probably bad because of the snow so he's being careful. I doubt he has his phone in his hand the whole time he's in the car. Y'know, like I do."

Natalie snorted on a laugh. "How many tickets have you gotten for that now?"

"That's not important," Susie said quickly. "Okay, I'll – Hey babe, have you heard from Oscar?"

She could heard Esteban's negative reply, muffled, then Lucas chattering. Deflated a little, she moved to gather mugs and the tea. "I figured he hadn't."

"Estie said don't worry."

"I'm not worried."

"Estie said stop lying."

"I'm not—"

"Estie said yes you are."

"Estie didn't say anything!" Esteban protested in the background. "All I said was what's for dinner?"

Natalie laughed. "Go feed your husband."

"The feminist in my wants to say he can feed himself, but the realist in me knows he'd destroy the kitchen in the process. I'll call you tomorrow. Give Mark our love."

The call ended before Natalie could reply. While waiting for the kettle to start whistling, she tried Oscar again, worry increasing when it rolled to his voicemail. She thought about texting him, but he wasn't big on texting. Sighing, she typed out a quick one to him anyway, keeping the message short and trying not to come across as a worrywart.

It's getting pretty bad here. Just checking to make sure you're okay. Call me?

After she sent it she realized she definitely sounded like a worrywart. Sighing, she pushed the phone into her jeans and drummed her fingers against the countertop.

She and her father ate dinner in the living room. A rare occasion, but the crackling fire was warming and the old Christmas movie playing on TV was comforting. The soup and rolls were filling, and she brought out the brownies she had baked that afternoon. She whipped together some bland chicken and rice and vegetables for Penny, who had followed her to and from the kitchen with an eager expression on her face.

The winds rose, rattling the windows, and she had just finished the dishes when the lights went out.

"It's okay," she crooned softly to Penny when the dog whined. "Everything's alright."

Still no word from Oscar. She hadn't been really worried, just a little concerned, but now she truly began to worry. What if he'd had an accident? What if he were stuck in a ditch, injured and not seen because of the snow falling?

Memories of the night her mother had died came creeping back. Her father's worry when the hour grew late. The knock of a state trooper at the door—

Everything's alright, she told herself while lighting candles and two hurricane lamps in the living room. Her father got up and turned on the baseboard then went upstairs to change into pajamas and take his nightly medicine. Natalie busied herself with getting blankets and pillows for the couches, knowing they would camp out in the living room. She tried to get Penny to go outside but the dog shied away from the gust of wind that sent snowflakes swirling through the back door. Standing there, starting to shiver, she looked out at the dying storm and her worry increased.

"I'm going to see if Oscar's at home," she announced when her father came downstairs. She had already added an extra layer of clothes and put on her thickest, warmest coat, her boots, and was wrapping a scarf around her neck.

"Natalie, sweetie…" Her father frowned.

"I won't be able to relax until I do." She jammed a hat down over her head and reached for her gloves. "His phone might have died and he can't call."

Mark sighed. "Take your phone."

"I've got it. I'll call you when I get there."

He nodded. "And be careful."

"I will." She picked up the thermos of tea she'd prepared. "Penny doesn't want to go out in this, so—"

"She's a smart girl," he said, smiling fondly at the dog waiting for him in the doorway of the living room.

Natalie rolled her eyes. "There's tea if you want some. I made a pot right before the lights went out."

"Hurry along," her father said. "Call me."

"I will," she promised, heading for the door.

The winds had died down but the snow was still falling. It hit her cheeks like shards of glass and she realized there was sleet mixed in. Her boots crunched through the snow and she twice considered turning back to the warmth of home, but her worry drove her forward. There was absolute silence, broken only by someone's generator, and she had to use a flashlight to see her way along the two blocks to the yellow Victorian. It and the rest of the houses along Halifax Street were dark, though through some windows along her trek she could see the faint glow of candles or camp lights. Oscar's house – Max's, she corrected – was completely dark. She was relieved to see his truck in the driveway and ignored the light in the back yard of George's house next door, climbing the snow-covered steps to the front porch.

Next door she heard a chainsaw roar to life. Looking over while knocking on the door, she saw that the back yard was lit by car headlights, illuminating a tree that had fallen, some of its thick branches crumpled against the roof of the detached garage. Knocking again, louder, she winced as the saw began to grind through limbs, accompanied by the crackling as the heavy limbs and branches fell to the ground.

"Come on," she muttered under her breath when her knocks remained unanswered. There was no way he was asleep. She tried to peer through the beveled windows on either side of the door but could see nothing of the interior.

The saw died and she heard male voices. Recognizing one, she nearly dropped the thermos and spun to face the house next door. Of course he was next door, helping his neighbor. She left the thermos by the door and headed over, suddenly understanding and knowing what he had done.

And when she rounded the back corner of the house and he saw her, grin obvious in spite of the scarf shielding the bottom half of his face, she felt weak with relief.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, breathless, after crossing the yard to her. His brow furrowed with worry. "Is everything okay with Mark?"

"He's fine," she promised, reaching to brush sawdust from the sleeves of his coat. "I was worried about you when you didn't answer my calls."

He sighed. "My phone died on the way back from Fairview. I don't have a charger in the truck. Then when I got here, the power was out, and then George's tree fell, and Lilli insisted I stay inside until the storm died down and—"

"And you were only worried about lending a hand," she finished with understanding.

"We're working to get it off the garage." Oscar glanced over his shoulder. "Won't be much longer, then I'll take you home, okay?"

"I can—"

"Can you start the fire in the living room for me?" he asked, pulling off a glove and reaching into his pocket. His keys jangled as he handed them over. "It's already set, you just need to light it."

"Of course. I brought you some tea."

His eyes crinkled. "Great. I'll be over in a few minutes." His bare hand grazed her cheek briefly. "Get inside and warm up."

She nodded, then waved to George before heading back next door.

She took off her boots after getting inside then felt like a burglar, tiptoeing in her socks through the house in the dark. After lighting the fire she began peeling off her gloves, hat, and scarf, holding her hands close to the flames before venturing into the kitchen. She got a mug and sugar to carry to the living room, then found a jarred candle to light. Wondering if he'd eaten dinner, she was about to check for something she could warm by the fire when she saw a crumpled fast food bag on the counter, next to his dead phone and a stack of receipts.

There was a thump at the back door and she rushed to open it, stepping back as Oscar entered. "The fire's going," she said, taking his scarf and hat as he removed them. "I'll fix you a cup of tea."

"Thanks," he whispered, unzipping his coat.

He smelled of snow and wood. After he tossed his coat over the back of the old chair near the door the faint scent of gasoline disappeared, and she walked in front of him to the living room.

The fire gave off heat that warmed his chilled hands and face. The tea was still hot, warming his stomach, and he chuckled when she got up to get herself a cup from the kitchen. While she was gone he found the bag of candles Eve had brought down to go on the dining room table, making a mental note to replace them before she came down again. The silver candelabras were wrapped in bubble wrap and the sound of the plastic ripping sounded obnoxiously loud to his ears.

"You did eat, didn't you?" Natalie asked as she returned, empty cup in hand.

"Yeah, I had a burger and fries." Though he had a standing invitation to dinner at the Webber house, his plan had been to stop home and plug in his phone then go pick up Penny before the storm got worse. But he had got caught in the worst of it on the highway, forced to drive at a snail's pace. "I'm sorry. I should have stopped somewhere and bought a charger or—"

"It's fine," she promised, kneeling in front of the fire to fix her coffee. She moved the sugar and thermos to the side of the hearth and sat back on her heels. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Worried I was in a ditch, huh?" He chuckled, intending it to be teasing, but felt her tense from across the room. Frowning, he carried the candelabras to the coffee table and picked up the matches to light the candles. "I'm sorry, Natalie."

"No, it's fine," she said softly, looking at the fire. "I just… Yes, I was worried about you."

He nodded and lit the candles, tossing the spent match into the fire. They gave off plenty of light, but he couldn't let himself focus on how the glow of them made her hair lustrous, or how when she looked at him her eyes were luminous with the flames from the fireplace. Sitting next to her on the plush rug he'd put down that morning, he watched her sip her coffee carefully.

"I shouldn't have joked about being in a ditch," he murmured.

"It's okay." She leaned to press a kiss to his cheek. "I just – Oh god, I forgot!"

"What?" he grunted, wincing when she pushed away briskly. Reaching for his tea, he watched her crawl over to the couch, where her coat was.

"Dad. I told him I'd call him when I got here. He's probably worrying—" Pulling out her phone, she snorted when it began to ring. "And there he is! Hey, Dad, sorry…"

Oscar half-listened as she explained the reasons behind his not showing up. He thought she exaggerated a little about the tree on George's garage and lifted his eyebrows when she said they were still working and that she was going to start a fire. Keeping silent as she ended the call with a groan of laughter, he waited until she had tossed her phone back onto the couch. He leaned against the hearth, eyes watching her every move as she unzipped the thick hoodie she wore and shrugged it off, then followed her hand when she reached for the buffalo plaid blanket draped over the back of the couch.

She brought it back over with her, spreading it over her lap after she set, and looked at him with a soft smile. "He's glad you're okay."

"Am I okay? I thought I was still outside helping George," he said, flicking the corner of the blanket towards her.

Her cheeks colored. "Yeah… Sorry about that." She cleared her throat and picked up her cup. "I'm just not ready to leave."

"Oh?" He smiled.

"It's nice. Sitting in front of the fire with you and talking? It's more than nice. And if I told him things were fine he would have started—" Natalie cut off with a brief scowl. "Actually he said…"

"What?" he chuckled when she groaned.

"He said to tell you I like my eggs scrambled," she muttered.

"Well…" He cleared his throat, tongue darting over his lips when she tossed the edge of the blanket over his legs. "…Do you?"

"I prefer them over easy, but he can't cook them that way without busting the yolks." A giggle escaped when he caught her hand and pulled her to him.

"I can do sunny side up," he offered.

"Mm, perfect." She moved into his lap and their sigh was mutual as their lips met in a quick kiss.

"I can't cook bacon worth a damn though," he warned, hands sliding to her waist.

"I'll cook the bacon?" Her fingers swept over his jaw and cupped the back of his neck.

"Perfect," Oscar agreed with a grin.

She had no idea how much time, exactly, passed as she and Oscar kissed. Long enough for the fire to die down just a little. Long enough for her to grow overly warm. Long enough for her to push the blanket away and begin tugging the hem of his plaid flannel from the waistband of his jeans. She slipped her fingers beneath once it was free, nudging them beneath the soft cotton of his undershirt so she could feel the heat of his skin.

"I didn't plan this," he whispered between kisses. Hands sweeping down her sides, he caught her by the hips and brought her closer, sighing against her lips when her arms wrapped around him.

"Neither did I." Her skin was warm but goosebumps rose on her arms as his fingers danced to the small of her back. "I really came just to check on you."

"I'm glad you did." He broke his mouth free of hers and dipped his head to kiss her throat, clutching her to him while he guided her down onto the rug.

She had hoped their first time together would be in a bed, but she was too impatient to wait even the few moments needed to get candles and go upstairs. Later, she decided, running her fingers through his hair. They could go upstairs later. His lips were on hers again and she forgot about beds entirely, sandwiched between him and the plush rug.

He pulled back, gently shushing when she whined. She stared up at him, licking her lips as the firelight danced on face skin. His left side was in full light, the glow of the candles flickering along his right. She enjoyed the contrast and was about to sit up for another kiss when he began unbuttoning his shirt. She boosted up enough to wriggle out of her sweater and tossed it aside, hands moving to his waist and guiding the long-sleeved shirt he wore up his torso. He yanked it over his head then his lips were on hers, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her fleece-lined leggings. She reached to push them down, getting them just past her hips when one finger traced the band of her panties.

The kiss grew desperate. Natalie gripped his shoulders, his back, her urgent cries dying against his tongue as he teased and delved. The logs in the fire shifted and she heard them snap and crackle. His fingers dipped lower, and when his thumb began to strum her clit she broke the kiss with a needy cry. "Oscar…"

"Off," he whispered, pulling his hand from her pants with a groan. She watched, panting, as he sucked the wet from his fingers, and fell back on the plush rug when he reached for the waistband of her leggings. Her hips lifted and she let out a shaky gasp as they were peeled down then tossed aside. Then he was reaching for his belt.

She sat up, pushing his hands away so she could do it. Her lips met his in a needy kiss and though she wanted to, she found she couldn't pull away to drink in the sight of him after she unfastened his jeans and pushed them down. Settling on exploring with her hands, she hummed into his mouth while her fingers wrapped around his cock, swallowed his little groan as she began stroking him gently. His hands tugged at her bra and she whined when she was forced to let go of him long enough for him to drag the straps down her arms.

"Fuck," he breathed, hands grasping her thighs and squeezing.

"Yeah," she gasped. Her hips squirmed closer. She was slick – his fingers had made sure of that – and when she had wriggled close enough to feel the tip of him glide along her slit, she moaned.

He whispered his name, a faint plea, fingers digging into her flesh as he shifted so she straddled his lap fully. He leaned back, breath hissing between his teeth, his eyes blazing brighter than the fire.

"Oh god," she moaned raggedly as she sank down on him, hands flying to his shoulders. He filled her, stretched her, sending ripples of delight through her that made her toes curl and her thighs shake. Oscar didn't rush her, hands gripping and stroking as she shivered through the sensations. She unclenched her fingers from his shoulders and found his lips for a kiss, rolling her hips slowly.

"Yeah, nice and slow," he whispered. His palms glided up her sides, thumbs reaching to stroke the outer curves of her breasts. She watched his tongue dart over his lips as he leaned back slightly. Then his fingers were gently pinching and pulling at her nipples, tugging until she was whining.

"Oscar," she gasped, grasping his wrists. Her hips rolled faster and she pushed down hard, need beginning to take over. She felt and heard herself grow wetter, then his low grown that signaled he'd felt it, too. Letting go of him, she focused on keeping her motions slow, ignoring the urge to bounce wildly.

His hands dropped to her thighs, landing heavy, stinging lightly. He squeezed, nails scraping, then pushed her thighs further apart. He released a harsh breath and she waited for him to lie back and continue giving her full control. One hand drifted upward and his eyes lit as the tips of his fingers grazed her clit and she squeezed her thighs together, pushing her hips forward to increase the pressure.

Then, in a blur, she was on her back. He was over her, expression intense and strained, her name a faint growl just as his lips met hers. In the brief moment of clarity she registered the juxtaposition of his tender kiss and the frantic, almost rough thrusts of his hips. Delight ripped through her, lifted her hips from the rug, sent one of her arms straight above her head, fingers clawing for purchase. A shriek tore from her throat, died in his mouth as his hand found hers. His fingers wedged between hers and squeeze, his hips never faltering their rhythm. Strumming her clit, he moaned when she trembled. Following as she shook and squirmed, he pushed harder, lips sliding to her cheek.

"C'mon," he whispered, hot and breathless.

"Yeah," she panted, tightening her hold on his hand. Squeezing her legs around him, she turned her head to one side, trying to snatch in a breath.

His hips shifted, sending him deeper, and his resulting moan made her weak. Head tipping back, she rolled beneath him, the faint understanding that it never felt this intense and wonderful before slipping to the back of her mind. The stubble on his jaw scraped her skin as his lips dragged down the side of her neck and she gulped in the bit of air she could manage, drinking in the scent of him.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god," she whined. Her legs locked, muscles straining, and she heard his small sound of delight as her hips shoved upward. One second ecstasy was just out of reach and the next it was ripping through her, constricting her body then shaking it, forcing her lips to part and yanking a disjointed cry from her throat.

"Oh god," he moaned, low and deep, in her ear as she continued to shake. His thrusts grew irregular, harder, then suddenly he was a bundle of tension above her. She could feel the delight flow throughout his body, felt his cock pulse as he panted and moaned. Humming as he flooded her with searing heat, she parted her lips for his fervent kiss. A whine escaped when his fingers slid, trembling, to her hip, felt the shaking in his arm as it slipped around her, holding her to him.

Once the pulse in her ears slowed, she could hear the crackling of the fire. There was a distant, steady hum, and as the kiss grew tender she realized her ears were ringing. Her body was weak, covered in their sweat, and after his hand released hers she painstakingly lifted it to drape it around him. "Mm," she hummed when he sighed.

Oscar lifted up slowly, still panting, hair shining in the glow of the candles and the fire. Moaning as their flesh peeled away, he swept his hand from her hip to her face, thumb tracing her bottom lip. He didn't speak, merely stared into her eyes, and she thought she could read the emotion in his gaze. Licking his lips when she lowered her legs to the rug, he eased his hips back with a soft hiss.

She rolled to face him as he lay next to her, watching the firelight play on his face and highlight the sheen of sweat on his chest. He pushed his hair back, lips tilting into a smile, and she felt her heart skip at least four beats.

"Yeah?" he whispered when she smiled.

"Yeah," she echoed.

"You're beautiful, by the way," he murmured, stretching out his arm to grab the blanket.

"So are you," she said honestly, sighing as he brought the blanket over their bodies. His arm slipped under her, cradling her neck and she wiggled closer, enjoying the sensation of him smoothing her hair back.

"You are staying all night, right?" he asked after a moment.

"Mmhmm." She couldn't move if she wanted to. And she didn't want to. Ever, really, but more urgently, she didn't want to move right then. She wanted to feel the heat of his body against hers. The steady pounding of his heart beneath her ear. His hand in her hair. His lips on her forehead.

"For breakfast?"

She laughed, slow and with a groan, and lifted her head. "For you."

He grinned and it took her breath away all over again.