#the chances of your first love reappearing to fuck up your life once again are liw but never zero

[mmelolabelle]

Rhaenyra getting her marriage back on track and seemingly successfully navigating the “We kissed, is it weird now?” situation with Mysaria. All romantic relationships were where they should be. Nothing out of place. Nothing strange or exciting coming along to fuck up the war effort. Wait, what’s that —

IT’S ALICENT HIGHTOWER WITH THE STEEL CHAIR

[frudoo]

I’ve only had your baker! simon for one day and I already know that I would cause mass destruction if something happened to him 😁 no but seriously such a cute and fun read I loved it thank you so much for sharing!

He is my BABY and I am obsessed <3

Part 2 of this!

Warnings: Simon is healing 🤍 Fem!Reader.

Simon’s heart skips a beat. It’s a scam, it’s got to be. No way such a pretty woman would dare talk to him, business move or not. Although, the more he looks through your profile and sees the amount of posts you’re tagged in, it’s easy to conclude that you are, in fact, real. Regardless, he’s still wary as he finally begins typing out a response.

— No charge? Sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch?

Maybe a little harsh, but hey—can never be too careful nowadays. If there’s one thing the military instilled in him, it’s to trust nobody. Simon flops down onto his couch, fingers anxiously tapping along his knee as he watches you type, the ellipses disappearing and reappearing again. He wonders if you’re just as nervous as he is, but if that were the case, surely you wouldn’t have contacted him first.

— No catch, I promise! No offense, it’s just that your pictures are a little grainy and I don’t believe they act as a great showcase for your talent. Really, I just want to show you how pretty your treats can look on camera!

Simon sucks his teeth stubbornly. He knows his pictures aren’t the best, but fucking hell, must everybody point it out? He’s about to type a scathing response and block you, but another message pops up beneath your previous one.

— Please, just a chance. We’re in the same area, so I can just come to you, wherever you want me.

A heavy sigh escapes the big man. His therapist has been telling him he’s too uptight, suggesting that he should balance out his peace by stepping out of his comfort zone once in a while. Besides, when’s the last time a sweet girl has given him the light of day? He’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity. Simon pinches the crooked bridge of his nose, trying to talk some sense into himself. It’s not like it’s a date, simply just two businesses helping each other out. If it doesn’t work, he never has to see you again.

Yeah, that sounds good. If everything goes up in flames, he can simply block you and move on with his life, continuing to post shitty pictures of his desserts. His thumbs twitch before tapping the screen once again.

— You’ve beat it out of me. When are you available?

Your response comes faster than he can blink.

— Saturday?

Two days. That gives him plenty of time to prepare (and maybe get Price to order an extensive background check on you). Simon can do that, no problem.

— I can be ready for you by about half 11.

Ready for you? Fucks’ sake, what is this? She’s not a bloody prostitute.

— That sounds good! Just send me your address day of. I’m looking forward to it!! :)

Simon smiles. Simon smiles, and he doesn’t even realize it. If he did, he would fix it immediately—but he doesn’t. Instead there’s a pep in his step when he stands from the couch, grabbing his journal and scribbling down his thoughts and ideas for what he’ll make on Saturday. His therapist will be proud.

Simon allows himself to be proud as well.

[fantastic-bby]

War With Heaven

Pairing: Reader x Seonghwa

Word count: 1.2k

Genre: Romance | Kinda forbidden love | Angel!Reader | Demon!Seonghwa

When Seonghwa would fight the heavens just for you, you realise that you would, too

Warnings: -

A/n: This hasn't been proofread, but it's also been in the works for a while and I really just wanna get this idea out there, so please excuse any mistakes.

Masterlist

“Dude, come on,” Wooyoung scoffs and smacks his arm with the back of his hand. “You can’t be hung up on them forever.”

The man ignores him, dark red eyes completely glued to you as he watches from the distance.

“Hwa,” he calls out more sternly. 

“Shut up,” Seonghwa snaps without even turning to look at Wooyoung, too busy watching the way you laugh with your friends just as you exit the restaurant. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“What do you expect is gonna happen if you just keep staring at (Y/n)? The Heavens just magically let you date them?” Wooyoung snorts. 

“I would fight the Heavens for them,” he mumbles. 

“Oh, please,” he rolls his eyes in response. “I’m leaving. I promised Yeosang I’d meet him in five minutes and I’m not going to waste my time waiting for you to leave.” 

Seonghwa ignores Wooyoung even when he lets out another audible scoff before the demon disappears, leaving him to his own company as he continues to watch you from a distance. 

You were one of the few angels that actually enjoyed being on Earth, living life as though you were a human. When you had first met centuries before, Seonghwa found it only a little bit odd that you enjoyed it, but you explained that there was a certain kind of charm to the act of living. And since you’re both immortal, pretending to be a human just seemed to feel right for you. 

It also gave you the chance to guard over your friends while being able to physically hangout with them. 

There’s a moment where Seonghwa knows that Wooyoung’s right, but he really doesn’t give two shits about what anyone else says about you. Sure, you’re an angel and he’s a demon—the only barrier between you two—but he knows that you must have some love left over from when you were dating all those years ago. 

Seonghwa thinks that the time you two spent together was the most peaceful time that he has ever had throughout his entire existence. You brought a sense of peace and tranquillity that he wouldn’t have been able to achieve living a life as a demon. 

But as much as you both love each other, there’s nothing that the two of you seemed to be able to do when the Heavens had discovered your courting with Seonghwa. 

For the sake of your pure and pristine wings, you begged him to not do anything. 

However, as the years have passed, Seonghwa realised that he would, quite literally, fight the Heavens for you. As dramatic as it sounds, he feels like he’s dying without you, and Seonghwa doesn’t think he can last even another two years without being able to hold you. 

Which leads him to his current situation: 

Standing at the edge of a rooftop with his wings folded behind him, eyes still fixated on you as you bid your friends goodbye. Seonghwa tilts his head slightly before stepping off of the building entirely, his body falling down towards the ground only for his wings to catch his fall and gently set him down—

Right in front of you.

You stare at him almost knowingly, swallowing the lump in your throat that formed the moment you knew he was in the area. 

“(Y/n),” Seonghwa greets. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask softly. 

“I’m here to ask for your hand once again.” 

You purse your lips together, chest constricting, as you stare at him. Your entire body feels tense and you know it’s because you’ve been pondering the idea for quite a while already. 

But giving up your wings would mean giving up everything. 

“We’ve talked about this,” you state, walking past him. 

Seonghwa all but disappears into a mist and reappears right in front of you once again.

“And I’ve asked you about this,” he nods. “I will ask for your hand forever, (Y/n). It’s cruel that the Heavens had made us perfect for each other while keeping us completely separated.” 

“They do what they wish,” you sigh, but don’t make another attempt to walk away from him. 

“You already knew from the beginning that I would do anything to keep you by my side and I’m going to keep on doing that until it happens. I would go to war with heaven for you, my love,” Seonghwa confesses softly as he takes a step closer to you, gauging your reaction. When you don’t seem to back away or show any sort of displeasure, he takes your hands in his and brings them to his lips, where he presses a kiss to your knuckles. 

“I-I’d have to leave everything, Hwa,” you say, voice a whisper, your eyes sticking to the ground. 

“I would give you everything. I’ll make sure you stay in contact with your friends—I’ll make sure that you get to stay on Earth—I’ll do anything. I’m quite high up in the underworld and I can pull some strings,” Seonghwa insists. 

You finally look him in the eyes, heart melting when you finally see the pure love and adoration that fills the scarlet of his eyes. Seonghwa looks at you as though he’s in pain he’s never felt before, but you know that he’s also filled with so much love that he could truly burst right here, right now. 

“I’ll tear down Heaven if it means being with you. I’ll go against anything and everything if it means I get to spend eternity with you.”

Your eyes close in defeat. The only way that you could be with Seonghwa is if you were to give up your wings because no one can be turned into an angel. The Heavens are strict on their angels, and they’ve only ever thrown out angels—they’ve never let them in. 

But you wonder, really, with the centuries that you’ve been sentient, you think that the eternity you’ll spend with Seonghwa could never actually compare to what you’ve already ‘lived’. 

And you also wonder how long you’ve been thinking about it rather than actually wanting it. 

Because you’re pretty certain that Seonghwa became everything to you the day that he had brought you to the middle of the forest where you spent the entire day with nature. In the eyes of an angel, it was such a simple sight, but to you; who’s always wanted to actually live—you don’t think that he could’ve brought you to a place more perfect than that. 

But that’s also what you loved so much about him:

Seonghwa saw the beauty in life that you’ve felt you had only seen. Even though it was somewhat of a learning curve for the demon, he still went out of his way to search for places that he knew you would love purely out of how alive it was. And you both know that you’ll never get the chance of actually being alive, but living on Earth was about the closest you could get. 

And as you bite the inside of your cheek, you realise that you don’t think you’ll miss the Heavens as much as you thought you would; your love seems to overpower everything else as Seonghwa stands in front of you, awaiting your answer. If anything, you’re as enraged as he is that they’re the reason you can’t be together. So, you’re certain that you wouldn’t be that upset being away for the rest of time.

So, you let out a long breath before you nod, cupping Seonghwa’s face in your hands. You smile widely and press a kiss to his lips, letting your touch linger before you pull away just enough to whisper.

“Let’s do it.” 

[masterqwertster]

Ooh always love seeing the Hurt/Comfort D&D Subclass Prompts make a reappearance. Also love a good time travel/loop story, so might I request Chronurgy Wizard for any CR character?

Subclass Hurt/Comfort Prompt Chronurgy Wizard: Going back in time to try and stop the event from happening to them. I chose Imogen trying to save Laudna in a weird dunamancy mess courtesy of Ashton.

Imogen can’t help herself. 

Not when she can see the refracted image of Laudna, all dressed up and flush with life, walking up the road to Castle Whitestone, her parents at her side, in one facet of the crystal labyrinth they’ve all been thrown into by a clash of dunamancy and Ashton’s own dunamantic nature. 

Not when Imogen has the gut feeling, the certainty, that if she can push through the crystal glass like that disastrous dive into Ashton’s mind, she will actually be in that moment.

This is a place of possibility and time and space (and gravity, though she doesn’t see its effects here not yet). 

If Imogen can make it work with her, those powers could allow her to undo the worst thing to ever happen to Laudna. She could save Laudna. From the cruelty of her first death. From the harsh glares judging her appearance instead of her bright personality. From Delilah fucking Briarwood and nearly 30 years of isolation. 

An inexorable gravity draws her to that scene that she could change for the better. So Imogen places her hand to the glass and pushes.

It doesn’t yield, and for a moment, Imogen can feel a noose around her neck, strangling her. 

This is what Laudna experienced, how she will die if Imogen doesn’t interfere. 

Still drawn to it, Imogen pushes harder against the glass, electrical sparks dancing across her hand. Yet again, it’s not enough. The burning sensation of knives through the curve of her ears echo back, the mutilation that still marks Laudna to this day. 

Again. Small arcs of electricity dancing around her hands and forearms as Imogen pushes, mind and soul and body (is it even her actual body in this space, or all mental?).

Imogen stumbles through onto the road, Laudna and her parents about a hundred feet ahead of her.

As she begins to sprint towards them, Laudna’s name on her lips, Imogen feels the kiss of a knife to her wrist. Not deep enough to open her artery, but close enough to flirt with the idea of it. Hot blood spills across her fingers, but she has to press on. For Laudna.

“Wait!” Imogen pants out, magic flowing into the word to make them pause as she draws up to the little family, ignoring the phantom blade that kisses her other wrist, closer to the essential veins.

“What–? Oh! You poor thing, your wrists,” Laudna exclaims upon seeing her.

“Don’t worry about me. If you go up to that castle, she’s gonna kill you. All of you,” Imogen desperately imparts, hoping it will turn them away from this awful path.

“Now that’s not a nice thing to say. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!” Laudna’s father rebukes her, even as a glint of fear gathers in his eyes.

“I’m beggin’ you, please don’t go up there. Please,” Imogen pleads, looking Laudna dead in the eyes, hoping against hope she’ll be believed. Ignores the almondy taste on her tongue as she says the words, painful, poisonous nausea roiling through her gut.

“They could just send the guards to collect us anyways,” Laudna quietly responds, even as her eyes dart about, looking for escape.

“I’ll protect you. I promise. Just come with me.” 

A glowing, lightning scarred hand offered. Accepted by a trembling hand (too warm, too plush. But the difference is okay because it will be better. It will).

“Now hold on, Matilda. You can’t just give up this opportunity on a stranger! This is your one chance to try to impress the Lady of Whitestone, to convince her to teach you real magic!” Laudna Matilda’s mother protests.

“I can teach her,” Imogen insists, anything to get her away. Except as she tries to cast her Dancing Lights to prove her claim, river water fills her throat and splatters down her front as she chokes it out.

“Are you sure you’ve actually got control over what you do?” Matilda’s father asks skeptically.

Imogen growls at his stubbornness, and flares her power, rising off the ground, hair floating and electricity crackling around her. 

“Still think I’ve got nothin’ to teach her?” Imogen grits out, glaring down at him, daring him to keep doubting her.

There’s fear in his eyes as he takes an unsteady step back and shakes his head, conceding to her. Finally. Now Imogen just has to get them out of here and it’ll be fine–

Imogen chokes on blood as her throat opens, draining her life away. The last thing she sees as it all goes dark is Matilda’s horrified face. And red and blue flickers around everything.

___

Imogen wakes with a gasp, rolling to her side to heave the last of the blood from her lungs.

“That was a really fucking stupid thing to do.”

She turns a glare towards Ashton, their seated position suggesting her head had been in their lap previously.

“It was not stupid to try and save her,” she hisses, even as she aches terribly.

“Laudna saved your life. If there’s no Laudna, there’s no you,” he evenly replies, his face tired and strained as sharp sparks burst in the glass in his head.

“I know that. But she didn’t need to die. To have Delilah stuck in her head,” Imogen stubbornly refutes, still drawn dragged towards the idea of saving her.

“She wouldn’t be Laudna if she didn’t. She’d be Matilda, an old woman living somewhere, or dead in the ground,” Ashton tells her, purple galaxies swirling across their eyes and glass for a moment.

“...You put it back,” Imogen accuses Ashton. 

If it really is Ashton. Or, well, just Ashton. She doesn’t think they are, not when Ashton doesn’t really have that kind of control of their powers. But infinite versions of Ashton exist inside them, so maybe this is one version that does and thinks they can ‘help.’

“I don’t want you to die. Laudna doesn’t want you to die. And the future is fucking full of possibilities. She doesn’t fall to Delilah in all of them,” they say, offering her hope with a wry grin. “So stick around and work on it, instead of destroying yourself.”

“Okay,” Imogen says after a moment, feeling that demanding draw start to fade. (Feeling a dawning horror for how a strange gravity pulled her to chase that sacrificial, suicidal act. What is gravity but attraction? And she was so attracted to the idea of saving Laudna)

“Great.”

They grin widely at her, and Imogen blacks out again.

I did some rolling for this adventure. First to get through the glass, DC13 Wis, 2d6 damage if fail from Chaos Burst Rebuff. First roll, Nat 1, Failure, 6 damage. Second roll 8+1, Failure, 7 damage. Third roll 13+1, Success. Next 2d6 damage plus another d6 for each turn to go through with saving Laudna as the paradox of no Laudna rips at Imogen. Because if Laudna fully escaped the dinner and being hung on the Sun Tree, she’s got little reason to ever meet Imogen later, and Imogen has said that she was real close to trying suicide when Laudna showed up and gave her reason to live, so no Laudna feels like a no Imogen situation. First round, Dash and 5 damage. Second round, run and Command (all fail save with 12, 10, 18 against DC19) and 10 damage. Third round, persuading Matilda to come with her DC30 19+15, success and 17 damage. Fourth round, convincing mom DC30 17+15, success and 15 damage. Fifth round, Imogen casts Fly, Intimidation against dad DC15 14+5 success, 23 damage, bringing Imogen to exactly 0hp.

[trash-monkey]

Isekai The world of Tenby

Chapter 2

"Oh almost forgot, here" Naaji hands me a nice and simple tan coat with white fur on the inside after I come out dry with my new clothes on.

"Thanks" I give him a smile as I take a close look at the coat before laying it on the magical pack Naaji has given me but I frown at the uncertainty I feel about all of this.

"Yes, some does get this chance of living a new life in a fantasy world or the world they grow to love in the pages of a book but remember not all is giving permission to replace the previous god or gods of the world they're in." Naaji says trying to ease my nervousness which I give him a small smile for trying.

"Hopefully getting some sleep will help me feel better........And Naaji?" I call out to him when he turns away which he hums in response.

"Thank you, for giving me a chance." He gives me a open smile showing me the old man's missing teeth once again.

"I know you where a good pick!" He crackles to himself like a madman.

"I'll try my best to help you with what I can on your journey but always remember this is your path, no one else." He gives me another open smile when he settles himself down before he leaves me to sleep on the bed roll I have waken up on earlier which I only caught a glimpse of a mischievous glint in his eyes but it doesn't last long so I just think it's my imagination, when I lay on the bed roll I stare up at the ceiling of the tent although not really seeing it as my eyes stares beyond with my thoughts scrambled around my head like breakfast eggs but unknown to me a familiar withered hand slips out from behind a curtain I didn't know that was close to me and peppered a small amount of white glowing powder onto me. The light of the powder fades to nothing before finally landing softly on my skin causing my eyes to droop the more that lands and soon my eyes are forced to shut as sleep takes over, once I'm fully asleep Naaji strolls out form behind the curtain with a soft smile although it does hold sadness as he kneels beside me.

"I am sorry for this but you have to start somewhere...." He whispers to me not caring if I can't hear him which he gently move a piece of hair out of my face before snapping his fingers which not only did I disappear from the tent and the bed roll in a flash but also the winter land scape only to reappear onto hot sand with a scorching sun over me replacing the tent ceiling, my pack and coat falls onto the sand next to me as the glowing white powder continues to lull me to sleep despite the blazing heat that's just been thrown onto me but luckily the power of the powder doesn't last long so I won't wake up completely burnt to a crisp.

"Mmm" I groaned as the powder looses it's hold on me after about two minutes of laying on hot sand and crack my eyes open only to get blinded by the high noon sun which I immediately shut my eyes tightly.

"The hell...." I trail off confused as I sit up only to see sand everywhere which I find a town or city standing high in the distance after looking around once I climbed onto my feet and knowing the dangers of the deserts from my world makes me hope that this one isn't any different as I quickly pack my coat into the pack before slipping it onto my back, seeing I have no water what so ever makes me panic.

"Fucking shit Naaji! You could at least had given me some food and water!" I yelled out into the thick hot air with anger not really caring if Naaji can hear me or not which I do kick at some sand but it doesn't last long knowing I better get a move on to the place I see in the distance before my body gives out or something kills me, I'm just glad my feet doesn't sink too far in when walking over soft sand. By the time the sun is two hours from the horizon I'm a little bit away from my destination which I can see it's a small city that's been abandoned long ago but right now all I care for is the shade some broken buildings will give me and when I feel the first one upon my skin by going into a alleyway my knees buckled under me, with difficult I throw off my pack to lean against the wall panting as the heat is making me itch to remove my shirt but I know that isn't a good decision to do in this heat.

When I finally got my breath back and that I wasn't feeling like I was baking in a oven I climbed back onto my feet to snoop around the abandoned city as there must be a reason that Naaji decided to dump me in this blazing desert, I turn the corner once I got to the end of the alley and opened the first door I'm closest to which is barely hanging on it's hinges. If dust isn't covering everything sand is as what cloth that was left behind has been eaten by moths and the things made from wood has rotted mostly away, whatever has happened to this city must have been catastrophic. Finding nothing I moved on to another building but the scene is the same as the first house and it continued to be that way with every house I enter, it changes slightly when exploring stores and when the last light of sun light I only check half of the city but no still haven't found food or water so I'm going to be hungry and thirsty tonight.

This world has one sun which I'm lucky for as it would have added heat onto me during the day and once night falls it comes to my attention that this world has two moons as they light the night greatly, allowing me to see almost perfectly as if it's day and helping me continue my search through the city although not really indoors. Luckily have half an hour after night fall I find a candle but the matches I also out find in the draw just crumbs in my fingers from age.

"How the hell I'm supposed to ligh it now?" I sighed as I slip the other two candles into my pack although there are smaller then the one I decided to keep in my pocket incase I do actually find something to lit it with but for now I decided to sleep in this house somewhere hidden, I scoot a box over to see if there's anything behind it as it's been sitting next to some wooden stairs which when seeing nothing but more sand and dust I decided I'll sleep here tonight. Luckily the box is large enough to cover the whole entrance of the under stairs although the space is small it'll protect me from any animal this world has and I can look through the steps if I need to, so I use my pack as a pillow and tried to get some sleep which takes me a bit to do so as I used my coat as a cover as some point but I do fall asleep although it's restless.

Once again day comes fast giving me a theory that the days are at least two or three hours longer then what I'm use to as the nights are one or two shorter, I put my coat back into my pack before leaving the under stairs to continue searching the ruined city hoping to find food and water as my stomach starts growling at me while my lips are badly chapped.

'I'm going to die and I just got here.'

I'm close to breaking down around what seems to be one a clock in the evening after finding nothing in the last few stores and houses I've checked but I quickly steel my will as my eyes landed on the last place I haven't searched yet, it's looks to be a large house a few miles out of this small city so with sweat already pouring I truck the miles to it.

_______________________________________________

@it-veries023

[toomanytookas]

I read the ao3 version, so my quote notes aren’t split into the two parts and I’m too lazy to figure out where to separate them lol oops sorry. I’m just going to use the fact that there are two parts here to talk about two different things I liked overall and mix quotes from both parts to do it. 😂

I’m fascinated by the role of memory in this chapter.

Specifically the way people stay with you and the ways you remember details of them long after a separation.

The first is so beautifully captured in Natalie’s reflections on how she has conjured Dieter over the years, intentionally or not, and that suuuuuper achy way in which it’s impossible not to frame certain things outside of seeing him in them.

This was gorgeous:

He wasn’t haunting you, you had never know a silent ghost. But he lingered, like the remnants of last night’s perfume or the body warmth of a loved one after they’ve left the bed. You saw him in everyone and in everything and, simply put, Dieter wasn’t going away.

But I think what most affected me was:

So you let him stop by, hang around if he wanted to.

That kind of acceptance of sitting with the ache says so much about her growth but also about the lasting impact of him in such a quiet but immensely beautiful way.

I thought the whole origin story of her art practice in rehab also felt very tinged with this kind of memory, but the fact that she also made it her own, worked to form her life around it with Marie feels very significant to her being able to move past him while also carrying him with her (I’m very much getting [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] vibes as I’m writing this…).

I was also so obsessed with how that reappeared when Dieter talks about the fantasy of her that stayed with him.

…it gave me comfort because I got to see you all the time. It wasn’t real and it wasn’t enough but god, it got me through the worst of it.

lol oh dear I’m tearing up rereading through these sections (I told you I cry at fucking everything now). I struggle a little with second chance story arcs sometimes because they make me feel really achy and vulnerable and a bit at a loss because it’s not how things have ever gone for me… that said, I very much appreciate them when they’re done well and god was this fucking done well (of course it was). ANYWAY. Moving on so I don’t get stuck in the feels!!

That second facet, which comes into play once they’re talking to one another again, was something my poor little heart was just so delighted to get glimpses of as they interacted.

It was such small things at first that I think really spoke to the fact that as much as what has been recounted to us was full of jumbled and confusing and drug-addled moments, they really did pay attention to one another and learn things that you only really learn through time and exposure and caring observation and knowing of a person.

I highlighted these specifically:

✨You told me once you felt like it was hard to make friends. ✨Dieter always had a fascination with hands (this one I’m going to come back to in my other comment) ✨When he orders your coffee, he remembers how you take it. ✨Knowing exactly what his ADHD does to his brain with numbers…

The combination of these two forms of remembering/evoking the remembered felt so, so right in my brain as ways of understanding the aftermath of their relationship. I don’t have a great concluding sentence, but it really contributed to that sense of continued inevitability of their returning to love... I adored that “you were never going to be just friends” comment from Marie. 🥹

Chapter 10 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 31K (part 1: 14K + part 2: 17K)

chapter summary: how they find each other again . . . and everything else

chapter warnings/tags: discussions of mental health, medication discussions, therapy (so much therapy), everything about theater and theatre production is nothing but fake lies, and yes lots of smut

a/n: there's a longer, sappy-er reblog coming but i just wanted to say thank you to everyone who came along with me on this journey. this wouldn't have been possible without you and i hope to see you again soon!

▲ Series Masterlist | Previous | Part 2 + Epilogue

▲ AO3 Link (posted there as a single chapter if you like to read it all at once)

▲ Taglist Form

“Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.” - Jane Austen, Persuasion 

SEPTEMBER 

“And so we can see that with the abstract paintings, color theory, as well as a fundamental understanding of color under light, is more important than ever. We can have a more immediate reaction to abstract art precisely because it digs at our unconscious thought. We see what we want to see and that can give us perspective on our own lives as well as that of the artist.” 

One hand jumps up from the back of the crowd. 

“Yes?”

“Is it true that Van Gogh ate yellow paint because he thought it would make him happier?”

You nod. “He did. But Van Gogh was a deeply disturbed man and while many of his best works come from his Yellow period, art historians have debated for decades about whether or not the madness was worth the beauty.”

The same boy in the back, blonde, lanky, frowns out of frustration, not boredom. 

“So he ate yellow paint and then painted yellow things?” 

“It could be said that he wanted to literally take what he was feeling inside and put it on the canvas.” 

Another boy, bigger than the first and clearly used to all eyes on him, snickers. He points to a frame at the end of the salon wall. 

“So, what, the artist who did that one wanted to get their blood all over everything?” 

You cross your arms, unphased by yet another teenage smartass. “What does color theory tell us about the color red?”

“It’s associated with anger,” a young girl at the front says with confidence. “Or more often, love. Intense emotions.”

The same jokester in the back chuckles, louder this time. “Wow, so that guy must have really been in luuuurve to paint that.” He pinches the waist of a girl next to him and she wriggles away, giggling. 

“Actually,” you say, straightening up, “I had just come out of a horrific break up and was trying to process grief, trauma, and heartbreak unlike anything I’d experienced before.” 

That successfully manages to silence them all. It usually does.

“You painted that, miss?” The girl at the front asks again, her eyes wide in awe. 

You smile at her. You remember being her age, fourteen, and thinking the world of art, theater was all so exciting. 

“I did. Am I a vain bitch for putting my own paintings in my gallery? Probably, but for some reason, people like to buy them and I’m not going to turn down an opportunity to fund another kitchen renovation in my home.” 

There’s a surprised chuckle amongst the students. Nothing endeared you faster to teenagers by some light cursing. 

“What other paintings are yours, miss?” The blonde boy asks, eyes suddenly leaping from wall to wall, trying to spot similar brush strokes. You don’t miss when the girl looks at him, her cheeks red. 

“Miss Lorraine only has a handful of her paintings in this gallery.” Marie steps forward from around one of the salon walls, her trusty iPad clutched against her chest. “If you are really interested in her work, I highly recommend going to see her charcoal sketches upfront. But this is the end of the tour. Your teacher has given you fifteen more minutes to view any last pieces or purchase a souvenir, but then it’s back on the bus. ” 

The gaggle of high school students disperses, an excitement buzzing as a few surge towards the charcoal exhibit. 

You roll your eyes, as bodies flow around you, and flick your best friend of the past ten years on her earlobe.

“That was supposed to be a secret.” 

“Oh, whatever.” Marie bats your hand away. “It’s honestly some of your best work. You should be proud.” 

“This is meant to be a business, not a housing facility for my ego.”

“Well, the second your ego starts to suck money out of this place, I’ll let you know.” She taps her iPad with her stylus. “Speaking of which, Andrew should be by in about ten minutes to discuss that piece he wants for his new show.” 

You groan, falling behind Marie as she leads you to the front desk, where some of the students are purchasing posters of the art they liked. You watch as the sales girl rings up a few posters and some postcards, as Marie continues to scroll through her tablet, always thinking of the next thing, the next move. 

“This had better be the last one,” you sigh, particularly pleased when you see someone buy a postcard of your red painting. “Why am I starting to think this damn show is going to be the death of me?”

Marie scoffs as she leans forward onto the corner of the sales counter, your bark always worse than your bite. “If you’re so concerned, think about what the notoriety of designing a set for an off-broadway production will do for this gallery.” 

“Does it always have to come back to this dump?” You smile at her, knowing you are the only one who is allowed to tease her precious child. 

“Duh.” Marie sticks out her tongue at you. 

Despite the absolute horror you felt about starting your own gallery three years ago, you can’t say it hasn’t been a success. A reasonably-priced gallery in Brooklyn, you worked to showcase small local artists who needed a leg-up in the industry. Not that breaking into the art world yourself had come easy, but with your old connections in Hollywood and Marie’s in the music scene, you recognized the sheer number of doors open and available to the both of you. The community received the opening of the gallery better than expected, given that it was occasionally used as a center and study hall. It was small, quiet, and unassuming, but it was yours. Yours and Marie’s. You wouldn’t be here without her. Quite literally.

“Once you’re done sulking, we have a meeting with a local council member about expanding the property at two, then that new artist from the Bronx is coming by to measure his space.” She scrolls through your day, with the sharp eye of someone who never missed a beat. You told her she didn’t have to wear that crisp white shirt and pleated black pants, but she rolled her eyes at that: “I’m going to be thirty-three in two weeks. I cannot wear plaid shirts to work every day.”

Same old Marie. Using any small excuse to dress up. Unlike her, you had zero compunctions against wearing old concert shirts and paint-splattered jeans to “the office”. Except, you conceded, on days like this where it was tour after tour, client after client. You attempted something “professional” for her sake, but these heels pinched your feet and the emerald green top seemed to draw the eye of every teenage boy who walked by you. 

“Ah, shoot,” Marie says suddenly, standing up right from her iPad. She glances at her watch. “Andrew asked to see a print of King Square and I totally forgot to grab it.”

“Want me to get it?”

She waves you away. “Nah, mingle. I’ll be out in a second.”

You smile as she struts away. Again you wonder what you possibly did to earn a friend like her, what you did to earn her devotion for a decade of friendship. It was as if the universe had been steering you away from all other friendships, keeping you a friend-virgin, until you met Marie. The One. The girl, now woman, who had saved your life more times than you could count, even before she became the manager of the gallery. You hoped to spend the rest of your life proving to her that she had chosen well. 

The class of teenagers has thinned. Only a few remain to chat with friends, or check out one last piece they might have missed, a plastic bag with a rolled-up poster in their hands. The noise in the gallery dulls, as the patter of feet against the wood grain and the sound of eager voices falls away. You hear the front door swing close and the room goes silent. You inhale, the saw-dust smell of the space always soothing to you, even before you turned it into a gallery.

This place felt like a destination, a culmination, a breakthrough after so many dark nights. You poured your heart and soul and nearly every dime you had into building this space and its community. You could wander through the salon walls, easily identifying the artwork done from different points in your life, what each of them meant to you, by the colors or mediums used. You experimented a lot after rehab, trying every creative outlet you could find until something stuck. Hell, you even attempted cross-stitching – Marie still laughed herself silly every time it was brought up. 

Early on, you processed a lot through clay, through sculpture. It wasn’t very good, but it gave you somewhere to put your rage, your frustration, those hot emotions that made you want to squish warm goo. You could never make bowls or vases – instead just absurd creations with teeth and wide eyes. 

Next came the paintings that covered entire walls. You’d come home after spending hours in a rented workspace, covered in paint, hot and tired and teary, but relieved. The scratchy ball in your chest loosened after those hours of working yourself into exhaustion. That was also around the time when you had started to process decade old feelings and memories regarding your parents with your therapist. It all went hand in hand. 

It was only recently that you’d turned to charcoal and your canvases shrunk. There was something hypnotic about charcoal as a medium, the stark contrast of black and white, of the delicate shading required to give depth and offer light, the way it stuck to your palms, your forearms as if the subject you sketched lingered on you. 

You turn a corner and are welcomed by the sketchings of dozens of artists who also worked in charcoal. The exhibit is called The After Effects of Flame and the artists had completely risen to the challenge. The soft paper, the light etching, it makes the space beautiful, quiet, warm. 

But your eyes fall to a single piece across the room, your heart thrumming in your chest. 

He had shown up in your work in prior years, of course, as much as you tried to swallow him and the memories down. A flash of the curve of his chin, the sharp angle of his nose, the endless brown of his eyes – they were there as you sorted through the cracked pieces of your life in rehab and continued on in therapy. As you moved on from that night in the hospital. 

As you moved away from him.

But you still found slivers of him, splinters that dug into your skin against the wood grain. Marie said it wasn’t noticeable, that only you saw those flashes because of what you had been through, what he had meant to you. But he was there, inside you somewhere, after ten years, and he became a different sort of ache. What he had been to you was never clear, never given structure or form, and perhaps that was why closure had been so hard to find: there was no road map to moving past whatever Dieter Bravo had meant to you. What he had become. What he still, in the fitful state between dreaming and awake, was to you. 

He wasn’t haunting you; you had never known a silent ghost. But he lingered, like the remnants of last night’s perfume or the body warmth of a loved one after they’ve left the bed. You saw him in everyone and in everything and, simply put, Dieter wasn’t going away. 

Much like with grief, you learn to hold this part of you that held him and let the memories, the good and the bad, pass over you without judgment. 

The world is hard enough on you as it is, your therapist told you, don’t add to it by beating yourself up.

So you let him stop by, hang around if he wanted to. He kept you company as you sketched and drew and created in a way you had never experienced as an actress. This is what you were meant to do. It just took you twenty-two years and a decade of heartbreak to get here. 

You stepped closer to the centerpiece of the exhibit. 

A simple sketch, nothing outwardly advanced or difficult, but it is detailed. Thoughtful, introspective. It comes from an image that appears to you in the morning light of your empty bed, or as you fade into the welcoming arms of sleep. It feels like it should be a memory, but if it is, you don’t know when or where it sits in your history. Sometimes, it doesn’t even feel real. Other times, it’s too real, the added weight in your bed almost palpable – you can smell him in the air, you could reach out and touch the curve of his shoulder – and you blink, the image is gone and you’re alone. Your outstretched hand floats through empty air, the tears stinging so sharply in your throat you can’t breathe for a moment. 

To anyone else, the sketch is that of a man, naked, sleeping partially on his stomach, partially on his side, turned away from the viewer. His arm curls beneath his head, under the pillow, and the sheet slips low on his hips, the turn of the light dictating whether or not the exposure is playful or sensual. The waves of his hair fan out across the pillow, tuck around the back of his neck in a way that begs to be teased, tugged on. To everyone else, it’s a loving image of relaxation, of peace, of quiet, joy. 

To you, it’s the image of Dieter that visits you most frequently.

You stand before it now and try to find that solace, that imaginary morning where domesticity dripped into your bed with him, the tension it takes from your bones. But you can’t find it. The day is coming up again, the first blush of fall breathing down the New York streets, and like a thready hangnail you forget to cut, you find pain with every movement. 

He sits, melancholic, in your heart. I know, darling, I know. 

Unconsciously, you rub a hand up your shoulder, unease mounting. You rub again, and something catches in the corner of your eye.

Someone is still here. 

Tan coat nearly the same color as the floorboards, the man somehow blended in amongst the cream paper of the charcoal sketches. His knee-length coat looks expensive, the white Converse do not. His head is tilted back, looking up, inspecting one of the pieces. 

Okay, yes, you saw him in passing on the streets – a flash there, a blur here – but this is getting ridiculous. 

You stare, immobile and silent, at the dark curls that catch against his collar. At the broad shoulders that curl inwards. This is not a ghost, a specter. This is not a haunting. He even stands, holds his weight, just like – no, no, this is just desperation, you’re overworked and tired and – 

Oh, fuck, the black rings –

“Darling!”

Your head snaps to the front of the gallery, seconds before you are nearly tackled to the ground by your friend and long-time benefactor Andrew Young. He had started to go gray at twenty-five, and never to be outdone by the ravages of time, he dyed his entire head silver. It’s been this color for years, blinding and shining, the only thing he changed was how it was styled. Nearly forty, he’s shaved the sides and let the top grow long. It flops in his face as he pulls back, grinning from ear to ear. 

“This looks fantastic!” He beams around your latest exhibit. “Baby girl, I am so proud of you!” 

You drag out a smile, your lips catching on your teeth, the buzzing in the back of your mind at a low hum.

“T-thank you, Andrew. I– uh,” you blink up at him, “sorry, it’s been a day and I haven’t eaten. I’m just a little dizzy.”

Andrew frowns and throws an arm over you. “You work too hard – has anyone told you that? And that, quite frankly, I simply cannot have. You see, I can’t do the set without you, and then I can’t do blocking and stage production, and then the damn thing itself is off the rails. Do you see my problem?” The designs you had been planning are back in your office, some initial sketches drawn up and laid out based on Andrew’s requests over the phone. You smile, settle, that gnawing sense of panic easing. Andrew watches you visibly relax in his arms and he taps your nose with a bright blue nail. “Besides, it’s up to you, you New York native, to help me show my star a good time around town.”

He steps back, arm thrown out wide, and your heart plummets. 

You know who he is before he turns that thick head of hair, before you see that aquiline nose in his profile, before you are swallowed up by those endless, warm brown eyes that flicker in the corners of your heart. 

“My dear, I’d like you to meet –,”

“Natalie?”

The noise is barely human, a punched out groan from a hit that maybe broke a rib, popped an organ loose. 

The gallery has gone silent, or maybe it’s just you’re so suddenly stuffed full of memories, of rage and joy, grief and giddiness, that there’s no room for any sound. 

He’s not a ghost, not a haunting, but he is pale, the whites of his eyes bright and round and staring. 

He is not the Dieter that curls up against your neck at three in the morning when you can’t sleep, no, this one’s different. The lines marking his eyes are deeper, more pronounced – laugh lines, you remember, he’s clearly laughed a lot in the time that he’s been gone. His beard is speckled with gray, here and there, drawing your gaze to that lovely bare spot where the hair refuses to grow. His hair is longer, unkempt, and wild, and in his ear sits a small silver ring. This is not the Dieter you remember. 

He’s older and so are you. 

The coffee cup drops from his loose fingers and splatters against the ground, light brown liquid splashing everywhere. It rolls towards his shoes, but he doesn’t move. Neither do you. You couldn’t, really, even if you wanted to. 

To cope, in the beginning, in the cold, sick days in the hospital, you told yourself that he had died. That’s why he left you, why he abandoned you to get the drugs out of your system alone. To get him out of your system. It was childish and petty and completely irrational, but it soothed you in a way that made living manageable. You could walk around those long white hallways, talk, eat, exist without a giant gaping bloody hole in your chest. 

Consciously, you knew he was out there, somewhere, but in all the chunks inside of you that made up his lingering presence, the old idea, the old comfort, embedded itself. 

Seeing him now, seeing him ten years older, it’s like he had come back from the dead. You could not have made up a more surreal dream.

“Oh, hey, Andrew, I got your print and I –,”

Marie stiffens the instant she sees who’s in your line of sight. Her mouth drops open and the poster joins the spilled coffee on the ground.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Andrew’s perfectly manicured eyebrows eject into his hair. “What? You’ve met before?”

“W-we . . .” the rest of the sentence dies in your mouth, catches fire and turns to ash. “We – I . . .”

“We used to . . .” his voice is raspy, deep, as though scraping through a wet crevice. “We used to work together.”

It doesn’t sting, the casual distance in his words, because he’s right. All of you met a decade ago for work.

Marie swallows as her eyes slide to you. 

His have traced every line of your body, once, twice, and three times over. They stay on the bridge of your nose, the crook of your neck, the arch of your cheek. He’s not looked at Marie once. Given the circumstances of your last meeting, perhaps it should have been you to appear as a ghost from beyond the grave. 

“Uh, Andrew, do you mind if we give Dieter and Natalie some time alone to –,”

“No!” You both bark, a sufficient reason to tear your gaze away from the other. 

He sounds genuinely frightened. Your stomach twists. Your gaze flickers to the spill at Dieter’s feet. 

“Marie, would you get some towels for that?” She nods, completely forgetting the print and nearly sprinting for the bathroom. You swallow, set your shoulders, and turn to Andrew. “I’ve got the designs in my office. If you’d – if you’d both – like to–,”

“Natalie.” He tries again and you flinch as though his voice is a physical force that has pressed roughly against an internal bruise. At his side his hands clench over and over, mouth opening and closing, brow furrowed as if he’s scrambling through every word he knows and can’t find the right one.

Your chest suddenly squeezes so tightly you have to put a hand over your sternum to keep your ribs from collapsing into your spine. You can feel the blush breakout across your cheeks, down your chest, and you’re so confused as to why, a hot bloom of anger overwhelms everything else. 

Andrew’s eyebrows are in danger of falling off his forehead. Dieter still hasn’t looked away. 

“Okay, what am I missing here?”

“We dated.” You say. You keep your gaze on Andrew, knowing your knees would buckle if you look anywhere else. “While we worked together. We dated about ten years ago on the set of one of our movies. But,” you swallow, your knees shaking in these stupid fucking slacks, “that was a long time a-ago.” Your voice cracks and you hate it. You want to hear him say your name again, just to make sure he got it right.

“Are you sure you don’t want a second?” You nod. “Then, uh, let’s see this design.”

Dieter doesn’t follow you and Andrew. Small miracles, you suppose. As you walk Andrew through the designs, you can see out the clear office door that Dieter had taken off that rich tan coat and is using it to soak up the spill. You can’t tell by the twist in his mouth if he’s regretting that particular decision, or regretting something else, but Marie appears a moment later with a rag. His expression changes as she hands it to him, softens, that wind-swept, knocked-back-on-his-ass surprise creeping into the opening of his mouth. She says something to him – her back is to you – and his mouth flatlines. He nods and Marie turns on her heel towards the office. 

You avert your eyes from her and look back at Andrew.

“So what do you think?” 

He grins, completely obvious to the exchange outside, as he shuffles through a few papers. “As always, darling, you’ve managed to somehow crawl into my brain and recreate exactly what I’ve been looking for.” 

You won’t be designing the actual set pieces, but more of the backdrop, what the audience will see through the open windows and around stairs. Most productions use lights to fill in their backdrop, but Andrew described wanting to make the stage feel as claustrophobic as possible. “Nothing breathes in here,” he had said over the phone. “We need something sturdier than lights.” 

You have never felt claustrophobic in your office, but staring at Dieter, an older Dieter, a different Dieter, absurdly scrubbing your gallery floor spotless, the walls nestle tighter, the air stagnant and stale. You feel like you’re seeing the entire place with new eyes and you realize how dingy it is. You can’t look Marie in the eye as she opens the office door. 

“How goes it in here?” She says, surprisingly breathless. 

“Fantastic!” Andrew claps his hands together. “The theater has given us access to the space starting Monday, so I’d like to get to building this as soon as possible. The back lot is huge so I’m hoping to do all painting onsite.”

You nod, the request somewhat expected – Andrew was a bit of a micromanager. 

Behind you, Marie is humming with unfocused energy, but only in a way you can pick up on after ten years of knowing her. To Andrew, she calmly asks,

“Would you like us to bring out those other pieces you won at the fundraiser? We can have them loaded up, if you’d like.”

Andrew’s eyes widen. “Oh god, yes, please. I’m so sorry – I told you I’d pick those up weeks ago! I’ll go get the car.” 

Marie’s gaze latches onto you as he jogs past her. 

“What do you want me to do with . . .” 

You can’t find him through the window, but the floor is spotless. 

You shake your head, that slightly dizzy feeling returning. “Go help Andrew. I’ll . . .” you shrug. “Actually, I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to be alone with him if you don’t want to.”

You feel your back muscles tighten. “No, no – I want – I mean, it’s fine. If I’m going to help Andrew with the designs, then we’ll have to see each other, right?”

Her look is apprehensive but she gives in. “Alright. I’ll be just a minute.”

The second the door closes, you push your palms into your eyes and groan. What the fuck is happening?

You spot him again in the charcoal exhibit, as if this is the area he is confined to. He holds his coat over his arm, the bottom half of it damp and a different color, as he slowly roves from piece to piece. He’s on the opposite side of the room from your contribution, but a part of you wants to yank it down and shove it under the floorboards. A very large part of you.

“Dieter,” you say, hands up, but your voice startles him anyway. His stark white t-shirt matches his converse, and you vaguely think, he’s going to be cold without a jacket. 

He physically steps back the closer you come. You don’t know if that hurts or if you feel relieved.

“Andrew went to get the car,” you say, your focus going in and out as you stare at his earring. “He has some paintings he won at an auction here and he hasn’t picked them up so Marie is bringing them out to the curb to load up.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

“Yeah.” You lose track of the earring as you meet his gaze. Terror, in his eyes. Concern, worry. 

Sadness. Yeah, you definitely know that one. 

Without a single coherent thought in your head, you head for the front doors, feeling him fall in step behind you. 

You can almost hear the storm brewing in his head.

“Natalie, wait.” 

Just in front of the glass doors, you stop. On the other side, Marie and another backend worker load wrapped canvases into a Black Escalade. Even without the faint howl of wind, it looks cold outside. 

He stands in front of you, older after ten years, but no less beautiful. He’s thickened over the years, more solid, an oak instead of a stretchy willow. The thought of what it would be like to wrap yourself around his chest, feel the warmth of his stomach against yours, comes crashing down on you. The inclination is to yank it back, submerge it, but you don’t do that anymore. 

You look into his eyes and the old ache hums. You thought it was gone, despite the many times you think about him, the many versions of him that live in your memory. But it’s there. You’ve missed him.

“Look, I’m sorry – for, um, the surprise visit.” Voice low and quiet, like trying to pass on a secret, his thumb spins through his rings distractedly. “Andrew said he had some errands to run around the city a-and the names didn’t register with me . . . a-after all this time.” He swallows, glancing at your shoulder for a second before finding your eyes again. “Had I known it was yours, I would have . . . I’d . . .” 

“You’d what?” You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Shake him until he speaks, until he explains himself for showing up and cracking your world in half. 

His mouth crumbles, stricken with regret, and he shakes his head. “I – I –,”

Someone taps on the glass beside you and it’s your turn to jump ten feet in the air. Marie waves to you and Dieter, her arms wrapped around her chest to stave off the cold. On the street, Andrew gets into the Escalade as the worker heads for the warehouse around back. 

“For what it’s worth, it was really, really good to see you.”

Your head snaps back to him. No stutter, no unease. Confidence. This is what he feels. This is what he means to say. 

And then Dieter Bravo smiles at you. Genuinely, gently, full of wonder. He is . . . relieved.

You nod, dumbstruck, as he pushes through the glass doors and you’re following him before you know what you’re doing. The air has a bite to it, the threat of winter swirling in the gray clouds above the city streets. A particularly rough gust of wind barrels down and Marie staggers into you. Wrapping her up in your arms, you watch as he climbs into the Escalade and the passenger window rolls down.

Of course Andrew hired a driver. He leans out, his silver flop fluttering in the wind. 

“We’re having a party tomorrow, my place. A little kick-off party before production and rehearsals begin. You two should come.” 

You can’t see Dieter behind the tinted glass but you know for a fact he just tensed up. Beside you, Marie is shivering, the little thing.

“Maybe, you know? We’ve got a lot to do around the gallery before the weekend,” you say as you rub her shoulders. “It’s kind of a bad time.”

“Well, the art director is going to be there, so it might be nice to get to know him before we get started.” Andrew shrugs, seriously, unaware of the consequences of his simple request. 

Nothing about this feels like a good idea. You nod. “Lemme get Marie here back inside before her lips go blue. I’ll text you tonight about it.” 

You both step back from the curb as the Escalade eases its way into New York traffic. Your eyes stay pinned to the window until you can no longer see it in the distance. Holding her close, you kiss Marie’s cold forehead. 

“C’mon, Frosty, I think we both deserve the biggest cup of coffee our Kerig can make.” 

The hum of the potter’s wheel is loud in your concrete basement. Cold air curls in from the small open window at ground level, chilling the floor and the walls. It stings your bare toes just a bit to keep you awake and focused, your arms and hands already chilled by wet clay. You pump the wheel a bit faster as you try to thin the edge of this bowl – or what may be a bowl. This rarely ever works out, but at least the concentration forces out everything else in your brain. And, as an added bonus, the sound of the wheel also blocks the incessant buzzing of your phone.

Andrew and Marie had not stopped trying to call or text you since the gallery closed. Marie was not above simply barging into your brownstone if you had been quiet for too long, but this was a special case and she knew it. 

Hands wet, back aching from your hunched position, fingers as steady as they’ll ever be, you smooth the rippling clay as it spins. You pump the pedal steadily – too fast and the clay will spin off, but too slow and you’re basically playing with playdough. 

To your enormous surprise, the clay curves, molds between your finger tips. With every rotation, there comes a clear, distinct solid edge to this unfinished ceramic. 

Yes! Okay, just a little bit to round things out and –

Your phone alarm goes off, you jump, and the maybe-bowl deflates into a pile of squishy goo. 

“Damn it,” you mutter, even though you have only yourself to blame. You set this alarm because you needed two extra minutes to clean off before accepting the incoming Facetime. 

You just finish rinsing clay out of your nails when you hear the familiar chimes from your phone. Switching between your phone and a dry rag, you accept the call and smile into the face of a sixty-five year old woman. Blue tips on the edges of her gray hair, oversized cat-wing glasses, Dr. Carla Holstein always reminded you of Ms. Frizzle’s evil twin sister, in appearance only.

“Natalie, how the fuck are you doing?” 

Her non-existent brain-to-mouth filter was one of the things that initially endeared you to her. Talking to a shrink about your childhood trauma felt less embarrassing when the woman taking notes had electric blue nails. 

“I’d say I’m good, doc,” you smirk at her as you head up the wooden stairs of your basement, “but then I probably wouldn’t be calling you.”

“It’s like you only wanna talk about the bad things with your therapist,” she shakes her head mockingly. “As if I wouldn’t appreciate you calling with good news.” 

You chuckle as you drop onto the floor of the living room, mindful of any furniture that might get smeared with errant clay from you overalls. “I’ll save those for our weekly meetings, alright?”

“Which brings me to my next question – what the fuck is going on? You haven’t made an emergency appointment in years. What gives?” 

You set your phone up against a stack of books on the wooden table you lugged here all the way from 42nd street. Frowning, you lean against the redbrick fireplace, in a home you decorated with ugly little trinkets and overused furniture. Tidy and messy, this place holds everything that over-spilled from your brain, a place that feels like what the inside of your heart might look like, if you could see it.

“Seriously, Natalie, what is it? You’re kinda freakin’ me out.” 

“It’s Dieter.” 

Those perfectly drawn on eyebrows arch into that silvery hairline. “What? He called you?”

“He showed up at the gallery this morning.” A motormouth when left unchecked, Carla is a fantastic therapist, first and foremost. She knows exactly when to shut up and let everything pour out of you. And you hated when she did that. You scrubbed your face with your hands, groaning. “Not like that, but he’s the lead role in Andrew’s new production. I don’t know how the fuck he even found out about the part in the first place, but he swears he didn’t know that Andrew and I know each other. I know it wasn’t an intentional ambush but . . .”

“But it still feels like one?” You nod, your bottom lip snagged between your teeth.  

“It’s just . . . it doesn’t feel real, you know? Like, what are the fucking chances that everything has to line up perfectly in the universe for him to come stumbling into my gallery after ten years?”

I really thought I’d never see him again. 

“Was he actually stumbling? Is he sober?”

“No to the stumbling part, but I have no idea. I mean, I don’t think Andrew would hire someone so coked out they couldn’t remember their lines . . . but he was always so good at hiding it.”

The desperate anger in your voice makes you cringe. Even after all these years, you hate when you confess something you didn’t mean to. Dieter’s ability to mask how high or drunk he was used to scare you. Like you were never quite sure which version of him you were going to get. But then again, you were also so high and drunk you never really cared. Which was entirely the point.

“Well, that’s his shit to work out,” Carla scoffs. “I wanna talk about you. What did you feel at the time?”

“Nervous. Shocked. Surprised. Angry.” 

“Talk to me about the anger.” 

“I’m angry that I couldn’t think of a single fucking thing to say to him. Not even a good ol’ ‘fuck you’ or a ‘hello’. I’m angry that he’s back in my life in a way where I’ll have to see him again and again. And I’m fucking pissed that after all these years, after all this work, I see my ex for thirty minutes and I’m running scared to my therapist.”

Carla’s face softens. If you were in person with her, this would be the part where she lowers her clipboard and looks at you with warmth you are barely accustomed to. 

“But did you run for a drink?”

“No.”

“Did you run to the nearest street corner and pick up a bag of coke?”

“No.” 

“Then the process is working. The tools we built to manage your anxiety, to find healthy outlets for your emotions, they held up under scrutiny. You can be pissed all you want but you should also be fucking proud as hell.” 

Something hot and sharp threatens to choke you, your cheeks flushing. The word “pride” and you in the same sentence always fucking did that to you. You cough, clearing your throat.

“Okay, then what do I do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how do I act around him? Do I treat him like a stranger? A friend? Can I be his friend? Should I?”

“Is that what you want? Don’t forget you always get to set the boundaries of any relationship you have. He doesn’t get to decide that for you.” 

Your toes squeeze into the plush forest green carpet beneath you, thumb pressed into your palm. 

“I . . . don’t know.” The truth of what you want sears the back of your throat, a vomit-burn on your tongue, but you keep it to yourself. “But I shouldn’t be around him, at the very least, right? Isn’t rule number one for ex-addicts to keep away from contacts in their past lives?”

“Sure,” Carla nods sagely. “Old friends can bring back old patterns. But are you saying that because you are genuinely concerned about what would happen if you reconnect or because you feel like it’s what’s expected of you as a recovering addict?”

You bite your lip harder. “I don’t know, Carla. It just seems stupid to willingly let someone like Dieter back into my life.”

“And I’m saying you don’t have to. This is a hard case because not only is he an ex, but he was also your dealer and fellow addict.” Carla leans into the camera – this is the part where she put away her clipboard entirely. “But whether or not you let Dieter back in is irrelevant. I want you to go through life with the security in yourself that your past doesn’t have to own you. You have come so far and done so well. You’re on medication and in therapy. You’ve built a great life for yourself, in spite of everything. There will always be temptations, cravings to go back, and I’m not saying you should be overconfident and assume nothing can go wrong, because it absolutely can. But you are not the old Natalie anymore, have faith in yourself. You get to decide your life.”

Once again, you are reminded of all the people who let you forget that. The anger, the hurt, decades in the making, it’s still there. But its bite is no longer cruel. 

You nod. “Thank you, Carla. I needed to hear that.”

“I know that,” she smirks. “I’m a damn good therapist.” 

“As if you’d let me forget.”

You thank her and end the call. With a sigh you lean back, staring into your living room. Back then, you grew spikes to keep back a world intent on consuming you. Dieter had been the only one to not mind the spikes, even mold around them. 

If he’s still a fuckhead, I’m gonna kick his ass.

Your stomach makes a displeased noise, irritated at being empty for so long, so you stand, taking your phone with you as you head for the kitchen.

You bring up his contact and type out your message:

Hey Andrew! Would love to come to your party. What time?

Marie did not want to go to the party for a variety of reasons.

Too busy at the gallery. Invoicing. Nothing to wear. Straight up tired. 

All valid reasons. Except they weren’t and it was bullshit and you made her go anyway. 

Groaning all the way on the subway, she won’t even look at you as the elevator doors open to Andrew’s hallway. She’s gone uncharacteristically silent as you near the party. This is not her usual “I’d rather be in my Snuggie” scowl, but something else. Her eyes are sharp, hard. 

“What?” You bump her with your elbow. “You look like you’re plotting murder.”

“Maybe I am.”

You still and she does too. It’s like you can see inside her brain. “This is about Dieter?”

“Andrew’s a good guy,” she huffs, waving at the shut door. “He doesn’t deserve Dieter’s drama and bullshit . . . and neither do you.” 

About a foot shorter than you, Marie carries enough spitfire to fill someone twice her size. You’ve never actually seen her in a fight, but you really don’t want to. Her cold pink nose from the wind outside does nothing to deter her rage.

“If it makes you feel any better, I was cleared by my therapist to be around him.” 

She harumphs. 

“Look, if I can make this much progress, this much change, shouldn’t we give him the benefit of the doubt? Maybe he can too?” 

Her scowl deepens, but the murderous glint in her eyes fade as she knocks on Andrew’s door. “You are too nice for your own good.”

You mock-gasp. “You take that back!”

Just like every other party you’ve ever been to hosted by Andrew, the vibe is intimate, warm, and friendly. You run into and greet a few of the costume designers and lighting techs he’s used in the past, ones you’ve met before by way of just hanging around Andrew during rehearsals. Andrew is very fond of adopting creatives like pets and if he likes your work, chances are he’ll use you again – something uncommon in the industry, but very welcome to those whose paychecks are never steady. However, you notice how small the gathering is. You’ve seen this open-floor plan apartment full of people, partygoers nearly stacked on top of each other during Halloween parties or on New Years Eve. But this production team is a fraction of that size. 

Private. That was the other word Andrew mentioned over the phone for the backdrop design. He wanted the space to feel private, as though you were staring into something that was none of your business. 

That feeling doesn’t persist here. Here, everyone is welcome. 

Everyone, including –

“So, are you going to tell me what the fuck is up with you and him, or am I going to have to think up a very elaborate con to get you to confess?” Andrew snakes an arm over your shoulder, a glass of sparkling water in his hand. His green eyes are full of mischief, the faint lines around his eyes crinkled with glee, as he watches for any change in your expression. Dieter sits on a chair across the room from you, leaning in to listen to a story a man on the center couch cushion is animatedly telling with his hands. To his right, and nearly touching Dieter, is a blonde, beautiful, twenty-year old actress who everyone is telling you will be on Broadway any day now. You know someone told her your name, but you can’t remember it. You swat away your annoyance.

“C’mon, I’ve never seen you look at someone like that. I’m dying to know –,”

“Is he sober?” Your frown falls on Andrew who takes a step back, his own thick eyebrows scrunched together.

“Who, Dieter?”

“No, the man on the moon.”

Andrew shrugs, the lilac pullover he wears looking soft enough to eat. “As far as I know, yeah. We met when Toby and I went to that yoga retreat in Oregon last year. It was a substance-free commune so unless he was getting drunk off the atmosphere –,”

“You’ve known him for a year?” You gape at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why would I tell you about some actor guy I met out on a co-op in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere? I didn’t know you knew him! We didn’t reconnect until I asked him to come read for the part.”

“And why did you ask him?”

“I . . . dunno,” Andrew says, clearly ruffled. “I liked his vibe. Matched what I had in my head for the role of Sam. And he’s got the best puppy dog eyes of anyone I’ve ever seen.” 

It’s not like you can disagree so you turn away from him, scowl on the verge of pouting. 

“Oh, no, the conversation does not end here, not after you’ve given me the third degree. Who the fuck was this guy to you?”

Across the room, the blonde’s knee knocks against Dieter’s and something acidic like bile claws the back of your stomach. You take the cup of water from Andrew, other hand digging into your purse.

“We dated. It didn’t end well. In fact, just watch Recovery Road – kinda says the whole thing.” You know Andrew doesn’t deserve your ire and you’ll apologize with coffee and a biscuit from his favorite bakery, but right now, if you don’t leave right now, you’re liable to pop something. “I heard it even won an Oscar.”

It’s stupid and childish and wrong to get jealous every time he talks to a woman. 

Okay, notice the thought. Observe it. And let it go. 

You inhale, the orange ring immolating the paper around the tobacco, and exhale smoke over the railing of Andrew’s balcony. It’s a nice balcony, as far as metal balconies go in New York. It’s private, sturdy, and a perfect place to contemplate the insanity of your own life. The sunset bleeds rapturous colors, bright and loud, across the city, light reflecting like stars in the glass windows of the buildings. The sight and the smoke is enough to ease the burden in your chest, just for a moment.

It’s not like you are even really jealous. You know that feeling and this isn’t it. The pain is farther away than the immediate nip of jealousy. You follow the feeling, careful not to nick yourself too hard on old memories as you use your toolbox to sort through the undulating waves of feeling. 

But therein lies the problem. You remember.

You remember when that girl curled up next to Dieter, eyes full of adoration, used to be you. 

You tap the ash against the metal railing, feeling terribly sorry for yourself, when the door to the balcony slides back. A few people had come and gone, shared a smoke, then went back inside. You know you are probably being a party pooper, gazing alone and wistful at the sunset, and you promise yourself this is the last one. It’s officially getting cold the lower the sun falls. But then you turn to the person who just came outside. 

“Ah, shit.” He blinks at you as the noise from the party inside is muffled behind the closing door.  “I mean, uh. Hi. Um. I didn’t know . . . look, I’ll just come back later –,”

“Andrew says you’re sober. Have been for at least a year. Is that true?”

Maybe you should have just brought a police hat and badge if you were going to grill everyone like this. You lean your hips back against the rail, the burn of the smoke forcing you to breathe slowly. 

The autumn wind tugs at his hair, threatens to pull that black sweater out of his pants, as he stares, a lighter and a packet of cigarettes in his clenched fists. 

“Um, yeah. He’s right. I’m . . . I’m sober. Have been, for a while.” 

You nod, reeling in that invisible electric fence you kept him at the edge of. He senses it and hesitantly, cautiously, he takes a few steps forward and joins you at the railing, but at least two arms lengths away. Eying you, he taps out a cigarette and lights it. He smokes, a full inhale and exhale, before continuing.

“Going on about ten years now.” 

The way he says it knots your stomach. His tone of voice. You know exactly what he means. How could you not?

You sip slowly, unable to look at him. 

“You haven’t had a drop of alcohol or smoked a single joint in ten years?”

He shrugs. “Doc says weed’s actually good for unfucking my brain.” He swallows and props himself up against the railing. “But, uh, I did go to therapy in rehab again and for the first time, I continued going after I got out. Turns out risk taking behaviors and mood swings are not things normal people experience. Looked lot at my anxiety around self-acceptance too. Triggers included feelings of inadequacy. I even got a new syndrome named after me in the DSM. Baffled my therapist for months.” 

“Really?” You stand up right, mouth parted. 

“No.” And there’s that Dieter grin. After a decade, it blooms across his face without any hesitation. Your heartbeat pounds rough against your throat for a second. But then his expression grows heavy. “But, uh, I was serious about the therapy part. It’s helped with the depression and anxiety attacks.” 

You roll your cigarette between your forefinger and thumb as another wind blows by. You nip at your lower lip. 

“Personally, I found Buspar was really good at keeping me from wanting to claw my skin off. Anxiety’s never been better.”

His eyebrows jump and he shuffles a bit closer. 

“Oh, yeah? Used to give me the worst headaches, but we fucked around with the dosage and it helped.”

You nod, remembering those weeks of trial and error. You don’t know what to say, what else to admit. His gaze flutters up your shoulder to the side of your jaw and he leans forward with you.

“Did they, uh, put you on Campral too? Wish they had that the first time I went to rehab.”

You shift your weight as you glance over your shoulder. “Yeah. Makes coming to shit like this easier. I, um, don’t feel so overwhelmed to fight the urges, you know?”

“Yeah. I fuckin’ do.” 

You blame the catch in your breath on a particular rough gust of smoke. He taps out that cigarette and eagerly lights another one. Yours is barely holding on. He must think of something, remember a joke, because he smirks again. 

“They also tried to put me on Metoprolol, but I told them to fuck off.”

You frown at him. “What’s that for?”

Dieter shakes his head, barely containing the smile on his face. “Fucking blood pressure medication. You turn forty-five and they wanna put you on Centrum fucking Silver.”

“Centrum? Isn’t that for –?”

His look dares you to tease him for it, all low eyes and curling lips, but you can’t swallow the fit of giggles. You snort, which makes him laugh, and then you do too. 

You laugh with him, until you remember you shouldn’t. You swallow your giggles, sipping more fervently on your cigarette, hoping your abrupt end wasn’t too obvious. 

But if Dieter notices, he doesn’t say. He watches the city skyline, contemplative.

“But of all that, therapy seems to be the thing that sticks the best.” 

You groan, smacking your palm against the railing, hunching your shoulders. “God, doesn’t that fucking suck? The one thing that actually helps is talking about your stupid fucking feelings?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “yeah, it really does.”

Grinning, you flick your cigarette into the concrete pot Andrew has specifically out here for that sort of thing and go to light another one, but your packet is empty. You both stare at the empty box and then each other. 

Dieter pulls on his cigarette, with a big inhale. “Well, I guess you, um, gotta go back –,”

Your past does not own you. You decide what you want. 

“Do you wanna get lunch sometime?” That is not how you should have asked that question. His eyes go wide and he’s consumed by a coughing fit. You realize your mistake only seconds too late. “That’s not a line, I swear–,”

He bats your concern away, eyes watering, shaking his head. 

“No, I know–,” he croaks. “Yes, I’d like — to catch up. No – I didn’t think it was – a line.” 

He barely gets his breathing right, your own hands knotted together, as the balcony door opens for a second time. 

“There you are!” Marie tsks. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere and –,” 

She frowns at the hunched-over coughing man in the shadows. He tries to smile at her, cheeks red, eyes wet. 

“Hi, Marie, how are–,”

“Andrew wants to make a speech.” She talks like she didn’t hear him. “Come on.” 

She all but takes you by the scruff of your neck and hauls you back inside. You wave over your shoulder to Dieter and realize you don’t have his number anymore. Haven’t had it for years. You no longer have any way of contacting him, even if you wanted to.

As speeches go, Andrew was always very good at them. Short, sweet, and to the point. He thanks everyone for coming as he stands on his dining room table, thanks the caterers and the staff. You stand in the corner with Marie, chatting with the art director you finally met until Andrew started his speech. You focus entirely on Andrew, resolutely not searching the crowd or the balcony, as he continues to welcome everyone to New York, cracking a few jokes here and there. But then the perfunctory part of his speech is over, when something thoughtful comes over his face. 

“I know you’ve all got better things to do than listen to me rant and rave, but I know each of you personally, and I’d like to say I’m so happy you’re in my life. I’d like to think everyone touches each other’s lives for a purpose. Not to sound utilitarian, because those purposes can be healing an emotional wound, or filling a hole you didn’t know was there. Or, in Jack’s case, the best damn audio technician I’ve ever seen. Thanks, Jack.” He holds up his glass as the crowd laughs. Andrew smiles and shifts his weight. He had never done any sort of acting himself, always more content to be the conductor of the chaos, but you always think he would have done well. He has a presence and it’s comforting. “Every day we interact with each other in ways that we can’t foresee and leave lasting consequences we can’t explain. That’s what’s at the heart of this story, this play we’re about to create. The effects we have on each other, how those chance meetings can have lasting consequences.” He grins across the crowd, to where you know his husband, Toby, stands. “How love is the only thing that matters in this fucking world. I really hope you remember that as we start production. If nothing we do matters, then love is the most important thing we’ll ever do.” He holds his glass high and everyone follows. “To love.”

“To love,” the chorus chants.

You’ve never been good at sitting still but this is getting ridiculous. Beneath the table, your toes curl and uncurl in your boots, rubbing blisters with your thick socks. Your teeth nibble the thinnest piece of skin behind your lip, chomping constantly like an uneasy horse chewing at its bit. You stare at the menu and read absolutely nothing. It could be written in French for all that you retain. 

This is such a dumb fucking idea. 

The restaurant is nice. Too nice for something like this. They have glass cups and plates that clink together when stacked on top of each other. The lighting feels low, even for the middle of the day. The paneled wooden walls are too stuffy, too old money. When you asked Andrew for a brunch suggestion, you never should have trusted the recommendation of someone whose idea of loungewear is a pair of hot pink Puma track pants. You loosen your grip on the leather-bound menu out of fear of breaking it in half. 

“This is so weird.” 

Your eyes snap across the table to your lunch companion. Sunglasses pushed up and nestled inside his long hair, Dieter distractedly tugs at his earring, frowning at the cream-colored menu. Everything about this is wrong. The location. The vibe. The white fucking table cloth. The fact that he’s here, sitting with you, like this is some chat with a business acquaintance –

“This is so fucking weird,” he says again, slowly. “Not a single thing on this menu looks good.”

He pauses for a moment, letting it settle, before he grins up at you. With a sigh, all the air rushes out of your chest. You smile back.

“There’s this really good hot dog cart down the road.”

He snaps his menu shut with glee. “Lead the fucking way.”

Ten minutes later, Dieter groans into a steaming chili cheese dog. You’ve found a concrete bench overlooking a small nearby park. It’s Saturday so the park is full of children and their parents, dogs and their owners. It’s . . . normal. 

“Holy shit, this is good.” He licks melted cheese off the space between his thumb and forefinger and goes back in for seconds.

You suck a drop of chili off your thumb and grin. “Found this place when Marie and I first moved here. We lived just down the road and Tony with his cart became our guardian angel. And even now, even though I live across town, I’ll still come by just for his hot dogs.”

The man, round as he was tall, waves over his shoulder, heat rising from his chunky yellow cart, and you both wave back. 

“Can Tony adopt me? Please? I clean the dishes every time, I swear.” 

You chuckle as Dieter continues to slurp every errant stream of meat juice careening down his wrist. 

“I think his other kids would object, but you can try.” 

He chews slowly, suddenly thoughtful, glancing over the cold autumn air at the vendor. “You told me once you felt like it was hard to make friends. Guess that’s not the case anymore.”

He glances at you and you finish off your hot dog in two bites, your mouth dry. You shrug. “I do a lot of things now that I didn’t back then.” 

He nods – rather, moves his head up and down rigidly – and finishes his lunch as well. You hand him a napkin and he takes it gratefully.

“But, uh, speaking of friends, how’s Heidi? Do you still keep in touch?” 

Dieter’s eyes light up. He tosses away the napkin as he takes out his phone. “They just adopted another little kid.” He scrolls through his pictures before handing it off to you.

And once again you’re struck with the weight of memories that had been at the bottom of the box for years. Heidi’s older too, her hair now completely sheared off, cut shorter even than Dieter’s, but she’s smiling. She and another woman hold up a boy who looks to be about six, while two others, another boy and a girl, sit in front of the couch. All of them smile up happily for the camera. It tugs at a soft place inside of you. 

The thing that’s been circling your mind for days lifts its head out of the churning mixture of your thoughts, sniffing the air, knowing it’s almost time. 

“Oh wow! He’s adorable!” You grin genuinely. 

Dieter smirks as he closes his phone. “Carlos. Heidi asked me to help him practice his Spanish, but I’m pretty sure he knows more English than I do.” 

“So they’re happy?”

His brown eyes fall on you like autumn leaves and your toes curl again. “Yeah, they’re happy.” 

“And Mark? Do you still keep up with him?”

Dieter glances away, biting his lip. “Um, no, actually. It’s kind of hard to hang out with someone after you’ve punched them in the face and called them a liar while being so coked out you’re hallucinating.” He picks at a callus on his palm. “Wouldn’t be the first time I lost a friend because I did dumb shit while I was high.”

You nod, the shame and embarrassment all too familiar. Plus, every memory you have of that hotel you handle with radiation tongs and chemical-resistant gloves. 

“But, uh, what about you?” He leans back against the bench, hands in his lap. Behind him, children run and scream in the cool sunlight. “Were you and Marie always friends, even back then?”

“That’s a complicated question.” You sigh and tuck your hands up into your jacket pocket, matching his position on the bench. His legs sprawl out far longer than yours. “I wanted to be her friend back then, and I tried, but then things got . . . intense, with you, and the drugs, and I stopped responding to her calls and texts. For weeks at a time.” His gaze flickers to you as you talk, between your face and your pockets. “But she was also there for me . . . afterwards. She says Heidi called her and told her what happened and she immediately came to the hospital. She just fucking forgave me. Forgave all the shitty things I had done to her, just like that. To this day, she doesn’t hold it over me and I don’t know why but I’m so grateful for her . . .” Your voice cracks and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second. You can feel the wind on your cheeks, your unspilled tears sitting in your eyes. 

You have to get this thing off your chest.

“Dieter, I’m so sorry.” With a gasp to stifle your tears, you turn to him to look him in the eyes. “For the first two years of my rehab, I thought about writing to you, or calling you. Just to say how sorry I was. I had no idea what it was like on the other side of sobriety, how every day is a such a fucking struggle, and I rubbed that in your face, over and over again until you snapped. I’m so sorry.” 

He studies you for a moment, arms crossed, dark eyes almost black in the thin light. You can hear children yelling and shrieking with glee. Faint, distant. He taps his teeth together twice before finding his answer, his jaw tight.

“That’s not why I snapped and you know it.” 

His voice holds like iron in the wispy wind. Everything blurs around you but not that. Not him. He shakes his head gently, eyes falling to the scarf around your neck. 

“And please don’t apologize to me. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it.” 

He meets your eyes and you swear they’re damp. A shade brighter than they were before. You stare at each other, on that park bench in Brooklyn, on a cold autumn day, for a long, long time.

You have to ask it now. You can’t avoid it any longer.

“You wanna get coffee?” You pass the tremble in your hands off as a shiver. He nods, still chewing on his mouth, and you gather your trash. 

It slips out of you as casually as you slip your napkins into the trash bin. 

“How’s Chloe?”

You barely have turned around when his hand seizes your upper arm. His grip is almost too tight, his eyes wide and manic.

“Oh, shit.” He blinks as though he’d been slapped. “Natalie, I never told you – I didn’t even think – fuck –,”

“What, Dieter?” You want to pull away, but the touch around your arm is warm, thick. You peer up at him from furrowed eyebrows. “What didn’t you tell me?”

He swallows.

“The baby – it’s not – it wasn’t mine.” 

Your entire body goes slack as your mouth drops open. The hold he has on you is welcomed; the entire park is in danger of spinning sideways. 

Somehow he has the good sense to pull you both back onto the bench. Your knees buckle the second you move and you all but collapse into the concrete. Dieter releases you and rubs his hands together, leaning forward on his elbows, eyes still wide and blank. 

“How do I say this?” He murmurs and that old hurt turns to panic, to anger. 

“How to say what, Dieter?” You snap, hotly. “Just start at the beginning. Please.”

He shakes his head, tongue up against his molars, finally turning to look at you. “Chloe and I got divorced. Years ago.” He takes a steadying breath, thumbnail absent-mindedly against the black ring on his third finger on his left hand, as if to remind himself what was there. This is why no one over the age of twenty-five needs to wear this many rings, Dieter!

“Look, Chloe and I – our marriage was shit from the get-go. I didn’t want to admit it back then, but it’s true,” he says, still soothing himself with gentle strokes. “I used Chloe, like all the people in my life, like a crutch and she felt it. I was smothering her and she couldn’t get far enough away from me, even halfway around the world. She started seeing someone in Portugal and I think she was happy there. I hope so. But, uh, she didn’t want it to get to the papers that she’d cheated on her movie-star husband and got knocked up as a result, so she passed the baby off as mine. We were about seven months in when she finally told me. I don’t know if she could tell I was coming apart at the seams or she was finally ready to be happy, but she confessed. And I confessed to her – the drugs, the affair with you – all of it. I think I just wanted it to be over, done. We weren’t going to come back from something like that and I think we were both okay with it.” He stops spinning the ring and, against all expectations, grins. “This is probably kind of fucked up of me but we kept in touch for a while. She married the baby’s dad about a month after we divorced. He’s actually a really nice guy. I was even invited to the wedding, if you can imagine.” 

There must be something wrong with your hearing. He’s stopped speaking but there’s a high pitched whine nestled between your ears. 

“So you don’t . . . you aren’t . . .”

“No, I don’t have some ten year old kid running around out there,” he huffs, shaking his head. “And no, I’m not a father. Or a husband. Not anymore.” 

You say the first thing you think of. 

“Dee, that’s fucking crazy.” His old nickname slips out while your brain is offline. “That’s, like, soap opera levels of insane. That’s . . . I can’t believe . . .” 

With a massive inhale, where you can see the hot steam of breath enter into his mouth and nostrils, he sits back, hands limp in his lap. 

“I don’t blame her, you know. After what I had done, to her, to you, I didn’t have the right to be angry that she cheated on me. In some fucked up way, it made sense and it wasn’t just my paranoid, druggy brain telling me something was off. I was never a good husband, was never going to be a good father. When I think about it, the kindest thing she ever did was agree to leave me, even when that seemed impossible.” 

His massive palms smooth across his thighs, his soft hair tugged on by the wind. His fingertips stop just short of touching yours, inches from your own lap. 

“Natalie, I’m sorry I never reached out after that night. Or even years later. I lost hours of sleep thinking about what I was going to say to you if you ever let me see you again. I had all these grand plans of finding you and showing you how sorry I was. But then,” he swallows, “I realized what damage that would do and I . . . I thought it would be better if we just never saw each other again.” 

Your ribs expand out into your chest, just once, just enough for it to hurt, before everything settles.

“I didn’t try and find you for the same reasons. I wanted to, though.”

If that counts for anything.

Back then, Dieter always had a fascination with your hands. Holding them, inspecting them, drawing invisible artwork across your palms and over your veins. He even sketched them on notebook paper and post-it notes from time to time, when you sat still long enough to let him. 

You can see it in his eyes that he wants to touch you, to hold your hand, but he doesn’t. Instead, he puts his own back into his pockets. 

Anxiety churns in your stomach. There’s more he wants to say and so do you, but for now, you’re content to let the confessions of the day settle. 

It’s funny, the little things that you pull together in your mind to create an image of someone. You didn’t think of it often, but when you did, you tried to imagine him happy, with his wife and child. And now you know that’s all they were, imaginings. You wonder if you thought about it more than he did. 

The label of father for Dieter was gone, after ten long, insufferable years. You had no idea what would take its place.

“Can I ask you something?” 

When you look at him, the intensity in his gaze is lifted. Something lighter has taken its place.

“Sure.”

“Why were they called The Sixers?” 

The whiplash between conversation topics is colder and sharper than the air around you. You suddenly remember you’re in a park full of children with Dieter Bravo inches from you.

You grin at him.

“Because it sounds like the sex-ers. Like sex-havers but said fast.”

That press of skin, the dimple on his right cheek, deepens and he smiles. “Nick came up with that one, didn’t he?”

You giggle. “Yeah, but the rest of them signed off on it.”

He nods, eyebrows arching as he shrugs. “But I actually meant why are they called The Sixers when there’s only five of them?”

Not once, after a decade, after millions of memories you shifted through, pulled out and examined and held up to the light – after shifting weight and blame and shame, putting your entire life under scrutiny – after sobriety and founding the gallery and finding Marie as the best friend in your whole world – 

Not once, had you ever stopped to consider that. 

It starts low in your stomach, expanding rapidly, arching up your spine, pulling your lips open, your head back until it bursts out of your mouth so absurdly loud, you clap a hand over your lips to keep from drawing attention.

You laugh so hard, you cry. 

Dieter is bent over, howling alongside you.

When he orders your coffee, he remembers how you take it.

“Cream, no sugar, right?” He smiles as he hands you the steaming cup.

What else of you still lives inside of him? You hesitate to wonder.

You nod, thanking him, and follow him down the street. 

A brisk evening settles between the high rises and rows of brownstones. The air has a mean bite to it now, a chill that nips at the bone. But you don’t really notice it. Not with his warm shoulder pressed up against yours, the warm styrofoam keeping your fingers from numbing. You’d brought up Andrew and the discussion quickly turned to the play. Dieter gestures wildly, chatting about this role, something so different from Hollywood.

Not that he had done much in the way of the public eye after Recovery Road. Smaller stuff, indie films, a few local LA plays. Then when all that became insufferable, he wrote a few treatments for some films, scripts to movies that never saw the light of day, and sold off the rights of those scripts to keep himself busy. He even directed a short film or two, but still felt a restlessness you were all too familiar with.

“So when Andrew called, I got the next flight out. This is the first part I’ve been excited about in years.” 

You smile at him as you sip your coffee. “I’m really glad to hear that. Andrew’s a great director, I think you’ll have fun with him.”

As you led him near and nearer to your street, the conversation wove between artistic inclinations, production management, set design, character work – things you thought you’d forgotten about for the most part, but came back all too easily. You laughed easily too. 

You were laughing when you stopped in front of your brownstone, but then instantly sobered when you saw who was waiting for you on the steps. Which was intentional because she absolutely had a set of keys.

“Oh, uh, hey, Marie.” 

“Dieter.” But she’s looking at you, her jaw set and eyes blazing. “I just came by to get those invoices. Did I interrupt something?”

The back of your neck warms and you put more space between your shoulder and his. “No, i-it’s fine. Dieter was just walking me home. The invoices are in my kitchen.”

The chill of the air settles around you, tapping against the bubble you’d found yourself in after the park. You have him at arm’s length and you don’t know whether to shake his hand or give him a hug. You go with neither.

“It was good catching up. I’ll see you Monday?” 

He nods, grinning in that silly way that makes him look like a fourteen year old dumbass. “For sure. See you Monday.”

It’s not the way you wanted your afternoon with him to go, but in honesty, it was probably the best way it could have gone. Dieter waves at Marie as he heads back the way you came, towards the subway station. 

He’s not entirely out of earshot when Marie turns on you.

“So, what the fuck was that?”

You don’t meet her eyes as you fumble for your keys, your fingers numb from the cold. The door to your brownstone creaks as you stumble inside, as if irritated with you that you’re letting all the warm air out. 

“What are you talking about? We were just catching up.” 

She’s hot on your heels as you slide off your jacket, almost running for the kitchen. 

“You don’t just catch up with someone like Dieter Bravo. He knows all your weaknesses, Nat.” 

You scowl as you toss your purse onto the kitchen island. You face off with her, your hands on your hips. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means he’s your blindspot,” she says, carefully watching your face. “Always has been. He’s not just some guy and you know it. He broke your fucking heart.” 

It had been all smiles and laughing and remembering the good this afternoon. But she isn’t wrong. She rarely was. 

She can see the understanding cross over your face. 

“Where’s his wife anyway? Chloe?”

“They’re divorced, okay?”

Marie’s mouth falls open in disgust and you cringe. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. 

“So he’s back in your life for five minutes, single, and you’re getting coffee with him?” 

“I didn’t know he was single when I asked him — you know what, it’s fine. I asked if he wanted to get lunch and that turned into coffee and we spent a lot of time talking about the play. That’s it.”  

She crosses her arms, reading every line in your body for secrets, as if he might have slipped you a bag of Oxy. You stare back. You have done nothing wrong and neither did he. 

(You store away the fact that this was the first time you hung out with Dieter Bravo in a capacity that didn’t have you both hiding in shadows, ready to examine later alone in bed.)

“And you can honestly say you didn’t feel anything for him?” Marie arches an eyebrow, waiting for your stony face to crack. “No flicker? Nothing after ten years of radio silence?

“It’s not like it was before,” you answer as honestly as you can. “Even if it was, I can’t imagine he feels anything but guilt over me, which isn’t a great starting point for a relationship. You saw his face in the gallery – he looked petrified, not in love.”

When she nods, it stings, just a bit. She eyes the paperwork, knowing the income and good word coming from Andrew’s production would benefit the gallery for years to come. And of course she knew – she was the one who came up with it. Would she have said yes if she knew Dieter was attached to it? Would you have?

“Are you going to see him again?” 

You wave a sweeping hand at the invoices, as if to show how the gallery and Andrew’s show are completely intertwined. 

“I have to, right?” 

Marie frowns at you, angry but not at you, and then her face softens, all fight gone, and she goes around the island to hug you. This is what saved you. This is what kept you going. 

“I know my boundaries, Marie,” you say to the crook of her neck, unwilling to look her in the eyes while you say this. “And I know what happened in the past. I’m not going to make the same mistakes.” 

She kisses your cheek. “Good because I really can’t run the gallery by myself.”

You laugh, pulling apart, and you shuffle the invoices together. “Yeah, who would you have to cart all this paperwork around?” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

You wave her goodbye from your porch, locking the door after her. 

You want to google his name and “divorce” to see if it’s true. If anything he told you today was real. You want to curl up in bed, with your head under the sheets and try and piece his life without you together. But you don’t. 

That was the thing with Dieter. You want things, but you can’t have them. You have this indescribable urge, but it must be tempered. The obsession is lesser, a blindspot more than anything, now that you know your next hit and how you felt about him had been horrifically tied up into one, incessant, painful need. It would never be as bad, you assure yourself because now that you don’t have that overwhelming urge to get high; whatever you would be feeling is just good plain old human brain chemicals. And if you survived being coked out for nearly a year straight, you’d probably survive your own stupid emotions. 

You would survive Dieter Bravo. All you have to do now is be his friend.

OCTOBER

A sharp chill had descended over the city, bringing with it an explosion of color. A consolation prize for the painful nip in the air. It was too early in the season for snow, or anything to prevent the wind from being so cruel, so everyone had to bustle from one structure to the next, careful to avoid the cold that hounded them like dogs. Teeth clenched, hands clutching scarves, the streets were filled with scowls and pink cheeks, raw knuckles and frozen ears. The crowds moved faster, eager to get where they’re going, out of this cold, out of this wind that pressed unsuspecting bodies together with the force of it. It made getting out of bed, leaving the cozy warmth of duvets and covers, planting your feet on the freezing wood, almost a monumentally impossible task. Especially for those who hated mornings anyway. 

As much as you tried – really, truly, desperately tried as you sorted through the mosaic of your life, shining up as much as you could – you simply could not turn yourself into a morning person. Yawning widely, you stirred the cup of terrible coffee aimlessly, as if with enough glaring it would not only taste better, but startle you awake. 

No such luck. 

“Hey, miss, where would you like us to put these?” 

You grimace as you choke down the black sludge, pointing the workman to a far wall at the back of the stage. Six in the morning and you already know it was going to be a long day. There are supplies to organize, materials to sort out, work to delegate, but you can’t seem to climb out of that sleepy haze. It had been a while since you’d been on the set of a production but if you don’t plant your feet now, you are liable to get swept up into the chaos. 

You shake your head and blink. Focus. 

Your designs had mapped out six separate moveable pieces of extra thick balsa wood. Attached to wheels, stage hands could rearrange the pieces as needed, depending on the scene. The “walls” are light enough for Andrew’s skeleton crew, but with some shadows and shading, you could give them depth and visual weight. You just had to build the damn things first, but Andrew assured you that all of his stagehands are basically master carpenters. By the confused but eager looks on their faces, you doubt that’s entirely true. Maybe by the end of this you’ll all be master carpenters. 

Smiling to yourself, you go to help them unpack the planks of wood, but freeze when you hear Andrew’s voice unexpectedly. Assuming he’d come by when most of the work is nearly done, you poke your head around the thick black curtains. 

Andrew stands facing the house, his arms wide and mobile. You smirk at the Lululemon sweats – his version of dressing down – as he addresses the small crowd in front of him. It’s the cast, you realize, only about seven of them and in the center is, of course, Dieter, with dark circles under his eyes. He’d never been a morning person either. He has his arms crossed over a thin black shirt and he’s focused entirely on Andrew, thick brows furrowed. 

And focused entirely on him, is Emily (you finally remember her name), the cute blonde twenty-something. 

Friends help friends get dates, right? Maybe this would be a good first step.

Getting Dieter Bravo laid.

Lunch arrives well past noon, leaving everyone tired, hungry, and a little irritable. Cast and crew go off into their separate corners, looking for peace and quiet and somewhere the pounding of hammers isn’t audible. 

You’re deciding between a ham or turkey sandwich when he sidles up next to you. His plate is half a sandwich, three strawberries, and four cookies. Good to see his voracious sweet tooth hadn’t dulled even a little bit. 

You glance over your shoulder. Emily sits on the edge of the stage, munching on a bag of chips and reading over her script. With your elbow, you nudge Dieter and he turns to look. 

“She likes you,” you grin. 

He frowns, glancing back between you and the girl on stage. “Who? Emily?”

“Duh. She has eyes, doesn’t she?” 

Dieter’s mouth goes tight and he turns back to the craft’s table, suddenly interested in adding something healthy to his plate. 

“She flirts with everyone. Besides, I’m kind of out of practice.”

“What do you mean?”

He picks at a melon, noses through the box of chips. “Rehab makes dating kinda hard. Unless . . .” he pauses and puts down his plate, “unless you’ve figured out the secret to dating in rehab.”

Your neck heats again. “Um, no, definitely not. It’s been a while, for me too.”

“How long is a while?” His eyes darken as he asks. 

You are completely baffled at how quickly this conversation spiraled out of your control. 

“Dieter – I – it’s been – you —,” 

He spares you and bites the corner of his cheek. He glances over to Emily as she swings a long, bare leg over the edge of the stage. 

“I’m not sleeping with her.” You nod, dumbstruck by this complete and total opposite reaction you thought he’d have. He works his jaw before looking back at you. “Her or anyone else. Okay?”

Andrew calls the cast to the stage to review blocking before the buzz saws start up again, so Dieter is pulled away before you can sputter incoherent consonants at him. He leaves his plate with you.

“Don’t let anyone steal my cookies,” he says very seriously before wiping his hands on his jeans and heading back to work. 

What you said is true. You didn’t date anyone in rehab, the practice actually rather forbidden, and didn’t really have the inclination once you got out. It had been years before you actually tried to date anyone, but most of them ended after the first awkward hug goodbye or when he tried to put his hand up your skirt at dinner. 

You hadn’t been a nun this whole time – you weren’t a fucking saint – but there hadn’t been anyone, anyone who really mattered in, years. For the first time, that struck you as odd. There wasn’t time, you reason with yourself as you watch him cross the stage on Andrew’s direction and jot notes in his script, his hair sticking up in all directions as if a cat’s tongue had licked him up the back of his neck. With moving to New York and starting the gallery and then running it, expanding it, there just simply wasn’t time to find something to fill that giant, gaping hole in your life. A hole you didn’t seem to mind or even notice, until Dieter came back. 

Okay, maybe, friends didn’t need to help friends pick up dates. He didn’t seem interested anyway. 

You pick up his plate, careful to not spill his precious sweets, only vaguely aware that his first inclination after loading up his lunch was to come find you.

🤍 Next: Part 2 + Epilogue

[frostedfaves]

Naive (2)

Masterlist

Pairing: demon!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: You quickly discover that Wanda is different during the night.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark!fic, demon things™️, mental manipulation, smut: oral, fingering, overstimulation, edging, penetration, sex toy use, dom/sub dynamics, biting, slapping(? just a lil)

A/N: no more thoughts except please share your own after reading this! writing this slutty shit kept me sane today so enjoy

Previous part

-

To your surprise and relief that eventually transformed into disappointment, Wanda didn’t make an appearance at all for the rest of the week. You spent each shift for the next few days anticipating her return, watching for her over the heads of shorter customers and through the shelves on your way in and out of the bookstore. You were starting to think that she was simply passing through your town and you were just lucky enough to cross paths with her.

“Hi there.”

“Wanda!” you yelp after looking up from your phone hidden behind the register, clearing your throat as you tuck it in your pocket. “Um, can I get you anything?”

“I’m surprised you remember me,” she laughs. “I’m sure you get hundreds of customers a day.” 

“You left a lasting impression,” you admit before you can stop yourself and she grins.

“So did you.”

There’s a brief pause before she adds your name to the end of her sentence with a flicker of something unrecognizable in her eyes that sends a shiver down your spine. Not knowing what else to do with yourself, you go to ask again what she’d like in the same moment she places a bottle of water on the counter.

“I got a really good recommendation the last time I was here, and I’d like to have it again.”

“Coming right up.” You ring up the exact same order, letting your gaze wander to her hand again as she inserts her card. “I never got to tell you how much I love your rings.”

“What?” She lifts her hand after removing her card and chuckles breathlessly. “Oh yeah, thanks.”

A frown appears on your features when you notice the way she grabs the receipt from you, almost as if she’s actively avoiding brushing fingers with you in the same way she did during her last visit. You’re able to replace the frown with a customer service smile, but you can’t shake the feeling that you experienced rejection before even posing a question. 

“I’ll bring it out to you soon,” you tell her before moving to the glass case, grabbing the food items and frowning again when you find her staring at you from the other side. “Is there something else I can get you?”

“What time do you get off today?” she asks in a rushed fashion.

“What?”

“I mean do you have any plans when your shift is done? I meet people all day long and you’re the first person that I’ve wanted to have a conversation with that lasts longer than a few minutes,” she explains a bit slower. 

“I only have an hour left,” you tell her as you slide her food into the oven. “What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe you could show me what fun things I could get into in this area. I’m a bit further away, Lane County, but I’m starting to enjoy it here more.”

“Well there’s a fair happening on the other side of town, if you don’t mind a long bus ride. I’m guessing you don’t since you live in Lane and you somehow ended up here.”

“Oh, I have a car.” She holds up her car keys with a grin and you laugh.

“Well then…” You pause and look over the counter to see that she’s wearing pants today. “I hope you’re not afraid of rollercoasters.”

-

Aside from the occasional flirting when you have no customers, Wanda waits patiently at the same table as before, standing and joining you the moment you reappear on the other side of the counter without your apron. Her rings are tucked away again, and she dares to brush her knuckles against yours as the two of you leave the bookstore.

“Let me get that for you,” she insists, jogging ahead of you to open the car door and you laugh.

“Is this a date? Should I be nervous right now?” you ask in a joking tone, well aware that you’re genuinely wondering.

“Only if you want it to be.”

You take a deep breath while she crosses to the driver’s side, offering her a casual smile once she’s seated next to you. She denies your request to give her the address, insisting that she’ll be able to follow your directions better instead of admitting that she just wants to hear your voice as much as possible. So you lead her to the expansive fairgrounds on the other side of town, feeling excitement build in your heart the closer you get to your destination.

“This place must hold some memories for you,” Wanda acknowledges your wide grin as she parks.

“No, I just haven’t been in a while,” you admit as you both get out of the car. “Friends are too busy and I try to avoid nighttime bus rides as much as possible.”

“You know, I don’t mind giving you rides at night. I’m well aware that public transportation isn’t the safest form of travel.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that! You live too far.”

“Okay then.” Wanda meets you near the fair entrance and grabs your hand, sliding her fingers between yours. “I won’t give you the chance to ask.”

The two of you are latched onto each other, fingers intertwined the whole night aside from being secured on rides or bathroom trips. You’re walking into the games area, each holding a drink when you suddenly pull Wanda over to a booth. 

“Sorry, I just saw that huge giraffe and wanted to try to win it!” you explain as you release her hand to grab a ticket from your pocket. “Can you hold my drink?”

While your back is turned, Wanda sets both drinks on a nearby table and slips her rings onto her hands, returning just in time for you to finish the game. She hands your drink back to you carefully and reaches out to grab the small stuffed toy you’re offered, brushing her fingers against the attendant’s hand as she did so.

“She wants the giraffe,” she threatens, retreating with a pleased smile when he immediately pulls it down for you. “Thank you!”

“How did you do that?!” you question as she hands it to you. “I mean thank you so much, but wow. I’ve never seen anyone give in so easily.”

“I’ve spent most of my life figuring out how to get what I want, love,” she tells you in a low tone, and a shiver travels down your spine when her hand makes contact with your hip. “What do you think about getting out of here?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you agree quietly, starting to feel as if every other thought that enters your mind is incoherent. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m taking you home.”

You assume she followed up on her word because you find yourself outside of your apartment building, and her hand closes around your wrist before you can leave the car.

“I had a lot of fun with you tonight.”

“Me too,” you admit, unable to prevent the smile that appears. “I guess this means you’re interested in more than friendship with me.”

“Is it that obvious?” She chuckles quietly as she raises her free hand to your jaw, watching you silently fall against her palm. “I’d bet you’d be a wonderful partner. My best girl.”

“I’d be so good for you,” you reply without hesitation, beginning to feel fuzzy and warm the longer she holds onto you.

“Yeah?” 

Your wrist drops onto the center console as the hand that isn’t resting on your jaw slips under the elastic waistband of your pants and underwear. You gasp when her fingertips begin teasing your entrance, bucking your hips slightly when you feel pressure on your clit.

“Wanda--”

“Shh, it’s okay, darling,” she assures you, slipping her thumb between your parted lips and grinning when they close around her without a fight. “I want to see how good you can be for me.”

She uses her middle finger to stroke slowly over your clit, eyes flickering over to your hips occasionally as they follow her movements. Her thumb slips further into your mouth, and your eyes flutter open when her ring touches your lips and a new sensation follows.

“You’re fine,” she soothes you when you let out a muffled whimper, sighing when she notices a group of people turn the corner at the end of the block and begin heading your way. “Let’s go inside. I don’t need an audience.”

Her fingers are removed from your underwear and in her mouth in seconds, and she practically growls as she cleans the bit of mess you left behind. You hurry out of the car and lead Wanda to your apartment, even in your haze able to remember to get her inside before Ruth sees you. In a few blinks, she’s hovering over you on the bed, and just when you think you can’t handle any more overwhelming sensations, she kisses you.

It’s breathtaking, quite literally you feel air leaving your lungs as if she’s stealing it herself. Your eyes feel like they’re glued shut and the grip she has on your waist is almost painful, but you can’t bring yourself to complain when she’s guiding you to grind on her thigh. Her lips are replaced with two of her fingers as she begins making her way down your body, carefully undressing you with her free hand and biting and kissing the skin she exposes.

“You’re unbearably wet,” she comments from between your legs, dipping her tongue inside you while stroking yours with her fingertips and humming loudly so you’ll arch into her more. “So fucking good.”

Her tongue is replaced with her fingers, and she begins slowly pumping in and out of you while sucking on your clit just to get a reaction. She grabs your hands as they go for her hair and hold them together by the wrists, readjusting so that her thumb can circle your clit when she pulls her head away.

“Being good means not touching unless I tell you to,” she scolds.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize breathlessly through moans as she picks up her pace while adding another finger.

“You’ll have plenty of time to learn. I’ve decided to make you mine.” She continues to finger you as she brings herself back over you, ignoring your gasp when you notice her darkened eyes and pinning your hands above your head. “I can’t wait to make it official.”

Her head dips down and you fall over the edge just as she sucks your earlobe into her mouth, thrusting into you forcefully as she continues you fuck you well past the end of your orgasm while her other hand pushes your pinned wrists into the mattress as hard as she can. You’re just about to cum again when she pulls away entirely, quickly unzipping her pants and freeing a toy she had tucked away.

“That’s really big,” you comment with wide eyes that immediately flutter closed when she pushes the head of the toy inside you. “Fuck.”

“Watch your mouth,” she warns you with a quick slap on your cheek, lowering her hand to hold onto your neck just below your jaw while thrusting into you more. “If it’s so big, why is my pussy swallowing it so easily?”

“Because I want it,” you whine, releasing a loud moan when she slams her hips against yours. “Please please please, I want it.”

“I know you do, love.”

Her other hand pins your wrist against the mattress again as she leans forward and begins fucking into you as hard as she can. She slips her thumb back into your mouth to reduce your screams to muffled whines, grinning to herself when you sink your teeth into her flesh a few times.

“Begging for something you can’t even handle,” she teases, prying your mouth open with her thumb as she lowers her head closer to yours. “Perhaps we should start over.”

She waits until you start to cum and slips her tongue into your waiting mouth, and everything goes dark.

[helloalycia]

my patient’s neighbour [six] // wanda maximoff

summary: after spending some more time with Wanda against your will, you begin to realise how she feels for you.

warning/s: none.

author's note: hope you like angst! because you got it 👀 also there’s only one more part left after this so be prepared!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part seven | masterlist | wattpad

"You look like you're on a warpath."

I stopped speed walking around the place when Natasha appeared out of nowhere, stepping in front of me. She seemed entertained, before she realised I was probably actually on a warpath.

"Hey, what happened?" she asked, amusement replaced with concern in seconds.

"Wanda happened," was all I said, before walking around her and storming up to the Sokovian in question.

When she spotted me, she opened her mouth to say something, but I didn't give her chance to as I grabbed her wrist and began to drag her away.

"Sorry, if you'll excuse me," Wanda got out to the guests she was chatting with, before I yanked her away. She began to complain as I did, asking, "What are you doing? I was in the middle of a conversation!"

I ignored her and proceeded to drag her away, certain that steam would be coming from my ears if this was a cartoon. Finding a private place to talk, I let go of her hand and spun around with a glare.

"Your thoughts are very loud right now," she said playfully, clearly not reading the situation.

"Then you know that I'm imagining several different ways to murder you," I got out between gritted teeth.

She scrunched her nose. "They all end in you going to prison."

Something about that obnoxious smile she wore and the way her hazel eyes watched me with anticipation was making me angrier by the second.

"How can you do that?!" I asked with exasperation.

She quirked a brow. "And what is 'that' exactly?"

I locked my jaw. "You ruined my date! You kept getting into my head all day, you were rude to Elise, and you're just– you're oozing with jealousy when you're the one who broke up with me!"

She scrunched her nose for the second time, and whereas I would have once found that endearing, I know found it greatly frustrating.

"Oozing? Really? Who says that?"

I closed my hands into fists, trying not to get baited by her purposeful obliviousness. But she was already under my skin, and ever since she broke up with me, the anger had been bubbling away, ready to come out.

"You're such a bitch, Wanda!" I shouted at her without hesitation. "You don't care that you just ruined my chance at moving on! Six months has passed since you broke up with me – you don't get to be jealous! I had to learn to be without you because you gave up on us and that's on you! So, you don't get to be here and make me feel bad for having a chance at a date because you can't make up your mind about us. It's not fair!"

My shoulders relaxed as I got my thoughts out, the anger still present but not as heavy on my back. She was infuriating as I watched her. Barely fazed by my words, a small smile played on her lips. She did nothing to acknowledge my mini speech, instead waiting for me to say something else.

"Seriously?!" I squeaked, my voice rising with annoyance. "Nothing?!"

As if pulled from a daydream, she straightened up and seemed confused. "Huh?"

I groaned loudly, eyebrows raised with disbelief. "For God's sake, Wanda!" Running out of patience, I shook my head and glared harshly. "I want you to stay away from me. You don't get to be in my life like this. And just in case you don't understand what I'm saying, here's something you will. Otvali (fuck off)!"

Not bothering to wait for a response, I stomped past her and didn't look back. As I was walking away, a tear slipped from my eye and I whipped it away without question. She didn't get to do this to me, not again. It wasn't fair.

— 

Despite practically yelling in Wanda's face to stay away from me, she didn't take the hint. Instead, I proceeded to see her two more times in places I least expected it. To be fair, I don't think she did it on purpose. But she could have easily walked the other way and pretended not to see me. Instead, she thought it would be best to piss me off further.

The first time was when I was at a park with a new patient I was caring for. He was wheelchair-bound, so I pushed him around as we spoke to pass the time. We eventually stopped at a newspaper stand since he wanted to buy a few magazines, and that's when I conveniently got bumped into by the Sokovian witch.

"Y/N, hey!" she exclaimed when I turned to see who was there. She had a wide smile on her face, eyes shining bright under the sun. Admittedly, it took my breath away for a second, as I didn't expect it in the slightest. But then I remembered who it was and tried to ignore the way my heart rate sped up.

"Hello," I mumbled, before looking back to the newspaper stand with hopes she'd go away.

"And who is this beautiful young woman, Y/N?" my patient, Dayton, asked as he noticed her beside me.

I pursed my lips, trying to figure out the best response without earning more questions from Dayton, but Wanda decided to answer instead.

"We were girlfriends," she told Dayton with a grin, eyes glancing to me.

"Key word being were," I added quickly, shooting her a look, before looking to Dayton. "It's not a big deal."

"It may not be to you, but it's good to see you, moya lyubov' (my love)," she said softly, grin fading into a genuine smile.

"Don't call me that," I snapped, hating the way her words had such an effect on me. Her stupid accent and her stupid smile and her stupid pretty eyes. Hated it all.

"Ooh, what does that mean?" Dayton asked, looking up between us.

"Nothing, Dayton," I told him calmly, before nodding to the stand. "Just buy your magazines whilst I talk to Wanda."

He shrugged and did as I said, leaving me a moment to stand back and look to Wanda disapprovingly.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, lowering my voice so I wouldn't make a scene. Nothing was accidental with her.

"Just enjoying a walk through the park," she answered with a shrug.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, enjoy your walk."

As I made an attempt to leave, she stepped in front of me suddenly.

"Wait, can we talk?" she asked, losing any sense of mischief.

"No," I deadpanned. "Now, can I leave?"

She frowned, eyes pleading. "Please?"

"I said no."

She sighed, glancing around with irritation. Her eyes settled on the flower stand beside the newspaper stand and I didn't have chance to question what she was thinking before her eyes began to glow red. Raising her hand conspicuously, red wisps of energy appeared and she levitated a single flower from one of the many bouquets, hovering it before me.

"For you," she said, and I ripped it out of the air, frantically looking around in case anyone saw.

"Very clever," I said sarcastically, before looking at the flower and shaking my head. "Stealing isn't cool, by the way."

I dropped the flower on the ground and walked away, my foot stepping on it as I did. She needed to get a damn hint.

—

The second time Wanda reappeared in my life was when Anna invited me to Sasha's home for a visit. I'd been once before, a few weeks after she'd moved in with her granddaughter's family, but not since then. This time, she'd invited me over again to catch up and I assumed it would just be me and her family; Oh, how wrong I was.

Sasha and her family were pretty wealthy, their house sitting on the outskirts of New York and on its own private land. She was a lawyer, hence the wealth, and her home was absolutely stunning with its high ceilings, floor to ceiling windows and three floor structure. Even as I parked out front for the second time in my life, I was blown away.

As I got out of my car and locked it, I noticed another car parking out front – a taxi, dropping someone off. Curious, I waited to see who it was. My eyes narrowed when I noticed a familiar face exiting the taxi and paying the driver. When the taxi drove off, Wanda saw me and began to smile with amusement, joining me at the front door.

"The stalking is getting creepy you know," I told her when she stood by my side.

I knocked on the door using the giant knocker and waited patiently for someone to answer.

"I'd love to take the credit for this," Wanda answered, and I could see her smug smile in my peripheral, "but I was invited by Anna."

I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to roll my eyes, both at Wanda's presence and Anna's secrecy. "Of course she did..."

The door opened to reveal none other than Anna Pivec herself, balancing on her cane and grinning at the sight of Wanda and I.

"Devushki (girls), you made it!" she exclaimed with delight, before stepping to the side. "Please, come on in!"

We both entered her home and watched as she closed the door before giving us both a big hug without warning.

"Oh, okay," I mumbled, but wrapped an arm around her gently. "It's good to see you, too, Anna."

Anna laughed wholeheartedly before pulling away. "I'm sorry. I just missed you both is all. It's so good to have you here, together again. Just like old times."

I forced a small smile, knowing what she meant but also feeling a pang in my heart because it wasn't completely like old times, not really. Naturally, my eyes fell to Wanda who was already looking my way, a similar expression on her face. I wondered if she was thinking the same.

"C'mon, I'll bring you to the kitchen where everybody else is," Anna said, already leading the way. "They're excited to have you over again."

"You didn't mention Wanda would be here, too," I noted as she led us through the main hall.

"Oh, didn't I?" she replied, feigning confusion. "I must have forgotten."

"Hmm." I pursed my lips, ignoring the obnoxious smile that returned to Wanda's lips as we followed Anna.

She led us to the kitchen where Sasha and her husband were preparing some food for the supposed barbecue we'd be having. I'd met her husband the last time I visited, so it was easy to get reacquainted with them both as we met them again.

After a brief catch up, Wanda and I offered to help with the food, but Sasha insisted we take a break and hang out with the twins – her kids – whilst they cooked it up outside. So, I soon found myself heading to the living room with Wanda as Anna went to fetch the twins from their bedrooms upstairs.

I wasn't exactly keen on being left alone with Wanda, so I decided not to say anything and simply keep to myself as we waited for Anna's return. Killing time, I wandered around the living room and looked at the family photos hung on the wall. It was the same as last time, except now there were a few new additions, clearly from Anna, which made me smile without thinking.

They were of Wanda, Anna and I, back when I used to care for her and we'd hang out at her apartment. Some were in the apartment itself whilst others were from places we'd visited together on different occasions. I recognised a handful of them from when Wanda and I were just friends and a few more from when we were a couple. It was clear in the photos which were which, as Wanda was holding my waist and grinning from ear to ear, myself doing the same. For a split second, I almost forgot she'd broken my heart.

"Wow, we looked really cute together, didn't we?" her stupid Sokovian accent sounded by my ear, and I lost my smile when I felt Wanda's presence stood a little too close to me.

She was looking over my shoulder at the photos on the wall and I tried not to get frustrated, but she made it impossible.

"Yeah, we were," I agreed, noticing the surprise on her face at my words, but then I continued, "until you dumped me because you were too scared to stay in a relationship."

Her smile faded at my words and I left her standing there, instead going to the couch to wait there. I wasn't sure why Anna had kept those photographs of us, but I wished she hadn't. 

After what felt like forever, Anna finally returned with her two great-grandkids in tow. Alex and Marina, both seven-years-old, grinned adorably at Wanda and I, betraying their missing teeth.

"Well, look who it is," Wanda said with a bright smile, bending over and putting her hands on her knees. "My favourite set of twins."

Despite how annoying she was, I couldn't help but smile at the way she treated kids. She was always so good with them generally, way better than I was.

"G.G. said we could play Mario Kart," Marina said behind a nervous smile, looking between us. "Can we?"

G.G. was what they called Anna – short for 'great-grandmother'. I found it cute that they accepted her into the family so easily, like no time had been missed.

"I think we can," I said with a warm smile. "But I can't promise we'll take it easy on you."

Alex fist-pumped with excitement before running to the TV to set up his Nintendo Switch. Marina, the calmer of the two, motioned for Wanda and I to take a seat on the couch with her. Anna joined us, taking her place on the recliner, and watched with amusement.

Wanda and I had never actually visited them together, so it was refreshing to see how excited they got around her. Clearly she'd made an impression last time.

"For you," Alex said politely, holding out a controller to me.

"Why thank you," I said, accepting it. "So polite."

He seemed embarrassed as he did the same with Wanda, who hadn't stopped smiling since they came in. After handing his sister a controller, he joined us on the couch, forcing everyone to move up a little and making Wanda press closer to me at the end of the seat. I gave her a knowing look to which she smiled innocently, making me roll my eyes.

"You not gonna have a go, Anna?" Wanda teased Anna as Alex began to set up the game.

"The moving cars makes my head spin," the older Sokovian woman admitted. "You guys enjoy though."

Soon enough, the first game commenced and I was surprised at how competitive I was being, adamant on at least beating Wanda if not the twins. They, of course, spent all their time playing this, so Marina won Wanda and I easily. Wanda came in fourth, I came in third and Alex came in second.

"You just got lucky," Wanda said with a shrug, glancing at me.

"If you say so," I played along, a ghost of a smile on my lips.

"I'm being Toad this time!" Marina exclaimed as Alex set up the next round.

"I'll be Princess Peach," Wanda decided nonchalantly.

"She won't help you win," I said without thinking.

"We'll see, milashka (cutie)," she responded with a playful smile.

I nudged her in the arm, signalling for her to not call me that, but she only smiled wider as she looked back to the screen.

We had a few more rounds, Wanda winning none of them and Marina winning all of them, when Alex began to complain.

"It's not fair, you have to be cheating!" he said to his sister.

"I'm just better," Marina stated casually, making me laugh.

Alex rolled his eyes before looking to Wanda. "Did you used to play this with Pietro? Did he cheat, too?"

I raised my eyebrows with surprise at the mention of Wanda's dead twin brother. I didn't think she'd tell the twins of him, but then I realised that it was only fitting to mention her twin brother to a set of twins that probably reminded her of herself.

Wanda smiled gently. "We didn't have these games as kids, Alex. But when Piet and I played other things, yes, he did cheat." 

Alex sighed, glancing at his sister with distaste before looking to me. "Did you used to play this when you were younger, Y/N?"

"Kind of... I mean, I don't have any brothers or sisters, so I used to play at my cousin's house whenever I visited," I explained. "And it wasn't a Switch. We had something called a Super Nintendo."

"Woah, you're old," Alex muttered with disbelief.

"Alex!" Anna scolded, making me laugh.

"It's okay, he's technically right," I said with a shrug.

"Milaya (sweetie), if you're old, then I'm ancient," Anna said disapprovingly.

"Right, sorry," I said, trying to stifle my smile.

We played another round and as Wanda and I were closing in on the finish line, my joystick began to veer left despite me aiming it to the right. I looked down in time to see red wisps of energy pushing it the other way.

"Yes! I won you," Wanda sang with pride, looking to me as her eyes faded from red to its hazel colour.

"You cheated," I said, eyebrows raised. "I just saw you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she played dumb.

"Wanda," I said, giving her a knowing look. "You sure it was Pietro who used to cheat when you were kids?"

She grinned. "Very sure."

I studied her closely, entertained smile tugging at my lips. "I'm just gonna pretend I let you beat me since you won't admit it."

She shrugged, nudging me in the side gently. "Suit yourself."

"You're supposed to let your wife win anyway," Alex said naively, and I almost choked on my own spit when he did.

"What?" I spluttered out, losing my smile.

Wanda was doing her absolute best not to laugh as her eyes glanced towards me, noticing my shocked expression.  

"Your wife – Wanda?" Alex said like it was obvious. "Our dad says he lets our mum win stuff all the time. It's what you do when you're married."

"I– we–" I paused, clearing my throat and suddenly feeling very warm. "We're not married, Alex."

Alex furrowed his brows with confusion. "But G.G. said that you weren't together."

"But that doesn't mean we're married," I said slowly, hoping my face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Medovyy (honey), they're not together anymore, you're right," Anna started to correct him, though she looked like she was seconds away from laughing herself, "but I never said they were married."

Alex didn't seem to understand still. He pointed to Wanda's hands. "But she's wearing a ring."

Everyone looked down to Wanda's hands which were adorned by several rings on many of her fingers, though none were on her ring finger, so I didn't get what Alex was thinking.

"I always wear rings," Wanda told him with amusement.

"But–"

"That's her right hand, idiot," Marina said to her brother with a scoff.

"No, it's her left," he said knowingly, before raising his left hand in the air and pointing to her right hand opposite him.

Marina rolled her eyes, already fed up with her twin's antics. She stood beside him and motioned to his hands as she explained, "That's your left. It's her right. Like a reflection. It's not a wedding ring."

It took a few seconds for Alex to understand, but when he did, he began to get flustered.

"Oh," was all he said, before returning to his seat. "My bad."

Anna laughed at her great-grandson's embarrassment as I began to flush with a similar embarrassment in my seat. Meanwhile, Wanda was biting her lip to contain her own laughter, eyes teasing me as they glanced at me with amusement.

Today was definitely not going to plan.

—

After gaming with the kids for a little while longer, we were all eventually called into the garden to have lunch together. Sasha and her husband had barbecued a variety of chicken, meat and vegetables for us to eat which was delicious. It gave us the chance to hear everything Anna had been up to with her family and for her to catch up with what's going on in Wanda and I's lives.

Anna seemed a lot happier, the happiest I'd ever seen her, when she was with family. I was glad that she was fitting in and that it brought her closer to her late-husband and daughter. This was all she'd ever wanted and she'd finally gotten it. Despite tricking Wanda and I into coming, I was kind of glad to be there because even if I wouldn't admit it at the time, it was just like old times.

After having dessert and conversing for longer than we realised over some tea and coffee, Wanda and I decided it was best we leave.

"Remember to come by anytime," Anna said to us both by the front door. "You don't even have to call!"

I smiled, nodding. "Thank you, Anna. It was great to see you again. I had a lot of fun today."

"Me, too," Wanda agreed. "It's really good to see you so happy."

Anna sighed contently. "Spasibo (thank you). Both of you." Pausing with thought, her eyes flickered between us both. "I do hope that you resolve things soon. For both of your benefit."

Chewing on my lip, I chose not to say anything. Wanda seemed to feel the same, opting to stay quiet, making Anna breath out halfheartedly.

"Right, well... are you both okay getting home?" she asked, changing the subject.

After reassuring her that we were, we gave her a giant hug before bidding her a goodbye. Once the door closed, I awkwardly glanced at Wanda before heading to my car.

"Hey, is it stupid if I ask for a ride?" Wanda's voice said from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder and saw her following after me, half walking and half running to fall into step with me. I refrained from rolling my eyes as I continued walking to my car.

"Didn't you get a taxi?" was all I said.

"Yeah, but my place is on the way to yours," she answered like it was nothing, finally catching up to me and grinning by my side when we reached my car. "And you're free, so..."

I narrowed my eyes impatiently.

"I won't do or say anything to piss you off," she added, putting out her pinky. "Promise."

As frustrating as she was, I wasn't a bitch, and we'd actually kind of gotten along today. With a dramatic sigh, I stepped to the side and motioned for her to get in the car. She wiggled her pinky, but when realising I wouldn't interlink mine, she lowered it.

A genuine smile fell on her lips as she nodded. "Thank you."

I simply returned the nod before getting into the driver's seat as she did with the passenger's seat. I put Wanda's address in the sat nav before setting off, trying not to overthink the silence that filled the car. Obviously, that was impossible, so I gripped the steering wheel tighter and glanced at Wanda.

"You can put the radio on if you want," I said uncomfortably, shifting around in my seat.

She tensed her jaw, looking (oddly enough) as uncomfortable as I felt, which was strange since she was content annoying me earlier. With a nod, she turned the radio on and some random pop music played quietly in the background, easing my nerves but not making anything more tolerable. It took about ten minutes for me to adjust to the silence when I finally got comfortable, focusing on driving and getting to Wanda's flat quickly.

Without warning, Wanda began to speak in Russian, but it was way too fast and incomprehensible so I had no idea what she was saying.

"Wanda, slow down, what are you talking about?" I asked, trying to cut her off, but she continued to ramble right over me, making me roll my eyes. "Wanda, I don't understand you!"

When I looked to her between driving, she seemed extremely passionate and stern about whatever she was saying. I wished I understood because whatever it was seemed to be eating away at her. I tried to ask her to slow down, speak English, do something to help me out, but she was stuck in tunnel vision, speaking quickly and with sadness.

After what felt like forever but was probably only a minute, she stopped talking and took a deep breath. I furrowed my eyebrows judgementally, eyeing her with confusion.

"The hell was that?!" I asked with surprise.

She didn't reply, making me curse under my breath. At the next red traffic light, I looked to her properly, noticing the distracted stare she directed my way.

"Wanda, what was that?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

She pressed her lips together, hazel eyes swirling with a mixture of emotions that I couldn't make out. I thought she'd answer me, but she still stayed silent.

"Seriously, Wanda, what?"

The traffic light began to go orange and I sighed with annoyance, figuring she'd lost her marbles. But then she finally spoke, my attention half on her and half on the road.

"Ya skuchayu po tebe (I miss you)," she said softly, without mischief or annoyance or anger or anything. Just sincerity.

She looked away after that, eyes drifting to her shoes, probably thinking I didn't understand. But I did and I knew it shouldn't have affected me as much as it did, but I felt my heart ache in my chest as I put my foot on the gas to make the green light.

When I finally reached her apartment building, I waited for her to say something, but she looked as lost in her thoughts than I did whilst driving.

"Wanda," I called quietly, getting her attention.

She blinked, realising we were at her place. Clearing her throat, she barely looked my way as she mumbled, "Thanks for the ride."

As she opened the car door and got out, beginning to walk to her building, I rolled down the passenger's window and called her name. She stopped, looking over to me with a raised brow.

My mouth felt dry as I said, "I know what 'I miss you' is in Russian." Her eyes widened, embarrassed that she'd been caught, and I continued, "You don't get to miss me."

It was harsh, but it was the truth. And I didn't wait to hear her come up with a response as I rolled my window up and set off again. She couldn't act like that when it was her fault we broke up. It wasn't fair on either of us.

[enderwoah]

ORIGINS SMP HEADCANONS (because i love them): SEASON TWO EDITION BAYBEEE

(this is really long ENJOY :gun:)

tommy

he is phil's son smile

phil's most recent son at least

he's got like one more somewhere

he picked this one up off the dangerous streets a few years ago and he's been sticking with phil ever since

his wings are small- not too small to fly, but they're untrained to the point where it would take a lot or work to get him off the ground

but at first, he didn't really seem to want to learn all that much?

(he has three scars on his face- all from trying to learn how to fly when he was younger)

(he gave up after the third one)

("if at first you don't succeed; try, try again" is his motto, and he tried all three times)

but!! phil and wilbur are very persuasive :) and now that he knows he can fly, he's not going to rest until he does

he's a little manipulative to get what he wants sometimes, but can you blame someone that lived on the street for so long?

he had to do that to survive! it's not his fault.

(it's a great excuse.)

he laughs like a kookaburra amen

he squawks when he gets scared

he chirps. he tries not to because it makes phil go absolutely bird-brained but he does sometimes and he hates it.

tubbo

NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO BE A B[GUNSHOTS]

god he is. so fucking annoying (/rp)

he simply does not know when to stop

he ignores social cues to see when someone is annoyed

(see: he can read social cues. he does read social cues. when you get annoyed that's when he starts being more annoying, because you're more likely to give him what he wants to get him to shut the fuck up.)

he loves talking to (at) people, especially people he doesn't really know that well

so he's trying to be friends with ranboo, but the absolute prick keeps trying to avoid any actual conversations, so that's not working

he buzzes when he gets excited-happy

his fingertips are completely blackened and horrendously sharp, functioning as ten individual stingers

they don't do any actual damage but he's working on that

techno

wither hybrid (??)

how can you be a wither hybrid?? nobody got down and dirty with the wither

he's an experiment

the reason we haven't seen him yet? he's staying away from the main area of the smp

he doesn't want to ruin its natural beauty with his withering effect, so he keeps to himself on the outskirts of the smp

which sucks

withers get health from killing things

he's not fully a wither, so he gets energy from being around people and sort of draining their life force a little bit

he feels terrible when he's with just one person because they are Literally his life support and it makes the person feel like shit

when he's with a big group of people its great!! he only has to take a little bit from everyone and its barely noticable!!

but then there's the wither part. so he has to stay away.

he's always tired

always exhausted

he's a farmer, so taking it from animals works, but god does he miss people

but he can only visit a few times and for very short

(he's afraid that one of these days he'll get so bad that the next time he sees someone he'll accidentally kill them)

(it already happened once. he's blessed that he's been forgiven, even made friends with by the victims, but he doubts he'll be able to pull that off again with no consequences like last time)

wilbur

phantlings are dead elytrians, and given that wilbur was phil's son...he's a phantling

he died in the late 50s and was a librarian when he was alive, so he's very possessive (ha) over all of his things

you should never ask to "borrow" anything from him, he will hound you about it until you give it back

it's best to just say that you want something from him to keep

even if youre going to give it back

just for your own peace of mind

phantlings can feel fear and get a genuine feeling of elation from scaring people

of course, sometimes its unwelcome (feeling large amounts of fear from someone they care about in a bad way just makes them pissed)

but for the most part, wilbur loves appearing in the corner of people's visions just to jumpscare them a few minutes later

all in good fun, of course!! it's just hilarious :)

being the lighthearted, fun guy he is, he's not particularly secretive about his method of death

"how did i die? well, it all started -- ended -- on november 16th, 1958!"

"i walked out of the library late, since i took the shift for my wife since she was feeling sick and i worked there anyways,"

"the streets were dark and only lit up by gaslamps...and out of an alley...appeared..........."

techno.

he didn't mean it. wilbur isn't at all mad at him (anymore)

he was starving. he didn't know that one touch would be enough to fully revitalize him...

and murder wilbur where he stood.

sneeg

has details on everyone on the server

you Cannot Hide Shit From Sneeg

its impossible

if you find of his any shittly little mouse holes then you're doomed

you find one and there are twenty more

he's under your floorboards while you're having your important discussion about trapping the nether roof

sucks to suck ig??

he seems to be the favourite of many, which is weird since he rarely goes out of his way to actually talk to many people

he's the only person that tubbo doesn't actively try to annoy (or maybe he just doesn't find tubbo's antics all that annoying)

he's the only person that ranboo stays around (or maybe he stays around ranboo- he and Phil seem to be the only ones not off-put by his slightly sadistic and whiny demeanour (not counting tubbo, who annoys him anyways)

phil seems to be more protective of him than he thinks is normal (he lets sneeg ride on his shoulder while travelling, so he doesn't really complain)

niki is completely protective over him (again, not complaining)

contrary to popular believe, he does not get high from sugar

if anything he gets

high-per

(get it)

(high-per)

(hyper)

he's literally just a nine-year old getting a sugar rush leave him alone

phil

take the normal "bird-brain" headcanons and multiply it by like sixty-four

and you've got origins phil

he can't see glass- or, rather, he can, but it doesn't register that 'hey, this is a solid surface i am going to slam into'

its very funny for everyone else but he's pretty sure he has permanent brain damage from the blunt force trauma

if there is ANYONE on the server who dares to chirp, bird or no, they must understand that they are signing away their privacy and giving phil the right to go absolutely bonkers over them momma bird style

(shoutout to tommy, wilbur, ranboo, and fundy for having to suffer through this)

"oh??? you don't have wings?? you don't have feathers?? omg?? then what's this im preening?? what do you mean im just braiding your hair?? nono this is preening smile"

god help you if you dare to have wings

poor tommy, wilbur, sneeg, and tubbo

phil can't help himself alright

do you think he wants to be any sort of protective over sneegsnag?

no!! but he cant stop himself!! sneeg might damage his wings if he keeps flying those super long distances!!! nnnno! carry the bug man!!!

it's weird, he's always had that protective sense over ranboo, too

but ranboo very obviously doesn't have wings, so he doesn't get it...

ranboo

yes ur a peasant

yes ur poor

yes im cooler than u

what r u gonna do about it

the enderdragon's son! partially a dragon, partially enderman, partially human (don't ask, his other mom is a hybrid), all spoiled brat!

given that he has a ton of dragon genes, he's extremely possessive over his stuff and Yes He Does Do The Hoarding Thing

he has a pile of rings and gold chains and necklaces and most of his jewellery hidden underneath his bed

(if you ask him, no, he doesn't)

not to wear

just to Have

one time, fundy stole one (1) bracelet from the hoard and ranboo was sent into a panic for a good 24 hours

he wouldn't leave his cave and kept counting and recounting as if that'd make the missing piece reappear

(when fundy had to give it back because of the guilt, he expected to get his face bitten off)

(instead, he just watched as the prince was flooded with relief, telling him to get the hell out and nothing more)

it's weird, he has so much gold and even a crown, and yet here he is

living with all those people ^^^

truth be told, the enderdragon isn't a very nice dragon

nor is she a very kind queen

nor was the other queen

nor was her son

there was a mutiny in the end, leading to the dragon queen and her wife being killed brutally by the crowd of angered people

they went after their son next, who had ordered executions and worked servants to the bone just as much as they had

they cut off his wings in the middle of the square

he was sure he was going to die until a random person (a peasant) jumped up and yelled at them for publicly torturing a child

but ranboo didn't really catch all of it, given he was delirious from pain

he got to get some stuff quickly and escape with his life

this wasn't too long ago, either, so he's still trying to...adjust...to people talking rudely to him

(he's also trying to adjust to not having wings)

(hence why he hurls himself off the edges of cliffs and then has to teleport to the bottom instead of glide. he keeps forgetting.)

[wreckmetoji]

Fight for your love

A fic in which your boyfriend’s job keeps you from obtaining what you want the most.

↳ Geto Suguru/Reader

content warning. fluff, smut, established relationship, afab reader, oral(f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, breeding kink, profanity

**Minors DNI**

2.5k words

In no way did Suguru think he was a clean, righteous person. He knew many decisions he made weren't the right ones, he knows he's had to hurt innocent people. But the way you looked at him every time he walked through the door made him believe he was. The gentle tender love and care tending to his wounds after a long day of work gone bad, hurting innocent people. You never seemed to mind, never seemed to ask, never seemed to care if the way you kissed his bruised, bloody knuckles spoke what your heart was thinking. Every time he tried to bring up his line of work, knowing there was a good chance one day you might get dragged in despite how hard he tried to keep you separate, keep you secret, you simply shook your head and smiled at him. As long as you're you, I don't care what you do, you'd say. As long as I'm happy with you here and now, I don't care what happens later. Suguru would be lying if he said he didn't come to the conclusion he couldn't live without you right there, right then, the first time you said those words with your blindingly bright smile. Everyone was far from perfect, except you. There was no such thing as perfect, except you– and sometimes, you made him feel perfect too. "I know you can't help it, but," You muttered, tongue poked out between your lips as you tied the bandage around his torso with utmost concentration, "If you're gonna get hurt, try to avoid something this close to your heart." His softened gaze followed your fingers as you gently caressed the bandages above his deep cut, the pain not even registering with how gently, how lovingly you treated him. "After all, if your heart gets hurt, so does mine." He knew, deep down, he didn't deserve you. "I'll try my best, darling." Suguru smiled, hands gently finding your hips, his forehead leaning into your chest as you cradled him from your standing position. There you stayed, slowly, gently swaying in comfortable silence. You made him feel virtuous, as if mere hours ago he didn't commit horrible, unforgivable atrocities, unforgivable and damning sins. This is how most of your evenings together would go, patching him up, dancing around each other in the kitchen as you made dinner together, if he was ever home early you'd watch a movie together. Even if it was rare with the long hours he worked, those were the days he cherished, those were the days that got him through it all. You never asked for more, even though he knew you deserved every second of his time, you deserved the world and the heavens above. What were you if not a goddess, damned to mortality, damned to a life loving him. Suguru held you close as you laid in bed, the rain pattering on the window lulling you both into a comfortable half-asleep daze. He noticed the way you kept some distance, trying not to irritate his fresh wound. "Sugu," Your voice called, urging him to open his eyes and gaze down at you. Your sudden silence intrigued him, and the way your ears went pink intrigued him even more. "What is it, little lamb?" Suguru sounded tired, voice gravelly from a long day. He kissed the crown of your head, rubbing soft circles on the small of your back, urging you to talk to him about what you so eagerly wanted to get out. "Maybe one day–" You paused again, fists balling at his bare chest, "One day, would you want to start a family?" The thought had most certainly crossed his mind, on several occasions. Suguru would regularly daydream about a peaceful life of domesticity with you, a child or two, a nice house in a nice neighborhood with a nice, respectable job. He'd always snuffed the idea, knowing that he probably wouldn't live to see his child grow up properly. Still, though, the way you pressed your cheek into his arm and stared at him with wide, inquisitive eyes had him smiling sadly. "My beautiful angel... Under different circumstances, I wouldn't have to think twice." He didn't want to lie to you, but the frown tugging at your lips had his heart clenching in his chest. "We could go somewhere they can't find you, we could move somewhere warm and sunny." Suguru chuckled at your optimism, though a twinge of sadness was behind it. They would find him, no matter what he did or where he went. He didn't dare say it, he knew your response already, that's just an excuse. "That would be nice, wouldn't it?" Your silence told him everything he needed to know. There wasn't anything he could say, so instead he kissed your forehead, your cheek, your nose, then your lips. There he lingered, sighing gently when your hands moved up to his shoulders, then his neck. Heightened by your saddened state, the way you pulled him closer, fingers brushing through the hair on his neck, thumbs stroking his jawline, was all so desperate. It was your silent plea, your attempt to change a fate already set in stone. "I can't stand to see you sad, little lamb." He smiled against your lips, slowly shifting on the bed until he was hovering over you. Those eyes, the way you looked at him, so wide and clear and swimming with emotion. So pure, so untainted, so good. Everything he wasn't, and everything he strives to be. "I'll make it up to you, darling," He kissed you again, then your chin, then your neck, "I promise." Only when he received a nod of approval did he proceed, gently pulling your underwear off, oh so gently helping you lift your night shirt over your head. Never in the years you'd been together has he grown accustom to just how lucky he is to exist on this world at the same time you did. "You're so beautiful, absolutely perfect. Have I told you this?" Of course he has, but the smile on his face was so cheeky, so mischievous it made you giggle. "Maybe once or twice." Suguru returned your laugh, pulling his hair back into a bun with the hair tie on his wrist, before descending down your body. Every place he stopped, he kissed, nuzzled, nibbled, eliciting a sigh from you nearly every time. The sight of your eyes closing and head tilting back once he reached your core, giving your bundle of nerves a sweet kitten lick, was akin to seeing God. Surely it was the holiest thing he would witness in all his time on this earth. You were, after all, nothing short of an angel. Making himself more comfortable, Suguru gripped your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders. The soft look you gave him, those sweet eyes, your perfect parted kiss-plumped lips... "Beautiful," Was all he whispered into the plush skin if your thigh before parting you with his thumbs, gently kissing, licking, and sucking your sensitive clit. The long whine you emitted only spurred him on, fingers teasing your entrance by touching and squeezing everywhere but where you wanted. Admittedly, it's been a while since the two of you got intimate time together. Either he would come home too late, or too hurt, for the two of you to comfortably do anything. You never seemed to press. "I'm sorry I haven't been taking care of you, little lamb," Suguru replaced his mouth with his hands, thumb swirling circles around your bundle of nerves, while his index and forefinger ever so slowly entered your heat. He set an immediately fast pace, fox-like eyes drinking in your pleasure twisted face. The sweet sounds dripping from your mouth were like music to his ears, the arch of your back from the mattress eliciting a dark chuckle from him. "I know I haven't been the most solicitous boyfriend as of late," His fingers curled inside you at his words, "I hear you in the shower, you know." He kissed his way back up your body, stopping only briefly to flick his tongue across a pebbled nipple, stopping mere centimeters away from your lips. He wanted to bask in your whines and moans for just a moment longer, his personal hymn. "Naughty little thing, never asking for help." Suguru didn't get to tease you for long, your hands finding quick purchase on his cheeks, tugging him down and kissing him with desperate force. Your frenzied, open mouthed kisses were met ten-fold, a slow, low moan coming from him at the uncharacteristic abrasiveness you were displaying. The way your walls clenched around his fingers let him know just how bad you'd been needing him, the whispered I'm cumming against his lips. When your hand came down to palm at his very hard erection outside his briefs was when he decided he'd have to reign you in much tighter than usual tonight. Tonight wasn't about him. His fingers worked in tandem with your heaving chest, every push and pull in sync with your hurried breaths. He had half a mind to pin your arms above your head and fuck you stupid with his fingers, but he couldn't deny you of what you really wanted. "I know you're eager, darling, but be good." He saw the shiver run up your body at his authoritative tone, one he didn't use often. At the same time, he pulled down his boxer briefs and added his ring finger to your dripping cunt. It isn't that he had to, he knew you were already perfectly wet for him, he just loved the way your thin fingers gripped the sheets, the way your head thrashed from side to side. Very briefly, Suguru entertained the thought of a golden band wrapped around his finger as he defiled you with his hands. How beautiful it would look disappearing, reappearing, covered in your slick. It made his cock twitch. The second he removed his sopping fingers from you, he'd lined up the thick head of his cock with your trembling sex, leaning back with his hands on your knees. He could see the surprise on your face, your arm half-way reached to the bedside drawer to get a condom. "I know," He crooned, stroking your knee. Admittedly, the two of you weren't diligent with using condoms when you didn't have to, but he was well aware this was the week you really should be using them, lest you want unexpected surprises. Your teary eyes and beaming smile could put the pearly golden gates of heaven to shame. The way you squealed as he pushed in had his own eyes rolling back, forcing your knees apart further until he had completely buried himself to in your welcoming heat. Having been a while, he had to take a shaky breath before slowly, ever so slowly, pulling out to the tip, pushing back in with a bit more haste. How quickly, and how tightly, you wrapped your legs around his waist nearly winded him, enraptured cries of faster, please, I need you making him groan. "You poor thing, so needy," Suguru barely managed to breathe out, hips moving at a steady pace. The obscene sound of your slick sticking to his hips every time he tenderly fucked into you made him acutely aware of exactly how long its been. Ashamedly aware of how close he was to his climax, Suguru's thin fingers moved between your bodies, sliding in a quick back and forth motion against your clit at an attempt to get you closer, faster. The immediate reaction had his hips stuttering, your gummy walls clenching intensely around him, your impending orgasm pushing him over the edge. He only briefly stopped moving, whispering an apology into your hair as he tenderly flipped your body. Having you lay prone was one of your favorite positions, but it was mostly done to hide the embarrassed pink tint climbing up his neck from your gaze. White seed squished out and dripped down your sex, between your thighs, when he pushed back into you, the feeling alone having you throwing your head back and crying out for him. He continued his unrelenting pace, seeming completely unfazed by his own orgasm. "You like that, hm?" Suguru teased, a hand sliding down the curve of your hip, reaching under you, pressing his palm flat against where he felt himself protruding on your pelvis. "You like getting filled up with my cum, you want me to fuck a baby into you, darling?" His lewd words elicited muffled screams and cries of affirmation, your face buried in a pillow and biting down. Usually, Suguru would save his dirty talk for rough, frustrated, passionate sex, but how badly you needed him, begging him, to fill you up again had his mind hazy. He knew you well enough that you didn't have to tell him you were coming undone. "Such a good girl, you're so– so good, cum for me." Demanding words had you squeezing around his cock, the flutter and spasm of your orgasm urging him to move faster, harder, climbing another of his own release. Suguru was much more vocal this time around, hissing through clenched teeth, muttering sweet nothings and your name and I love you, I love you, I love you so much. Rutting and rolling his hips into you as he coated your walls white, his arm came around your chest and hugged you back against him. He pressed long, searing kisses into the shoulder his chin had been resting on, only pulling out from your messy cum-coated slick once he was sure you were satisfied with how thoroughly he bred you. You tiredly collapsed back into his chest, head turned to lazily gaze up at his equally tired, smiling face. He knew what transpired was irresponsible at best, the weight of parental responsibility already settling in the back of his mind. For now, he would simply entertain the idea. The inquisitive gaze you held had him chuckling, kissing your cheek tenderly, as if that would answer all the questions he could see you wanted to ask him. He never fed you lies, but when he told you everything will be okay, we'll find a way, I promise it sounded almost sincere enough to pass as the truth. Soft strokes of your hair lulled you to sleep, but Suguru found himself wide awake and staring at your beautiful lips, nose, lashes, the curve if your jaw, the dips of your collarbone. He found himself thinking of your words more than he should, knowing what the outcome would inevitably be. He came to the conclusion that for you, he would fight for his freedom. He would fight for you, for a family, for a normal life, somewhere warm and sunny. In this life, in the next life, in the afterlife, he would fight for you and love you with everything he had, his beautiful guardian angel.

[hangovercurse]

Last Night ii// Better Sober

After a show, you and Kells finally get around to the things you wanted to do sober.

Request: “I loved the new fic ‘Last Night’, any chance you’d write a second part where they sleep together sober-ish? If so could you write reader on top riding kells in it?””I just read “last night” (colson) and now I need a smut of their first time after the hangover omg pls 🥺”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), cursing

A/N: Sorry this took so long *_*

Word Count: 2577

part i

Slim and Baze were never going to let you live this down. Once you and Colson had finally built up the strength to stand up, you quickly packed the rest of your things and got on your band’s bus, ignoring the snickers coming from the older men.

“Are you sure you don’t want to ride with us, Y/N? Keep the party going?” Slim asked, jokingly. You sent them a glare as you handed your suitcase to your bus manager, who was in the process of loading everything onto the bus.

“I will end both of you.” You grumbled, walking towards the stairs to board your bus.

Baze laughed, “we’re only joking. We all knew it’d happen eventually.” His dramatic smile combined with your pounding headache and nausea made for a very annoyed Y/N.

“I will say this once, and then never again. Either of you bring this shit up again, I’ll kill you.” You jabbed two fingers towards them. “Now I’m going to take a nap in my bed, on my bus.”

You walked up the stairs, your bandmates giving you puzzled looks as Slim called “love you too, kid!” You threw yourself into your bunk, not even bothering an explanation to your bandmates, the only thing on your mind was sleep.

Not 2 minutes after you’d closed the curtain to shield you from the outside world did it open again. You were laying on your side, back to the curtain to be as comfortable as possible. When the light from the hallway flooded into your bunk, you pretended to be asleep, hoping whoever it was would just go away.

You had no such luck, as seconds later the mystery person was climbing into your bunk, lying beside you. Curious, you turned to see who it was, though you could make an assumption. Finding the sleepy face of none other than Colson Baker, you smiled, turning to lay facing him.

“Your bus is quieter than mine.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you closer to him. “And I like sleeping with you better than sleeping alone.”

You shifted so that he could lay further away from the edge, resting your head on his shoulder, and laying an arm across his stomach. “I don’t mind.” You whispered, eyes closing slowly, “But as soon as we leave this bunk, we’re gonna have a million questions.”

Colson shrugged sleepily, moving your head with his motion. He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “eh, fuck em” but you were already slipping away from consciousness.

The show you played that next night was arguably one of your best, probably due to the fact that Colson was watching you from the side of the stage the entire time. You tried to keep yourself from glancing over at him every few minutes, but between the adrenaline from the show, the smirk on his face, and the fact that you were wearing his shirt made that impossible.

You were sure fans would notice the familiar “Lace Up” shirt, but Colson claimed he “didn’t give a fuck” and he wanted to watch you play while wearing his clothes. You had no problem with it, enjoying the fact that he wanted everyone to know that you were his.

Once your set had finished and you’d thanked the audience, you ran off stage, your concert high rushing through your veins. Colson was getting ready to go on stage, so you figured you’d let him be until after the show.

As you and your drummer walked towards the greenroom, bouncing off each other’s energies, you were snatched away by a set of tattooed hands. “I’m borrowing her for a second.”

You giggled as Colson pulled you behind a cluster of cases, lips finding yours immediately. Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling you up closer to him. “God you are so fuckin’ hot” he mumbled against your lips.

“Don’t you have a show to go do?” You asked, a smirk on your lips.

He rolled his eyes and kissed you again. “You’re gonna watch, right?”

You chuckle lightly, “of course I’m watching. I was gonna go freshen up a little bit because I am soaked in sweat though.” As you spoke his lips travelled to your jawline, kissing up towards your ear. “You’re gonna be late if you don’t stop.” You told him, leaning your head to give him better access to your skin.

“We’ll finish this later.” Though the words came out in a whisper, there was clear dominance in his voice, making you smirk slyly. He moved away from you, hands lingering on your waist. “Keep that shirt on” he mouthed to you as he joined his band, putting his ears in.

You gave him a thumbs up, walking towards your dressing room to clean up as much as possible. The shirt you were wearing was drenched in sweat, but Kells had demanded you keep it on, much to your dismay.

Every time Colson looked side stage, you were standing there, watching him perform. You couldn’t see it, but the hungry look in your eyes had more of an effect on him than playing the set did. All he was thinking about anytime he found your eyes was dragging you to the hotel and fucking the life out of you.

And that’s pretty much the situation you found yourselves in, making out in the backseat of an uber on your way to the hotel. You barely made it through the lobby and into the elevator without his lips on yours, almost too intoxicated by them to care.

When you finally did get to the hotel room, Colson’s lips latched onto yours, pressing you up against the door. You moaned lightly as his teeth grazed over your bottom lip, the sound bringing a smirk to his face.

“Every time I looked over and saw you watching me, all I could think about was fucking you in this goddamn shirt.” When he spoke, his voice came out dark and dangerous, sending chills through your body. His hands moved underneath the shirt you were wearing, cupping your boobs as he reattached your lips.

You gasped as his cold hands made contact with your nipples, massaging them gently. “No bra?” He asked against your mouth, smirking.

“Figured it would make this a little easier.” You said before kissing him again. He hummed approval and continued to fondle your tits. The hands you had placed around his neck pulled lightly at the hair near his neck from pleasure.

His hands moved down your waist until they reached your ass, squeezing the skin through your shorts. He pulled you towards the bed, lips still locked on yours. Taking some initiative, you pushed him down onto the bed, pulling your shorts down to expose your underwear.

Colson threw his shirt off, exposing his infamous tattooed torso. You reached for the hem of the shirt you were wearing, but Colson stopped you. “Keep it on. I wanna think about this every time I see that fucking shirt.”

You let out a slight laugh, “the fucking shirt.” Colson rolled his eyes, pulling you by the elastic of your panties towards him. His hands went to your thighs, pulling them so that you were sitting on his lap, one knee on either side of his torso.

“You’re really lame, you know that?” He asked as you rested your arms on his shoulders. You bit your lip and nodded, pressing your hips further into his lap. His hands ran up the sides of your thighs and to your waist, pausing briefly to squeeze your ass. “It’s kinda hot though.” He mumbled, guiding your hips to roll onto his.

You leaned in, pressing your lips against his in a needy, passionate kiss. You continued to grind against his clothed hips, hands moving to run up and down his abdomen, taking in the muscle under your fingers.

Colson finally got impatient and pulled away from your kiss, gently moving you off of him and standing up. You gave him a confused frown, wondering if you’d done something wrong. Your silent question was answered when he pulled down his pants, leaving him in only his boxers.

The outline of his length through the thin material almost had you drooling. The wetness that had been between your legs since you’d put on his shirt made a reappearance. He turned around and shuffled through his bag, pulling out a foil packet and tossing it on the bedside drawers. “So we don’t forget.” He smiled, hands moving around your waist. His lips met yours briefly, but you had decided you wanted something else. You pulled away, pressing kisses to his jaw instead, travelling down to his neck.

The man chuckled as you took control, your lips finding their way to his collarbone and sucking on the skin between his tattoos, hoping to leave a mark. You continued your trek down his body, stopping just above his waistband to lick the three red X’s that lay on his skin. He threw his head back, “you are going to be the death of me.”

You looked up at him with a hum of agreement, your fingers grasping the waistband of his underwear and pulling them down to expose his hard member. He took in a sharp breath as you lightly stroked his length with your fingertips. Your tongue slipped out from between your teeth to lightly lick his tip, swirling around it. Colson’s grasped your hair, forcing you to look up to him, “don’t be a fucking tease.”

His voice was forceful, demanding. You obeyed willingly, wrapping your lips around his shaft, sucking gently. You heard the man let out a quiet moan of pleasure, encouraging you to take more of him into your mouth. What you couldn’t fit you jerked with your hand, Colson’s hand wrapping tighter into your hair as you did so.

You picked up your pace, eyes flicking up to take in his look of pleasure every so often. His moans were a music to your ears, the thrusts of his hips a work of art. “You feel so good, baby,” his husky voice flooded the room, “touch yourself for me.”

Using the hand that wasn’t pumping his cock to trail down to your panties, you moved them to the side and swiped across your slit. You hummed around his member, his hips jerking into you. “I bet you’re fucking soaked, aren’t you?”

You hummed again in agreement, one finger dipping into your heat, slowly spreading yourself out. Colson yanked your head back, making you look up at him again. “Use your words.”

“So wet for you.” You moaned, adding a second finger into yourself. Colson smirked at your confession, guiding your lips back onto his cock. Your pumps got faster, as did your sucking. The hand on your head pushed you further onto his length, speeding up your pace.

When you felt yourself nearing your release, Colson pulled your head off his member, cradling your face in his hands. He pulled you up lightly, your fingers removing themselves from you. He took your hand and guided it to his lips, sucking your juices off your fingers.

You reached over to the table, grabbing the condom. Your hands moved up Colson’s chest, exploring the skin. He leaned in and pressed a deep kiss to your lips, hands grabbing your waist and pulling you closer to him. You let him pull your underwear down your legs and took advantage of his momentary distraction.

As soon as he stood back up, you turned the two of you around, pushing him down onto the bed. “Oh hell no.” He said, sitting up to try and pull you onto the bed with him.

You gave him puppy dog eyes, toying with the condom wrapper in your hand. “What’s wrong, intimidated by a girl being on top?”

He chuckled, “you think you’re so tough, huh?” You nodded, moving to kneel at the foot of the bed, crawling up his body. “Don’t complain when you get tired.” He leaned back, arms resting behind his head to show he wasn’t going to help you.

“I think you’re scared of not being in control.” You whispered, landing in the position you had been working towards.

Colson scoffed, “I can still be in control from here.” You raised an eyebrow at him, hand reaching out to stroke his length. He tried to bite down his groans, but you knew they were there.

You rolled the condom onto his member, taking in the sight of him below you. “You were saying?” You shifted so that your body hovered above him, lining him up to your entrance. Slowly, you sank down onto him, both of you letting out synchronous moans of pleasure.

His hands moved to your thighs, rubbing up and down the skin. You allowed yourself to adjust before pushing yourself up with your knees and then sinking back down onto his cock. His grip tightened as you moved, trying not to guide you.

You sprawled your hands on his chest, watching his expression as you rode him. You swiveled your hips every once in a while, just to hear his moans. “Fuck.” He growled when you began to move faster, his length filling you up.

Colson’s grasp on your thighs began to lead you up and down, his hips thrusting to meet yours. He was right about one thing; he could still be in control from underneath you. You let out a whine every time he hit the right spot inside of you, your sounds filling the room.

“Fuck baby, you look so good,” he moaned out, looking up to you with your head thrown back and eyes closed in pleasure. “Getting fucked in my T-shirt. Want everyone to know you’re mine.”

You smirked at his words, “I’m all yours,” you whined out, the movement of your hips getting sloppier. One of his hands moved to your clit, rubbing circles onto the bundle of nerves. “Ah, fuck.” You moaned, hips bucking onto his further.

After a few more pumps you were at the edge of bliss, so close to falling off. You could tell Colson was close, his thrusts getting sloppy and his tip twitching inside of you. “You gonna cum, baby?” He whispered; eyes shut in pleasure. You hummed out a response, too indulged in the pleasure that you were so close to.

“Mm, cum around my cock, baby.” His fingers on your clit picked up pace, sending you diving over the cliff and into a pool of euphoria. Electricity spread through your body as your high washed over you. Colson continued thrusting into you, his orgasm following yours. You rode them out together, breaths heavy.

Once his thrusts slowed to a stop you lifted yourself off of his member and fell down beside him. He turned onto his side, eyes wandering your body. “You’re so beautiful.” His voice was breathy and tired, but one of the best sounds you’d ever hear.

You looked up to him, a small smile playing on your face. “Shut up.” You giggled, pushing him back down onto his back. He chuckled, standing up to dispose of the condom before climbing back onto the bed next to you, this time pulling you into his arms. His back leaned against the headboard, arm wrapped around you, with your head laying on his chest.

“Better sober?” You asked with a small chuckle.

“Better sober.”

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Wish Upon a Star

Our childhoods began with the magic that was found within these movies. Whether it be Disney, Pixar, or Studio Ghibli, our love has not once wavered. We’ve grown, and dare we say that we’ve matured, but there’s still a special place in our hearts for our favorite movies.

Except, these movies now have a twist.

We are no longer kids.

Welcome to Wish Upon a Star, where your favorite childhood movie finally grew up.

Disclaimer: The following stories are a combination of SFW, NSFW, or a combination of both.

Wish Upon A Star is collaboration of works containing stories based on some of our favorite movies from Disney, Pixar, and Studio Ghibli.

Writers from both the BTS Fic Hub and BTS Smut Hub servers (founded by @gukyi​​) have come together to write stories for the month of January. While this event is not directly affiliated with these servers, please feel free to check them out!

Name of the Game by @ggukcangetit​​​​

Movie: Anastasia

Starring: Seokjin and Reader

Summary: The Hotel - Strange, The Manager - Far Too Charming, The Situation - Dire, The One in Trouble - You.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 9th.

Two Birds, One Cake: by @pajaritojin​​

Movie: Brave

Starring: Prince Seokjin and Witch Reader

Summary: After Seokjin fails to return his mother to her human state because Y/N gave him the wrong spell, he is forced to release the Queen into the wilderness whilst he tracks down Y/N.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 20th.

That Famous Happy Ending by: @jinpanman​​

Movie: Enchanted

Starring: Seokjin and Reader

Summary: You don't know what you expected when you followed the Prince to Andalasia... but of all things, you didn't expect to fall for him and his kingdom so quickly.

Rating: SFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 21st.

The Medallion Calls by: @pajaritojin​​

Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean

Starring: Captain Seokjin and Governor Reader

Summary: Upon Seokjin’s wash up to shore after months of being lost in a wrecked boat, the town is attacked by a crew of pirates. Kidnapping Governor Y/L/N Y/N, the crew of pirates flee — leaving her friends and Seokjin to rescue her and keep the town at peace.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 29th.

The End of the Fucking World (or: the Alpacalypse) by: @hauntedlilies​

Movie: The Emperor's New Groove

Starring: Seokjin and Reader

Summary: Over the past few years your life has been slowly falling apart. You didn't think it could get any worse — until your father comes home with a talking llama alpaca who claims he's the emperor of a lost civilization. But is he really who he says he is?

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 22nd.

The Ghosts of Daegu Town by: @cremeandsuga​​

Movie: Monsters Inc.

Starring: Ghost Yoongi and Phasmophobic Reader

Summary: For the last 18 years, Min Yoongi had been appointed Resident Ghoul for his Scare Ratings. He managed to scare the life out of everyone…except when your door came down before him.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 24th.

Second Star to the Right by: @thatlongspringnight​​

Movie: Peter Pan

Starring: Yoongi and Reader

Summary: Min Yoongi never believed in magic, but all it takes is a found shadow and one very frustrating girl to turn his world upside down. The real question remains: Will he keep that magic in his heart and choose to stay in Neverland, or will he abandon this magical world and the girl he's grown to love?

Rating: Combo

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 3rd.

Basil & Beliefs by: @cremeandsuga​​

Movie: Ratatouille

Starring: Sous Chef Yoongi and Heir Reader

Summary: When the long lost daughter of Gusteau reappears and gets hired at his restaurant, she is expected to stay quiet and stay out of the spotlight — but her and her server friend Seokjin can’t do anything to stay out of the eyes of the sous chef, Min Yoongi.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 14th.

A Restless Slumber by: @wwilloww​​

Movie: Sleeping Beauty

Starring: Yoongi and Reader

Summary: When one of you is always asleep, spending quality time together becomes easier to do in dreamworld.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 1st.

Coral Subconscious by: @hermosohoseok​​

Movie: Finding Nemo

Starring: Mermaid Hoseok and Mermaid Reader

Summary: When Y/L/N Y/N swims past Hoseok’s reef and saves his mother from the teeth of their terrorizing resident barracuda, he can’t help but feel indebted.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 15th.

Cactus by @hesperantha​​​

Movie: Fantasia

Starring: Hoseok and Reader

Summary: Meeting a stranger at the club turns into an adventure. Starring Mickey!Hoseok, featuring Yensid!Namjoon.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 2nd

Bare Necessities by: @hermosohoseok​​

Movie: Jungle book

Starring: Bear Aspect Hoseok and Adult Mowgli Reader

Summary: After Y/N’s life is threatened by resident Tiger Aspects Yoongi and Taehyung, Y/N is forced to vacate the jungle and leave behind her friends. Along the way, she finds the bear that saved her as a baby.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 27th.

Smutocchio by @jinpanman​​

Movie: Pinocchio

Starring: Hoseok and Reader

Summary: You didn’t mean to fall for the growing dick man.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 13th.

A little less than 101 Meetings to fall in love: by @thatlongspringnight​​

Movie: 101 Dalmatians

Starring: Namjoon and Reader

Summary: Kim Namjoon has seen enough of the world to know two thing, dogs always look like their owners, and he's going to be perennially single. A chance meeting at the park changes at least one of those ideas forever.

Rating: Combo

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 10th.

The Aftermath: by @queridonamjoon​​

Movie: Big Hero 6

Starring: Engineer Namjoon and Friend Version Tadashi Reader

Summary: After Y/N dies in an attempt to save Namjoon, his dreams are nothing more than memories of her and their adventures together — so he builds Y/N prototypes for every scenario, in which he will always be able to save her.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 26th.

One Cube At A Time: by @queridonamjoon​​

Movie: Wall-E

Starring: Cyborg Namjoon and Cyborg Reader

Summary: Namjoon is the only functioning being left on planet Earth — imagine his surprise when he is made aware of a completely different world just a few galaxies away.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 11th.

Otherworldly Lovin’ by @thatmultifandomhoe​​

Movie: Flubber

Starring: Alien Taehyung and Human Reader

Summary: Not only did he crash land into you yard, but he also crashed right into your heart...among other places.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 6th.

In The Doghouse: by @mariposatae​​

Movie: Lady & the Tramp

Starring: Dog Hybrid Taehyung and Dog Hybrid Reader

Summary: After Y/N finds herself in some hot water with Jungkook and her housemates, she must trust from afar as they find a mate for her in a serial monogamist with a knack for knocking up.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 25th.

Bad Stitch 2.0: by @jinpanman​​

Movie: Lilo and Stitch

Starring: Taehyung and Reader

Summary: You and Taehyung finally get the house to yourselves and you’re not going to let it go to waste.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 5th.

Blood from The Emperor: by @mariposatae​​

Movie: Mulan

Starring: Solider Taehyung and Solider/Princess Reader.

Summary: Y/L/N Y/N is the only daughter to The Emperor, and when she escapes her luxurious life in the palace to join the military, Kim Taehyung is the one to discover her.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 12th.

Had it Been Another Day by @ggukcangetit​​

Movie: The Princess and the Frog

Starring: Taehyung and Reader

Summary: When the universe hated you enough to pair you with the most obnoxious guy in your class, for a project that would decide your future but had no such implications for him.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 16th

Fairy Wings: by @ezralia-writes​​

Movie: Tinkerbell

Starring: Taehyung and Reader

Summary: "You should have never crossed the border," he choked out, "I should've known better to stop this before it even began."

Rating: SFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 30th.

Unholy Lightning: by @sunnydelightjimin​​

Movie: How to Train Your Dragon

Starring: Lightfury Hybrid Jimin and Nightfury Hybrid Reader

Summary: Y/L/N Y/N was taught to soar in the clearest of skies and attack in the deadliest situations — crazy how she has a tendency to flip those in her mind.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 17th.

Chasing Waves by @magicalcrwn​​

Movie: The Little Mermaid

Starring: Jimin and Reader

Summary: From a young age, their curiosity grows stronger. For the human princess who has always been interested in the ocean’s secrets, for the merprince who has always been interested in the surface’s life. What would happen once they finally chase the waves to sate their curiosity?

Rating: SFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 18th.

Lava In The Afternoon: by @sunnydelightjimin​​

Movie: The Incredibles

Starring: Immortal Superhero Jimin and Immortal Villain Reader

Summary: Y/L/N Y/N has terrorized the City of Seoul for generations alongside her friends — and Jimin has been tired of fighting her time and time again.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 28th.

The First Snow: by @carinojungkook​​

Movie: Bambi

Starring: Rabbit Aspect Jungkook and Deer Aspect Reader

Summary: When the daughter of The Great Prince is presented before the forest on the day of the First Snow, Jungkook finds himself enamored with the doe eyes filled with fire.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 19th.

The Fourth Unforgivable by @ggukcangetit​​

Movie: The Lion King

Starring: Jungkook and Reader

Summary: Seven years is a long time. Enough to bring about many changes - new laws, dangerous associations, and the return of the one you had forced yourself to forget.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 23rd

Moves Like An Ape, Looks Like a Man by @carinojungkook​​​

Movie: Tarzan

Starring: Tarzan Jungkook, and Animal Researcher Reader,

Summary: When animal researcher best friends Y/L/N Y/N and Kim Namjoon are sent on an expedition to gather information on the gorillas of West Africa, they aren’t expecting anything but — and yet, are met with none other than Jeon Jungkook.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 8th.

Abstract Thought: by @milktbaby​​

Movie: Inside Out

Starring: Emotion OT7 and Student Reader

Summary: When Y/L/N Y/N is leaving her hometown of Busan for university, she is faced with a series of unexpected events that make her realize she’s not where she needs to be.

Rating: NSFW

Being Released to a Theater Near You: January 31st.

You’re never too old to find yourself wishing upon a star.

[drabbles-mc]

Wait I just read the head canon of the “spider in the shower” scenario and they were AMAZING. So spot on😭. I am here to put in a request for this but for the Mayans and if you want to/have time for the rest of the SOA boys. I just loved it soooo much 🥺 you write so well for these characters!!!

Ask and you shall receive! For those wondering, Here is the original Spider in the Shower HC for the SOA boys.

HC for the Mayans Men under the cut! These are a little different set-up-wise since as far as we know the Mayans clubhouse doesn't have dorms. So these all take place in houses or apartments or whatever you picture these boys living in

Bishop:

- he heard you scream and came running from the other end of the house, banging on the bathroom door, “Sweetheart, you alright? Open up!” The two-second delay between him saying that and you unlocking the door felt like an eternity to him. He never heard you scream like that before

- when he walked in he expected to see blood everywhere, or something completely shattered and broken. But nothing seemed out of place. The only thing that seemed off was you, sitting up on the sink counter dripping water while staring at the bathtub.

- “What’s going on?” he looks around the bathroom but can’t for the life of him figure out what’s wrong. He grabs a towel and drapes it around your shoulders as he follows your line of sight.

- “Why the fuck is there a spider in our shower?” you look up at him.

- he wasn’t used to you asking questions so aggressively. He made a mental note that spiders were a tense topic for you. He could only shrug in response before saying, “I didn’t send out invites, you know. Don’t look at me like that,” you could see that he was trying not to smile and failing miserably.

- “Will you kill it, please?” your tone switched from annoyed to pleading. He chuckled as he peered behind the shower curtain, “You sure you don’t want me to just catch him and put him outside?” You raised your eyebrows, “And give him the chance to come back? No fucking way.”

- he didn’t say anything else as he took his boot off and smack it against the wall, effectively putting the spider out of commission. You stayed on the sink out of the way as he grabbed a tissue and cleaned up the mess, throwing the spider in the trash

- he scooped you up off the sink counter and walked you back to your shared bedroom, hiding his laughter by pressing his lips against your bare shoulder. He set you down on the bed and threw you one of his old t-shirts to put on. The two of you looked at each other in silence for a few moments before you finally spoke up, “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.” He laughed as he collapsed on the bed next to you, “I won’t...for now.”

Angel:

- he thought that he was in for a sexy time in the shower with you. He was eagerly slipping out of his jeans and tank top as he watched you hop into the shower, disappearing behind the curtain.

- he peeled off his socks and was getting ready to hop in the shower behind you when the sound of your scream filled the tiny space at his house. He didn't even have time to try and register what was going on as you leapt out of the shower, water still running, and slamming into him. You sent both of you crashing into the sink counter

- “Fuck, Y/N, what’s the matter with you?” he was rubbing his hip where it had just gotten jammed into the corner of the counter

- “There’s a spider in there!” He looked at you, not completely surprised, “So you gotta bodyslam me? C’mon, querida, it can’t be that scary. It’s way smaller than you.” You narrowed your eyes at him, “Then you go kill it!”

- he scoffs, reaching and shutting the water off before peeling the curtain back, “Maybe I will.” He does his signature, cocky little head shake that drives you nuts when it’s directed at you.

- he holds his hand out behind him, “Gimme a tissue.” You set one in his hand, eagerly watching over his shoulder as he catches and crushes the spider inside the tissue. He turns back to you, a proud smirk on his face, “See? All taken care of.” He tosses it in the toilet and flushes it away.

- Once it’s gone for good, he reaches and turns the shower back on. His expression changes completely when he turns back around to you and sees you pulling your rode on. “Where you goin’, querida?” he looks so genuinely confused.

- you shake your head, “I’m not getting back in that fucking shower tonight. Have fun.” You don’t give him the chance to try and change your mind and you can hear him groaning behind you as he shuts the shower back off again, admitting defeat.

Coco:

- swings the door open with an amount of force that you’d never seen, baseball bat in his hand, “Who the fuck is in here?!” he looks frantically around the bathroom, trying to locate whoever it was that made you scream like that.

- it took a second before he noticed that you were standing to the side of him, tucking yourself neatly into the corner of your bathroom. He saw the way your hair was still dripping and quickly looked you over to make sure that you were physically okay.

- “What happened?” his hand was still gripping the baseball bat tightly. You pointed to the shower, “There’s a spider in the shower...”

- he couldn't pretend that he wasn’t confused, “Alright. And?” You scoffed, “What do you mean and?” He shrugged, “I mean and what the fuck made you scream like that? It bite you or somethin’?” You sighed, “No! It didn’t bite me. I just...I don’t want a spider in the shower with me, Coco! You gotta kill it!”

- his grip on the bat finally loosened up a bit. He shook his head, “You had me thinkin’ there was a murderer in here or some shit. You can’t kill it yourself?” You flashed him your best puppy-dog eyes, “C’mon, Coco, please?” He tilted his head slightly, “Whatchu gonna do if this happens when I’m not here?”

- you sighed. You should’ve known that it wasn’t going to be an easy thing with him. The man put holes in people’s heads on a semi-regular basis for the club without question, but asking him to squash a bug was going to spark a philosophical discussion.

- “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Please, Coco, I don’t wanna do it.” It was evident in his eyes that he was contemplating leaving you to deal with the problem on your own. But he was soft for you and couldn't follow through on it. With a sigh, he climbed into the tub and stomped the spider with no hesitation before washing it down the drain.

- he kissed your forehead, “Next time you gotta do it. Survival of the fittest, Ma.” You rolled your eyes, “My knight in shining armor.” He turned around and flashed you the cocky smile that made you weak in the knees every time, “Damn right.”

EZ:

- the sound of your yell filled the entirety of the small trailer. He jumped up off the bed and made his way to the small pocket of space that passed for his bathroom and was instantly bombarded by you running into him. The front of his shirt instantly became soaked, absorbing all the water from your body.

- “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he gripped you gently but firmly by the outsides of your arms. You shook your head, “This trailer is not big enough for the three of us, Ezekiel.” His eyebrows furrowed, “Three of us?” You nodded, “Yea. You, me, and your hairy eight-legged friend in there,” you gestured towards the bathroom.

- that was when he realized what happened. He smiled down at you before he thought better of it and you pushed his chest, “It’s not funny!” He nodded, forcing a serious expression as he held his hands up in surrender, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

- “Want me to take care of it?” the smirk was already reappearing on his face. You huff, “No, I want the three of us to learn how to live in harmony together.”

- “I know you’re being sarcastic,” he chuckled as he shuffled past you to get to the bathroom, “But that would make for a good story.”

- you were shaking your head as you grabbed one of his shirts to wear, sitting down on the bed as you watched him try to maneuver around in the small space to kill the spider.

- “Sorry, buddy,” EZ spoke to the creature as he got ready to squash it with a tissue, “but she said that we can’t be friends.” You rolled your eyes, “You’re not about to make me feel bad about this, EZ.”

- he reemerged from the bathroom, tossing the tissue into the garbage can, “Sounds like a guilty conscience, to me.” You grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, “You’re the worst.” He laughed as he peeled off his now-soaked shirt, “Is that any way to thank the guy who just saved you?”

- you pressed your lips into a thin line, staying silent for a moment before grabbing the other pillow and throwing it at him, “Thank you.”

Creeper:

- 100% comes running into the bathroom with his shotgun in his hand after he hears you scream

- has never heard you express that kind of fear before and definitely think that someone was hiding in the shower and had a knife to your throat or something

- when he sees you perched up on the closed toilet lid he is confused to say the least. Your hair is dripping and you hadn’t even bothered to grab a towel when you jumped out of the shower

- still not completely sure what’s going on, he refuses to completely set down his gun, instead letting it dangle by his side as he looks you over, “Hey, Mama, what’s going on in here?”

- not getting up from your perch, you point to the shower, “You gotta kill it, Neron.”

- “Kill what?” he rips the curtain back but doesn’t see anything at first

- you point aggressively towards the corner of the shower where all the body wash and shampoo bottles are stacked, “The spider!”

- “The spider?” he fights back a laugh as he rests the shotgun across his shoulders, arms dangling over it, “You screaming like that over a spider?”

- “Will you kill it already?!”

- he hands you a towel to wrap around your shoulder, chuckling as he sets his gun down outside the bathroom door. You try to tell him that he might still need the gun and he laughs before stepping into the tub to locate and kill the spider.

- very nicely, he asks you to get off the toilet so he can flush it away down the toilet. You jump up, standing at the very edge of the doorway as you watch him flush it away. He shuts the toilet lid and turns back to you, an amused smile on his face

- “Didn’t know you were afraid of spiders, baby,” he walks over and hugs you, kissing the soaking wet hair on top of your head, “I’ll keep a closer eye out for them.”

- “You better,” you grumble as you lean into his chest, “Or I’m gonna start using the shotgun.”

Hank:

- does not want to burst into the bathroom while you’re in there, feeling like he’s invading your privacy despite the fact that you screamed for him hardly a moment before

- gently knocked on the door and you responded with what he could only describe as a bark as you told him to get in the bathroom now

- once he was halfway inside the door, you pulled him completely in by his hand. He was trying not to stare at you but it was difficult to pry his eyes away from you, not used to seeing you standing around so exposed, and drenched from your shower

- “You gotta kill it, Hank.”

- he raised his eyebrows, “Kill it? Kill what?” You nod towards the shower, “There’s a spider in the shower!”

- all the tension that he was previously holding in his shoulders disappeared. He remembered at one point you’d mentioned that you hated spiders, but he didn't think that you really hated them that much. He knew how much you loved your long, hot showers.

- “I thought you were hurt, Y/N,” he was trying to sound bothered but you could see the smile fighting its way onto his face.

- “Um,” you scoff, “I could’ve been hurt. That thing is the size of a small dog.”

- he chuckled and shook his head, “Alright, alright,” he gently ushered you through the doorway, “Go get changed and I’ll take care of it for you,” he watched you walk towards the bedroom, “Better call the dog warden just in case!”

Taza:

- he heard you calling for him and had no idea what to expect. You weren’t the type to yell across the house for things that you needed.

- when he got to the bathroom, you were standing outside the doorway, towel lazily wrapped around you as you stood and waited for him. With every passing second he became more confused.

- once you told him that there was a spider in the shower and you couldn't go back in the bathroom until it was dead, a smile took over his face and he couldn't help but to laugh

- Che “Catch & Release” Romero

- you were upset that he was going to give the spider a chance to come back and try again to ambush you in the shower, but you knew it was an argument that you weren’t going to win with him.

- within a minute he had it trapped in a cup, covering the opening with his hand as he walked it back through the house to release it.

- he came back to find you sitting cross-legged on the bed, still wrapped in your towel. He tried to sit next to you but you pulled away from him, scooting farther down the bed.

- “What is it, mi amor? Hm?” there was a small, knowing smile on his face as he asked you the question. You huffed, “I don’t want you to touch me with your spider hands!”

- he laughed, “I only touched it with this hand,” he held up his right hand before reaching to caress your face with his left, “So this hand is still safe for you.”

Gilly:

- is under the impression that you are being dramatic about something when you call him into the bathroom for an emergency

- he walks in all cocky, expecting you to have some weird, little favor to ask of him

- he wasn’t thinking that he was going to open the door and nearly cause you to fall over in the process. He catches you, but barely, your dripping skin sliding in his grip.

- “Fuck, what happened in here?” he saw the water all over the floor where you jumped out of the shower

- “You have a spider in your shower!” you pointed frantically. He shook his head, as if he should’ve known that it would be something like that, “So? Shoot it with the showerhead.”

- you give him an offended look, “You shoot it with the showerhead! I don’t want to be anywhere near that thing.” He laughed and pulled the curtain to the side and looked around for the creature in question.

- gets halfway through some smartass remark before seeing the spider and jumping back himself, “Fuck!” 

- your fear would be momentarily outweighed by the satisfaction of seeing Gilly eat his words. You cross your arms over your bare chest, “Just shoot it with the showerhead, baby.”

- you can’t hear too clearly what he’s saying as he grumbles, sliding the boot off of his foot before slamming it down on the floor of the shower, crushing the bug in the process. He would deny it if anyone asked him about it after the fact, but you definitely heard him let out a sigh of relief once he lifted up the boot and saw that the spider was dead

Riz:

- is full of worry as he rushes to the bathroom

- he walks in and sees you standing, leaning back against the sink counter, water dripping off your body onto the floor. His initial instinct is to try and take care of you, grabbing a towel and trying to wrap it around your shoulders.

- “You gotta kill the spider, Riz,” you were completely ignoring the soft gestures he was trying to give you.

- “Wh-what?” he was thoroughly confused, still trying to drape the towel around your shoulders. You grabbed the towel from him, breaking his singular concentration, “There’s a spider in your shower, Riz. You gotta kill it.”

- “Is that what made you scream?” he gently wiped some of the water off of your cheek, “It’ll probably leave you alone if you wanna finish your shower, hermosa.” You turn and look at him, dumbfounded, “Do you...do you shower when you know there’s a spider in there with you?” He shrugged, “We just don’t bother each other.”

- you couldn't believe what you were hearing, “How long have you known there’s a spider in there?” He could sense that he was in hot water already but he couldn't force himself to lie to you, “I mean, I don’t know if it’s always the same spider but--” You couldn't listen to any more of what he was about to say, “Kill it, Michael. Please.”

- he grabbed a second towel and threw it down on the floor to soak up some of the water that you’d dragged out of the shower with you, “Okay, okay. Whatever you want, querida. Go dry off, I’ll take care of the spider.”

- as much as you wanted to be as far away from the spider as possible, you stayed, “I wanna make sure you actually get rid of it.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he reached and shut the shower off. He saw it crawling up onto the lip of the tub and with one smooth motion he crushed it underneath the toe of his boot.

- “All better?” he turned back to you. You tapped your finger against his chest, “No more letting bugs be guests in our shower. I’ll leave. I’ll move out.”

Bonus- Nestor (because i love him):

- he swung the door open and was met with the sight of you standing on top of the closed toilet lid. Instantly he felt like whatever the situation was, was above his paygrade. The shower was still running and water was all over the floor.

- he held his hands out to help you down, “Get down from there. You’re gonna fall and crack your skull.”

- “Better than letting that thing in there kill me!” it was dramatic, but you didn't care. His brows furrowed in confusion, “What thing? Where?” You pointed to the shower, “There’s a spider in the shower, Nes!”

- the expression on his face let you know that he felt that it was far too early in the morning to be dealing with this level of nonsense. He ran his hands down his face before holding them out to you again, “Please get down off the toilet, Y/N.” You shook your head, “Not until you kill the spider.”

- with a deep sigh, he turned the water off in the shower and pulled the curtain to the side. He scanned the tub for a minute before finally finding the threat. He wouldn't admit it to you, but he understood why it freaked you out--it was a big fucking spider.

- not thinking better of it, he picked your slide up off the floor and slammed it down onto the spider, crushing it on the bottom of your shoe. You whined, “Why’d you have to use my shoe?” He turned back to you, his expression painfully neutral, “The spider is dead, isn’t it?” he held his hands out yet again, “Now please get down from there.”

- you placed your hands in his and let him help you down, instantly wrapping your legs around his waist so that he was forced to hold you. It got a laugh out of the both of you as he caught you, holding you up with ease.

- “You owe me new slides, you know,” you chuckled as he carried you to the bedroom. He laughed, “Only if you promise not to climb on the toilet anymore.”

[sweetestlamb]

Let's Play A Love Game

Author's note: this one is rated 😈 so yeah. There was originally more angst in my mind but once I got to that part I was over it lol I'm the worst at angst I much rather make it naughty. It's more rushed than I wanted but I don't really have time to write 10k fics right now. But hopefully soon.

Summary: it's just pretend, right?

She hadn't meant to push the event in the corner of her mind until she forgot about it completely, so much so that when the e-vite showed up in her inbox she stared at it in wide eyed shock not even noticing Mi-Seon creeping up behind her.

"It's already time for that? I usually know it's coming because you start buying expensive dresses you can't afford and crying at your credit card bill. Maybe country life has really changed you hm?"

False. Inaccurate. Utterly wrong to the every core.

She lets out a shrill scream letting her head fall painfully on her desktop.

"I'm an idiot! Just kill me now, I deserve it." She has nothing to wear, okay the mountain of boxes in her living room, bedroom and some hidden in the linen closet beg to defer but none of that is worthy of this event. The annual dentist convention in Seoul, it's a week long getaway. It's meant to be an opportunity to build connections and attend professional learning classes, but that has long been abandoned. Now it is a fashion show and chance to show off your success and this year more than ever she has to impress everyone. They all look down on her and her cute little practice. Those judgemental snarky bitches.

"Do we have anymore patients?" She absently asks her best friend, only friend already getting up and walking away.

"No that was the last one. Do you want to call it a day?" She doesn't give a verbal reply lost in her phone and the disease that is online shopping, in the span of three minutes she has already added seven dresses to her cart.

"Chief Hong is going to have a long day."

It's just as Mi-seon says the next day the nosy know it all shows up glaring at her over the handful of packages in his arms.

"Don't tell me you're doing this again. What more could you possibly have to order? How much things does one woman need?" His voice is an air warmer than the last time they were in this very same position, but she tries not to think too hard about it. Their relationship is too confusing these days, as temperamental as the sea.

"Are delivery men allowed to complain this much when they're doing a job they are getting paid for?" She snarks back, snatching her packages from his arms with a huff. Ignoring the grin on his face as she disappears into her house.

"That better be all you order. I'm not coming back."

He comes back. At least six more trips, more boxes each time on the last day he doesn't simply leave after making his delivery.

"I'm coming in for tea because of you I've been working too hard." She squeaks indignantly as he pushes past her, their shoulders brushing in the tight space of the doorway.

She should wait until she doesn't have an audience but she's too impatient so while he's making the tea in her kitchen (so rude and intrusive), she starts to open a few boxes pulling out the contents. Dresses, blouses, shirts, hair accessories, lipsticks in all shades and hues, and of course shoes; heels, flats and everything in between.

"Your house looks like a department store." She jumps at his voice glancing up at him, almost laughing at the hedgehog mug that he's drinking out of that Mi-seon gave her as a joke. Leave it to him to pick the most ridiculous mug.

"Hurry up and go so I can try everything on." She starts to take the objects out and organize them, putting together possible outfits lazily.

"Why not have a fashion show?" He slurps loudly at the tea, sighing and smiling down at the warm beverage. Acting like he's never had tea before, such a plebian.

"A fashion show?"

"Yeah, model all that", he motions to the new boxes littering her bedroom floor, "and I'll let you know what looks good."

She scoffs, loudly looking at his lackluster outfit; a simple white tee tucked into dark cargo pants with suspenders.

"What do you know about fashion?" She replies meanly, despite the little voice in her mind that reminds her that while his outfits are more practical than fashionable there is something distracting about the way his shoulders fill out his shirts and the way his long legs sit in his pants.

He shrugs looking down at himself, "I'm the town handy man I have no need to look good. But I'm still a man I can tell you what I think looks good on a woman."

Oh. It's a nonchalant statement said with no real heat but the implications make her skin warm up, she's never once thought that he saw her as a woman; nor considered looking at him like a man. (Lies.)

"I--why woul--why?" She stutters through an answer, tongue heavy in her mouth. He looks back nonplussed, sitting down pointedly on her couch.

"Never took you for the shy kind. You growing bashful now Ms. Dentist?" His eyes twinkle with mischief and she knows that she's being played but she wants nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his face. Slamming her room door, she pulls off her casual house clothes and grabs the first thing that catches her attention- a buttery yellow dress that grazes her knee, pairing them with white heels and a high messy bun. A swipe of lip tint completes the look and she confidently opens her room door.

Du-sik is staring aimlessly at his phone and doesn't notice her reappearance at first, so she coughs loudly folding her arms and when his eyes land on her, a chill runs down her spine at the look that lands on her body. It's been a long time since a man looked at her in this way, his eyes are undressing her even though he was the one who implored her to dress up in the first place. She hates it. At least she should hate it. But she can't ignore the satisfaction that washes over her at his dumbfounded look, that smug look obliterated by her very first look.

"Well?" She pushes harder, twirling to give him the full look. His gasp is loud behind her, she knows exactly why. The deep revealing plunge that travels all the way to the small of her back. There's no way she would wear this to the convention much too suggestive but that's her business.

"Wher-" his voice cracks and this time she can't contain her smile, dimples flashing now at her clear affect on him, clearing his throat he tries again, "Where exactly are you going again?"

She hums turning back around, gleeful at the vibrant blush on his cheeks. So he is just a man after all.

"A dentist convention." She answers cheekily and he guffaws loudly, eyes narrowing at her like he knows exactly what she's trying to do. They stare at each other for a long moment and she ultimately breaks the stand still, realizing what's happening. It feels a lot like flirting.

Collecting herself, she barrels back into the room.

"What the hell are you doing?" She whispers to her reflection, face too flushed for her liking.

A hard knock at the door pulls her from her self chastisement, "You didn't even wait for my rating."

She sighs loudly covering her face in embarrassment at her own action. She doesn't even have alcohol to blame this time.

"I don't care. This was stupid, let's stop."

Of course he ignores her.

"I liked it. But it's too...sexy for convention. You should wear that for someone special. I doubt anyone with a beating heart would be able to resist you."

What the fuck.

This isn't who they are, when did they become comfortable enough for conversations like this? They despised each other, right? Confused and annoyingly flattered, she peels the dress off her body trying her hardest not to think about the fact that only a door separates him and her naked body.

"I would love to see the others. But I have to go, but if you want my opinion. Red is definitely your color."

"What?" She replies, but she can hear the too loud click of the front opening and then closing and just as capriciously as he arrived, he leaves. 

Burying something that feels a lot like disappointment she flops onto her bed, head fuzzy like its been wrapped in cotton.

"What is going on?"

They don't see much of each other the next day and it's unusual given how much they see each other on a regular basis but she refuses to think about it or even consider that he's avoiding her. He's just busy and she doesn't care anyway, they have nothing to do with each other.

The convention is in two days now, she has her overnight bag packed with all her new purchases and the messages have been pouring in their group chat. She's mostly chosen to ignore them but on a whim she decides to check what they're so excited about, only to feel her stomach drop.

Why isn't Hye Jin answering?

Maybe she's busy with her mystery man 😉

Oh! She has to bring him, we need to interrogate him!

Yoon Hye Jin don't pretend you don't see these messages!!

That she had forgotten about.

"Why did you tell them that he's interested in you? Has living here altered your brain, you idiot." She berates herself.

"Who's interested in you? Why are you an idiot?" Mi-seon looks curious from the doorway, without waiting for an invitation she hops onto the bed with two cans of beer. She grabs one, drinking it in a flash.

"Oh it's that kind of night." Mi-seon says excitedly running to grab more beers.

"So let me get this straight, you told them that Chief Hong is interested in you and that he's been chasing you but you're not interested?"

She nods meekly, wishing the floor would swallow her up.

"Why did you lie?"

That's the brunt of the issue, she's a liar. She should have sent her initial message and told them that there was nothing between them but how could she when they were all calling him handsome and acting like she finally did something right? She'd spent that entire dinner feeling like her teenage self on the outside looking in, wanting nothing more than to be someone worthy of being included.

"I know I should have told the truth."

"Yes, you should have told them that you're interested in him too."

Huh.

Time stops as she processes the words that her best friend just uttered. There is static in her head as she tries to make sense of it.

"What are you talking about?"

Mi-seon looks at her unimpressed.

"You can both keep lying to yourself but the rest of us aren't as stupid. You're both interested in each other. It's mutual."

She wants to ardently deny the accusation but the words are caught in her throat and all she can manage are refusing sounds.

"You've been wearing red all week." Mi-seon says accusingly and she jumps up in huff, "So what? I'm allowed to wear colors!"

"You hate wearing red. You said it makes your skin look too pale. You hardly ever wear it. So color me surprised when I learned that red is the favorite color of a certain part timer."

That damn town chat. There has to be a way to get Mi-seon out of it. Maybe it was a mistake letting her live here. She was learning too much.

"Don't even bother to deny it. I won't believe anything you say. But I think you should ask him to go with you, you'll get some time alone to figure this out."

There's nothing to figure out. They are..... acquaintances who can admit that the other is vaguely attractive at times. His face isn't all that bad and she's pretty, so it's natural that there is tension at times, like he said they were still humans.

So she doesn't tell him about her fib, pretending everything is fine until it's the day of the convention and her anxiety has all but smothered her and her hands have a slight tremble in them as she starts to drive.

"It's going to be fine. Everything will be okay." She doesn't believe a word she's saying to herself, her heart is thumping in her heaving chest. She doesn't want to go alone. Convincing Mi-seon to leave was a failed endeavour, her and that police officer becoming inseparable. She knew what that smile meant when her best friend had realized that she would have the house to herself. She could barely get a word in as Mi-seon started frantically shaving her legs then pushed her out of the bathroom to "shave her wild cat".

With a sigh she starts driving, the car too quiet despite what she'd told Du-Sik and the Gongjin grannies. Uncharacteristically she turns on the radio, kpop blaring from the speakers. She recognizes the tune, never before has something as mundane as butter seemed so interesting but the kitchen essential was given new life by the song. She bops her head to the catchy beat, trying to ignore the fact that she's driving to the lion's den.

Some time later, she pulls into the hotel a valet already coming over to get her car. Grabbing her overnight bag, she exits the car handing her keys to the waiting hands of the valet.

Everyone is here and none of them had come alone, she was the only one without a plus one. They haven't noticed her yet so she watches as they all laugh at a joke she can't hear, unnecessarily stroking at their husband's chests as if to show off their exorbitantly priced wedding rings. Everything was always a competition here.

She shouldn't have come. Their was nothing about her life that they would be envious of. She was going to make a fool of herself. Impulsively she starts stepping back but it's too late, Hong In-A spots her and points her out and immediately all eyes are on her, they all start walking over to her and she wants nothing more than to run far, far away. Get on a bus and go to the beach and never see any of them ever again. But she's no longer a child, no longer that scared little girl; worked too hard to shed that skin.

Fortifying herself she puts on a fake smile. Ready for war.

"Hye-Jin ah, there you are. We were beginning to think you wouldn't come. You never responded in the group chat." Ye-Ri states with an attitude, looking around her as if searching for someone and eyes brightening when she sees no one. "Did you come alone?" This makes all of them perk up, looking around like chickens with their heads clucking. She swallows the shame the question elicits, "Who would I be with? I told you in already, it's not like that."

They all look at her with pity, it makes her want to slap them all across the face. Who were they to make her feel like shit, she didn't need anyone that didn't make her pathetic.

Finally one of the husbands cracks the awkward tension by introducing himself, she tries her best to ignore the pervasive way his eyes run down her body. Instinctively she crosses her arms, feeling naked under his stare. Nobody else notices her discomfort and after all the introductions, they all walk away as if she's no longer worth their time.

Lump in her throat she walks into the hotel, determined not to show them that they've gotten under her skin.

There's a scheduled lunch and she tries to find a new table but Sung-Mi waves her over and she doesn't see anyone else she recognizes or wants to sit with.

He hadn't been wrong, she has no friends besides Mi-seon.

"You were looking around, were you looking for someone? Are we not good enough to sit with?" The question is asked with a bite and sneer as if the idea is laughable that she would ever be better than any of them.

She swallows her pride, "No nothing like that. I was merely looking around."

Sung-Mi looks satisfied as if putting her in her place has righted her world.

They begin a conversation that completely excludes her, regaling drama that she knows nothing about and doing nothing to bring her up to date or invite her to join. It's the polar opposite of her experience in the countryside and with shocking clarity she realizes that she wishes she were there, it's only been a few hours but she misses it. Nobody looks down on her there, no usually she's the only doing that she notes with shame.

"I'll find the restroom." She says to no one because none of them are paying her any mind except the husband with the wandering eyes and she would much rather not have that attention.

Thankfully the bathroom is empty and she has to stop herself from splashing water on her face, her make-up was done perfectly it would be a waste to ruin it. Pushing her hair behind her ears she takes a deep breath and then another until her head is clearer, the noise lessening.

"It's only a day and a night. You've suffered far worst."

With that lacking pep talk she exits the bathroom, almost colliding into a wall. Wait, no it's just a person- a chest to be specific. She looks up ready to apologize when a familiar face stops her in her tracks.

"What are you doing here?" She stares flabbergasted at him, more dressed up than she's ever seen him. In a white suit with a white vest, the tee-shirt peeking under the only thing that feels like him to her. And his white sneakers. She can't hide her surprise at his sudden appearance and without thinking she starts to pull him to the side, to avoid being seen but she's not fast enough and soon they are swarmed by her colleagues, before she even has a chance to talk to him.

"Aren't you the man from the picture?" Yoo-Jin asks blushing way too much for a married woman if her husband's cold stare means anything.

"The picture?" Du-sik replies, clearly confused.

"You're the guy that's chasing after her. She told us that you liked her and you were courting her." Sung-Mi answers for her, she wants to vanish. It would be better if she had never existed. Even non-existence would be better than this embarrassing moment. "I got a picture of you two last time, when you followed her."

His eyes ping-pong between the group and her and she realizes this is his chance to ruin her. After everything she's done, all her rude comments and snobby remarks about the town and people he cares for so much, this is his chance for revenge. He can laugh and deny any feelings for her, tell them all that she's a liar and he's never been interested in her, not even once. This is what is going to happen. She prepares herself for the fall out, surely after this she won't be able to show her face in Seoul again.

He starts to laugh and her stomach tightens, her palms are so sweaty.

Here it goes.

"Oh I guess she wanted to keep me a secret."

Wait. What. That doesn't sound like denial.

"We're together now. I finally bulldozed those walls and made her mine. Nice to meet you all I'm Hong Du-sik, Hye-Jin ah's boyfriend."

Her eyes widen as he bows and starts to shake hands with the husbands, the one that stared at her looking disappointed. Their handshake goes on for a second too long, eventually with the latter pulling away with a pained look. She's too confused to consider what that means.

"And you were so cold earlier saying you had no one. Did you want to make a fool of us?"

He answers for her, "It's nothing like that, my honey is still getting used to us. I'm sorry I'm so late I had something to take care of."

Her head is spinning too fast to keep up with everything happening and she's grateful when he excuses them and guides her outside with a large hand on her hip.

Fresh air is much appreciated and she takes in huge heaps of it as soon as they're free.

Then reality crashes down on her.

He knows about her lying.

He had called her bluff.

But he didn't out her.

"Why didn't you tell them the truth?" She finally manages to say, head still reeling.

But instead of answering he's staring at her legs, then slowly his eyes swivel upward cross her thighs curving around her hips, past her breasts (a bit too slow there) before moving to her collar and settling on her face.

"You look great."

She feels the heat rushing to her face. What was he doing to her?

It hadn't been in purpose but she finds herself in red again, an a line dress with criss crossing straps over her shoulder and a middle slit. It was conservative without being too formal or professional. She'd felt comfortable in it but now seeing that look on his face, comfort is the last thing she feels.

He was distracting her and she couldn't afford that with those harpies inside waiting for her downfall. They needed to get back on track.

"What are you doing here?" She tries again, but he responds with his own question, "Why did you tell them that I was chasing you?"

"It was a mistake. They thought we were together and I just....said that for no reason." It's half the truth.

"They don't seem like your friends. You looked like you needed someone on your side, so I just found myself saying we were together for no reason."

She looks at him blankly, heart pounding now. In her moment of weakness instead of kicking her, he'd lended a helping hand. What kind of person did it make her for expecting the former?

"So what now?" She asks still in disbelief that he's here and that he'd told people that there were dating, she would be angry and offended later that they had readily believed it. Perhaps it didn't seem too farfetched now with him looking like that right now.

"Well, don't look but they're watching us through the glass."

This time she finds herself turning to look and he's the one that has to stop her, he does so by suddenly grabbing her hand and tugging her into his body. She squeaks at the collision. Leaning down so his lips are level with her ear, he speaks, "We can give them a show. I'm happy to be your pretend boyfriend."

Why?

She yearns to ask him why he's willing to go this far for her? Why was he even here when she had never told him where the convention was taking place? But his words were hot on her ear and she's tired of being their source of entertainment so she nods looking up at him, "Just this once. I'm going to lean on you. Let me borrow your eraser and copy your homework."

He stares before a blinding smile graces his handsome face.

"Let's go then." His hand is heavy on her waist as he walks back towards the hotel, taking his role very seriously it seems.

He fits in perfectly. Able to talk about a plethora of topics to anyone he's introduced to and even she's impressed by him. Be it travel, philosophy or poetry he seems well versed in everything things that even she is ignorant to and it makes her regret the way she looked down on him before, he was anything but a country bumpkin.

She leaves him to his conversation to get a drink, a whiskey on the rocks. Needing something hard tonight.

Not that. Down brain.

"Yoon Hye Jin? I would recognize that face anywhere."

Twisting to face the voice, she sees a familiar face- old classmate. Rung Do-Bae, they weren't anything more than classmates despite his many, many attempts.

His eyes sweep over her hungrily. She swallows her drink, painting on a shallow smile.

"Sunbae, how nice to see you here."

Invading her space he grabs her hand, "There is no need for such formalities. You can just call me by my name, Hye Jin ah."

As if she ever would.

Gently she tries to extract her hand but he won't let go and she doesn't want to make a scene.

Suddenly she's warmed by a body pressing into her, she knows who it is without even looking, her body relaxes immediately.

"Sorry I got lost in conversation honey. Who might this be? Another friend of yours?" He thrusts his right hand out and Do-Bae has no choice but to release her hand to return his handshake. Scarily enough she's starting to become used to his nickname, barely reacting to him using it again.

"Yes, this is my sunbae from school. Sunbae this is Hong Du Sik my....."

She knows that this is all an act, they were doing this to help her but she can't bring her tongue to form around the word, boyfriend.

"Her boyfriend." He finishes for her, pulling her tighter to his body.

But Do-Bae looks suspicious now.

"Boyfriend? I thought you were still single. You never changed your status on SNS. I've checked."

"Why are you so curious about that?" Du-sik challenges in return, doing a great job of sounding like a jealous boyfriend. She's almost even convinced.

"Hye Jin ah and I have always had a very special relationship. Beyond that of a hoobae and sunbae. Isn't that right?" He directs the last bit to her and she feels Du-sik stiffen next to her, seemingly believing these lies. So she clears that up.

"I have no idea what you're referring to honestly. We have never had anything that would constitute as a "special" relationship. I would appreciate if you didn't spread such lies, especially to my boyfriend. Enjoy the rest of your night."

She tugs Du-sik away, not waiting for a reply from the other man. The conversation was over anyway.

When they get far enough he speaks, "You have a lot of admirers."

She raises an eyebrow at the non-sequitur.

"Are you surprised?"

He brushes a hand across her cheek, making her freeze.

"No. It makes sense."

She blinks slowly before laughing, it sounds fake even to her ears.

"You should have been an actor. Your acting skills are incredible." He doesn't laugh, doesn't move before they're pulled into another conversation and she tries not to think about how tightly his body is pressed against her own.

"How is he in bed? He hasn't left you alone all day, I bet it's passionate." As soon as lunch had ended they had invited her to a spa, she'd considered saying no but she knew they would talk about her even if she wasn't there so it was best to at least know what they were saying.

Du-sik looked sad to see her go, but she told herself that she wasn't good at reading his faces. They hardly knew each other.

"I can't remember the last time I had a passionate night of sex. Kids and a full time job, leave no time for that. I'm pretty sure he's cheating on me and I'm too tired to even care." Sung-Mi confesses and she's shocked when the others nod in agreement instead of threatening to castrate him, as she'd done when Mi-seon told her about her ex boyfriend cheating.

"I have no complaints. He's... attentive. He's always touching me and pushing his way into my space. He's gentle but passionate, and I like...that he's so much bigger than me." She knows she should stop, this is definitely taking the lies too far. But that night bleeds into her thoughts, making everything she's saying feel true. He'd been so gentle with her, those huge hands cupping her face. She wondered how they would feel on other parts of her body.

"Damn. Look at you getting horny just from remembering. I'm so jealous."

Jealous. There were envious of her, it was all she'd been hoping for but the happiness she expected to erupt never comes. Instead she feels cheap, like she'd used Du-sik for her own benefit. She had tainted that night. This wasn't what she wanted.

As the day had gone on she found herself looking at him too much, he'd come all the way just for her and regardless of her brain trying to minimize that, it was huge. He hated snobby people like them who based a person's worth in their monetary success and yet he put on a smile and chatted with everyone, letting them mock his way of life and call people like him useless dreamers. All while she did nothing to defend him and drank wine, happy that they were being accepted.

He was the perfect gentleman all day and he was getting nothing in return for this. It was all just to help her.

Would a friend truly go this far to help? Was she being naive or was it like Mi-seon said, was she lying to herself?

"I'm such an idiot."

Without another word, she flees the sauna rushing to the locker room and changing back into her clothes. Nobody follows her because they aren't her friends. Why had she wasted so much time trying to impress these people who aren't even truly happy in their own lives?

The drive back is long, and she doesn't know what she's going to say but she knows that she's tired of being scared.

Leaving the key in the car she rushes past the valet, into the hotel elevator pressing their floor and waiting impatiently.

It takes three tries to get into their hotel room but once the door opens, he's right there. Sitting in the seat by the window reading a book.

"You're back early. I thought you would be gone until three?" He looks up, dog earring his book and giving her his full attention. Her heart skips a beat.

"Why did you agree to do this for me? Why go through all this trouble for me?"

It's the same question he's been asking himself since he first met her. Why was he was interested in her and why did he keep wanting to save her?

It was the desire that led to him being here.

He had accidentally overhead Mi-seon talking to Eun Chol about being worried about her, the convention was overnight and everyone would be bringing someone and she'd be all alone. The thought of her alone and isolated, made him race to her without a plan. Only stopping at a store to buy his outfit so he would fit in with her crowd, he'd spent more in that shop then he usually did in a week. But it was worth it for her.

It was a miracle that she hadn't questioned his presence more, he knew it was shameless and deceiving but none of this felt like pretending to him. His jealousy had been real, he'd had to strangle the urge to kick the pervert husband with the wandering eyes and then the insistent sunbae who wouldn't take a hint. She was a vision in the red dress and it wasn't a surprise that men found her enchanting, he just didn't like them looking at her. But she wasn't his, never would be because he couldn't confess.

They weren't right for each other.

"Do you like me?"

That question again. Last time he had laughed it off, called it absurd. But it wasn't. Not liking her would have been absurd.

"I don't know why you're asking me that."

"Because I'm tired of us lying to ourselves. Don't laugh and don't you dare say it's absurd again."

He can't respond, he's stuck on the word "us". It wasn't just him, they were an us?

Hearing that gives him courage he had long thought had been most forever.

"I wasn't pretending today. Nothing was fake to me, I meant it all." It's terrifying, unchartered land for them and he waits to see which one of them will chicken out first. It's sure to happen.

"I'm going to kiss you." She says instead of running like he expected and secretly wished for.

And then she's crossing the room and leaning down to grab his face, she watches him giving him a chance to pull away but he does the opposite, this time he meeting her half way. As soon as their lips meet the kiss is already too much, she's sliding into his lap and he wraps his arms around her tugging her closer until their chests are squished together.

He hasn't kissed anyone like this in a long time.

Hasn't been this close to losing control in a longer time.

"You're dangerous." He whispers into her mouth and she giggles at the statement, wiggling in his arms and rolling into him forcing a punched out groan from his lips.

Carefully he lifts her shirt watching her face closely for any signs that she wants to stop but finding nothing but her palpable lust.

Her skin is unbelievably smooth and soft and he can't stop himself from stroking her, rubbing at her back his hands resting right above her butt.

"How long have you felt this way?" She asks softly seductively nipping at his neck and running a hand over his shirt to caress his stomach, he physically aches for her.

"I wanted you the moment I saw you. But I didn't feel this until you convinced grandma to get her implants. That was when it became more for me."

She looks surprised and he is too, that they're speaking so candidly about feelings they've always denied.

"What about you?"

She stops licking at his neck to look him in the eyes. He's nervous to hear her reply.

"I.... don't know."

He tries to hide his disappointment. Maybe she was starting to retreat back into her shell. Maybe he shouldn't have been so honest.

He's about to untangle them when she continues, "It wasn't at first sight but one day I found myself looking for you. Seeing you become the best part of my day, I started to count on you to be there for me. To expect it. Just like this, I've been scared to lean on anyone until I met you."

Now that's a confession.

Impulsively he stands with her still on his lap, forcing her to to latch onto him so she doesn't tumble to the floor. Not that this would ever happen because he would never let her fall.

"I could have fell!" She cries, clinging to his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her half naked bra clad body so close to him is causing another biological crisis in his pants.

Walking to the large bed in the middle of the room he falls backwards, enjoying the view of her on top of him a little too much.

It's all probably too soon and they should probably slow down, but his body is strumming and he wants nothing more than to break her apart.

"I'm all sweaty. I should take a shower."

Instantly an image of her wet and naked under the downpour of a shower flashes in his mind and he has to twist away from her.

"Pervert." She accuses but he can hear how satisfied she is with his reaction. Damn tease.

"Do you want to join me?" She teases some more, having fun now that she knows her power over him.

He looks at her helplessly.

"Are you having fun? Remember what I told you before? I'm still a guy. You're sitting here in your bra taunting me, do you think I'm that much of a good guy? Do you think I don't want to throw you down, rip your clothes off and eat you alive? I'm so hard right now just seeing you naked would be enough to push me over the edge. So don't make propositions you can't follow through on."

She looks dizzy from his words, eyes hooded and glossy. He watches her gulp and then stagger off to the bathroom, without a word to him. It's probably for the best, everything is too charged right now.

A shower for her and many glasses of water for him later, she's back and it's almost time for dinner.

"I think they said dinner starts at 6. Should we head down?"

She glances at him, while opening her bag and pulling out skin creams and some fuzzy socks.

"Would you be opposed to ordering room service and staying here?"

It's the best offer he's heard all day, only second to her asking if he wanted to join her in the shower.

"What about your colleagues?" He asks to make certain that she's really okay with this.

"What about them?" She replies with a shrug and he grins picking up the room service menu.

They order too much food and not enough alcohol but neither of them want to forget this night. She tells him stories about her time in dental school and he's happy to get to know her better, chuckling at the funny stories and commiserating at the sad ones.

Before he knows it night has fallen.

And he realizes that they'll be sharing a bed. Unless she wants him to sleep on the couch.

She's wearing a big shirt and loose shorts and he still can't believe he gets to see her like this.

"Are you coming to bed?" She's already getting under the sheet and that answers his question, this is really happening. He starts to follow her lead, getting under the sheets but keeping a respectable distance between them.

"I'm cold." She announces suddenly and he starts to look for a thermostat in the room or an extra blanket, before realizing that she's looking at him over her shoulder, he stares back confused before she lifts an eyebrow and oh, he gets it. Carefully moving closer he feels her warmth surround him as they meet, forth to back.

"Took you long enough." She grumbles, pulling his arm over here body and settling back into him moving until she's comfortable.

She's so close and warm and her smell is all around him and he feels his restraint dissolving and when she presses back into him, her hip rubbing against his crotch he bites down on his bottom lip.

It's too much for him to resist and without warning or preamble, he's turning her to face him and swallowing her moan of surprise eagerly. He grabs her head firmly holding her in place and slips his tongue into her open mouth, her unique taste exploding on his taste buds. He's hungry for more. So he starts to tug down her shorts, heart beat thundering in his groin. She kicks the shorts away, and he groans at the sight of her panties she was trying to kill him, he was certain.

"You're the devil." He chokes out staring at red lace, he'll never be able to see the color again without getting a raging hard on.

"You haven't seen anything yet. Honey." The word drips from her tongue just like the real thing.

Forgetting all reason and logics he lunges at her, devouring her mouth and sticking his hand in her panties. She's so warm and fuck, wet drenching his fingers.

Simultaneously he thrusts his tongue into her mouth and his fingers in her wet folds, groaning as she melts like butter under his touch. There's no resistance, as he plunges two fingers inside her experimentally before picking up his place when she clutches onto him and grinds back on his fingers, begging the whole time.

"More, more, please!"

As if he could ever deny her anything, with one hand he grabs her ass and the other he thrusts into her opening over and over until her voice gets breathy and she starts to stutter, squirming wildly in his arms and he knows exactly what's coming: the beautiful end. So without warning he pulls back the sheet and slithers down her body, throwing her legs around his head and pushing his tongue in to the brim, hungrily drinking at her until she shakes and combusts in his arms. Sweet on his tongue, he swallows it all greedily.

He strokes her as she recovers from her high, climbing back up her body. So much for taking things slow, but he can't even think about regretting it when he sees the blissed out look on her face. He wants to imprint it in his mind. Nobody else will ever get to see this face but him.

"It's your turn." She says sounding loopy like she's drunk and he laughs as she reaches for the tent in his pants but misses his bulge and instead falls into him.

"You're tired. Go to sleep. That was enough for me, seeing you like that fulfilled every fantasy I've had. "

He truly means it. He's a giver. And it's not like he can't tug one out later in the bathroom with her face and moans playing on repeat in his brain.

She starts to argue, but her phone vibrating on the nightstand distracts her. Reaching over she picks it up before chuckling and flopping back into the bed.

"What?" He asks curious, jealous of whoever is making her smile like that.

Ignorant to his inner thoughts, she thrusts her phone into his face. The room is so dark it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the bright lighting of the phone, but once he can see he reads the message on her phone and starts to laugh too.

"Dusik is missing! Nobody has seen him all day!! We started a search party."

[all-my-love-for-harry]

Not yours.

summary: someone tries to force their way back to y/n's life and harry isn't having any of it.

word count: ----

based on these requests:

“also!! what about something angsty? maybe artemis gets hurt or something and harry is just in full on dad mode”

and 

“What about caleb seeing the trio on tabloids, so he gets slightly jealous and “want’s” back into Artemis’ life unexpectedly.”

and

“ could you write something for my shy little boy about Artemis real father finding out that harry adopted him and showing up at their house claiming that Artemis is his son and basically trying to claim his rights as a father, and harry gets REALLY protective, plsss i would love that concept”

and

“Can you do one in the shy little boy universe where Artemis's dad tries to come back in his life or something. Like he sees them and he's life 'give me a second chance' . I love your writing. Thanks”

you can find more of my shy little boy here

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

November, 2019.

Park days were the best days for the Styles family. They didn’t get to have them as much as they’d like as they were always so busy, but today was an off day and Artemis was responsible for choosing what they were going to do. And of course he chose the park.

Y/N packed some snacks in a picnic basket while Harry took the job of dressing Artemis up. Obviously Artemis ended up way too dress up for just going to the park but it wasn’t a secret Harry was crazy about them wearing the same color or matching outfits to go out.

Harry had picked a pair of white shorts and paired it with a pastel yellow polo shirt he tucked into the shorts. Artemis looked adorable although Harry knew his son most likely get the clothes dirty as soon as they arrive to the park.

“Daddy, my nose itches.” Artemis tried to take off his glasses but Harry stopped him.

Last month they had an appointment with the ophthalmologist and Artemis had to change his glasses at his doctor's request. But Artemis wasn't happy with his new ones, he was always looking for an excuse to take them off or hiding them from his parents.

"Better?" Harry asked, using his fingers to scratch softly where Artemis pointed it itched. The much smaller boy nodded. "You need the glasses, sweetheart. Don't take them off."

"I like my old ones better, why can't i have those?"

"Those doesn't work for you anymore, monkey." He explained. "C'mon, let's put your shoes on." Harry knelt in front of him to watch how Artemis ties his sneakers up, he smiled when his son made it without a problem.

"I just put the things in the car, are you ready?" Y/N said when she saw them coming down the stairs.

"Yes! Let's go, let's go!" Artemis almost jumped from the lasts steps.

Artemis rambled the entire ride about all the fun things they’d do together once they got there, constantly asking if they were at the park already. When they arrived, Harry was surprised it wasn’t so full of people, considering it was the weekend. Y/N unfolded the blanket on the grass, laying the stuff they brought.

“Daddy, let’s play.” Artemis pulled from Harry’s arm, making the latest chuckle.

“Just be careful, please. We don’t want you to fall.” Y/N remained her son, who was too busy running around with his dad.

It was a beautiful day outside, there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, and the weather was perfect despite being in the middle of November. Harry had packed a Frisbee Artemis liked to use in their backyard and that’s what they were using to play.

Harry made sure to throw it softly at his son, not wanting the toy to hit him in the face. Artemis threw his hands in the air every time his daddy caught it.

Everything happened too fast, none of his parents could catch Artemis before he was face down on the grass. He had tried to throw the Frisbee higher but didn’t control his strength and he ended up on the floor.

Harry’s eyes grew wide as he ran towards the small child, his heart breaking as he heard his loud sobs. He picked him up from the grass and scooped him in his arms.

"Are you hurt? Where does it hurt, baby? Is it your arm?" He said, panic visible in his tone.

"He scraped his knees." Y/N said before cooing at Artemis, trying to calm him down. "Got some band aids for your knees, my love. It's okay." She took him in her arms and handed the band aids to Harry so he could put them on his boy's knees after cleaning the little blood that was there.

Caressing his hair softly, Y/N sat back down on the blanket, putting Artemis on her lap to wipe his tears off. "All better?" He nodded with a pout on his face.

Harry copied his son's pout, sitting next to them on the blanket. He didn't like seeing his love being upset, and he'd lie if he said he didn't feel a little guilty for him getting hurt.

"It's okay, accidents happen and sometimes we get hurt." Y/N said as if she could read Harry's thoughts. "What if we eat and then we can go for ice cream."

The smile reappeared on Artemis' face as he stood up from his mum's lap and cheered excitedly. Artemis ate whatever Y/N had packed for them, hurrying his parents so they could go get dessert.

"Are you okay?" Y/N asked Harry at the end of the day when Artemis was falling asleep on his daddy's shoulder as he carried him back to the car. "You've been quiet since he fell."

"Just worried. Should we take him to ER?"

"For scraped knees? Don't think so. Harry, it's fine, really. He doesn't even remember he has them." She assured. "Tomorrow it will be all better."

"But he cried so loud." He furrowed as they reached the car and Y/N opened the door of the backseat so Harry could put him on his carseat. "I was worried he hurt his elbow or something."

"I guess it was more out of surprise. He wasn't expecting to fall facedown on the floor." Once everything and everyone were in the car, Harry started to drive back home. "Please don't beat yourself up for this. It was literally an accident."

"But i was playing with him."

"Yes, but you couldn't have prevented it from happen."

She put a hand on his thigh, not wanting him to feel any worse from something so small. Artemis doesn't have a lot of accidents as he is a calm boy who doesn't play sports or anything that requires running or jumping, but when they happen, he gets scared and that's normal. No kid likes to see blood coming out of them, even if it's only a little.

"As a parent the best you can do is stay calm during these situations. If you don't panic, then he doesn't either." She smiled at him.

Y/N loved how protective Harry was, his skills as a parent never failed to show in any situation. But he was still very new at it, and he couldn't help but want to put his boy in a little bubble so nothing bad would happen to him.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

A week later, Y/N was cooking dinner while Artemis was upstairs in the movie room watching a cooking show on Netflix. Lately he's been obsessed with those and could watch entire seasons if his parents let him.

Harry was out having a meeting with his team but promised to be back for dinner, so it was just the two of them in the house.

The buzzer sounded, alerting someone was at the other side of the gates. Y/N put down the knife she was holding and walked towards the little screen that allowed her to see who was there.

Her breathe hitched when she saw Caleb standing there. He was looking the other way but Y/N could recognize him anywhere. A frown appeared on her face as he hit the buzzer again. She stayed in her place, starting at the screen and hoping he'd turn around and leave.

But he didn't.

She was ready to go outside and tell him to leave but she heard the gates open before she could do so. The gates opening meant Harry was home.

And home he was. But he furrowed as soon as he saw a body standing there. He didn't recognize the man but he was pretty sure he's seem his face before.

He parked inside but didn't close again the gates as he returned outside. "Can i help you?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Is Y/N home?" The stranger asked, putting his hands inside of his pockets. "I need to speak to her."

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Doesn't matter, i need to see Y/N."

"Uh, it does matter, actually. Why is it so important to speak to my girlfriend?" Harry questioned again in a protective tone.

Before he could answer Harry's question, Y/N came out of the house, closing the door behind her before rushing towards the two man. She stood beside Harry, taking his hand in hers.

"What are you doing here, Caleb?" She asked and Harry's brain finally clicked. He looked so different from the only picture he's seen of him. "What do you want?"

"I need to see him, Y/N." Caleb said, almost in a demanding tone. Y/N looked up at Harry, who already had a deep, angry frown on his face. "I-I saw that video of you three at the park and... Y/N, i'm ready to meet my-"

"He's not your son." Harry barked angrily.

"Harry's right, Caleb. He's not yours in any way." She said sternly. "Besides, i bet it isn't the first video or picture you've seen of us, what could possibly make this one different?"

"I saw him getting hurt." He said defensively. "It.. awoke something in me. I want to be a father, Y/N."

"Then go ahead and get a family of your own because neither Artemis nor I have anything to do with you. Do i have to remind you, you signed the paper giving up your paternal rights?" Y/N started to get angry and Harry squeezed her hand.

"I was twenty-one, Y/N."

"So was I!" She now exclaimed.

"I think it's best if you leave." Harry spoke again, trying to control his anger before he punched that man straight on the face.

"And you are?" Caleb asked "Oh, right. You're the guy she replaced me with. Does my son calls you daddy too?"

"She didn't replace you, she just moved on with someone way better." He smirked. "And yes, my son calls me daddy, must hurt, right? Now get the fuck out of my property before i call the bloody cops."

Harry let go of Y/N's hand just to push Caleb out, not being able to hold his anger anymore. "If i ever see you close to my family, i'll fucking ruin you."

When Caleb was back on his car, Harry finally closed the gates and turned to see Y/N. "I'm sorry you had to see him, my love."

Y/N sighed. "I'm okay. I just... I hadn't seen him since he..." Her lip started trembling but she swallowed the tears. "Seeing his face brought back a lot of emotions."

"Couldn't imagine." Harry took her in his arms and kissed her forehead. "But you won't see him anymore, over my dead body."

"Thank you."

Harry smiled softly at her, supping her face with his hands and pecking her lips. "Thank you for letting me be the one by your side."

"I wouldn't dream of having anyone else."

☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁

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[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.13

Chapter Thirteen: Happiness is a butterfly: An impromptu “bachelorette” leads to more than you expected. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 1.7k Warnings: swearing, brief talk of heartbreak & breakup/s, alcohol consumption, intoxication, angst, and finally a bit of fluff !!

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A/N: i can’t believe after this chapter, there is only two left!! from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone that’s been reading / liking / commenting / reblogging - it genuinely means the world to me!

-

Loud chatter mixed with drunken laughter carried through the bar, creating the perfect Saturday night atmosphere. The various raucous discussions were accompanied by old jukebox melodies, fighting a battle of who can make more noise - man or machine.

The space carried a stench of sweat, cigarette smoke and spilled drink. While listening to Penelope’s incoherent ramblings, you took a mental note of needing to throw the clothes you were currently wearing into the wash the second you got home. If you were sober enough to do so, that is.

“Okay, okay-” Emily began, still laughing at whatever it was Penelope had just said. “Personally, I think a more important question is who wants another drink?” She glanced between the group of girls who all lifted their empty glasses into the air, cheering loudly.

It was a pretty unanimous decision to still throw you a bachelorette party. The BAU ladies wanted a night out and you were happy to provide them with an excuse - primarily because the months have quickly passed into May and you figured it was finally time to stop wallowing in self-pity.

Penelope invested in a fake engagement ring; “No-one will know the difference and this way we can get free drinks.”. She also arrived with a bag of typical bachelorette knickknacks from the dollar store, plastic tiaras, and bright pink sashays - a ‘BRIDE’ one for you, ‘MAID OF HONOUR’ for herself, and ‘BRIDESMAID’ for the remaining ladies.

When the night started you honestly felt quite silly celebrating something that was no longer happening. You felt like a fraud. Fooling all of these people into thinking you were happy and about to embark on the best journey of your life, when the reality couldn't have been more different.

You were utterly alone and pathetically in love with someone who, you were convinced, didn't love you back.

Penelope volunteered to help Emily with getting the drinks while Tara took the time to go and freshen up in the bathroom.

“Sooo... are you still thinking about leaving the bureau?” JJ asked, sliding into the now empty spot beside you. She placed an elbow on the table to prop her head up as she waited for you to answer.

Her question caught you off guard. Taking the last sip of your current margarita, you furrowed your brows together. “What? I don’t even... what?” 

JJ didn't answer. Instead, she let out a relieved laugh. “I knew Spence was playing with me. And I told him, I told him there was no way, absolutely no wayyy you would ever leave, or even consider leaving.”

“Spencer?” You probed, hopping to make some sense of what she ways saying.

JJ nodded her head, her hand clearly struggling to hold it up. “He came by, gosh... this was shortly after your breakup with Ethan? And he let lit slip that the surgeon had come by his place and told him you were leaving the BAU...” Her voice faded out when she noticed the perplexed look on your face. Even in her inebriated state she could tell you had no idea Ethan and Spencer ever spoke alone. 

“Shit, did I say something wrong?”

“No, I-I... I don't think so? I’m just... confused.” And as the words escaped your lips, a sudden urge overcame you. If it wasn't for the alcohol cursing through your veins right now, perhaps you would have left it alone. Perhaps the feeling would have passed. Instead, however, you sprung up on your feet and hastily grabbed your handbag.

“I have to go.”

JJ immediately sat up. “Go? Go where?”

But you didn’t want to get into it now. No, you had much more pressing matters at hand - at least your drunken mind thought so. You decided to leave the explaining to Penelope and Tara, who reappeared at the table with Emily and a new set of cocktails. You shot them both a knowing look, and before either of them got a chance to protest, you hurried in the direction of the exit.

The ride to your destination was a blur - partially due to your heavy intoxication, and partially due to the adrenaline you were now experiencing. You weren't even sure how you managed to hail a taxi or how the driver understood the address through your muddled breaths. You were simply glad they did.

Your whole body was shaking. You still weren't entirely sure whether what you were doing was a good idea, but it seemed like there was no other option as JJ’s words rang in your ears - “... the surgeon had come by his place and told him you were leaving the BAU...”. What did she mean by that? When did this conversation even happen? You had so many questions circling your brain, you could only hope they'd get answered once you arrived where you were heading.

Once the car stopped and you paid your fair, you managed to exit the vehicle in one piece and stumble, fairly elegantly, to the front door of the apartment block. The stairs proved to be the real enemy of the night as your legs failed to coordinate with the wooden steps. But once you reached your goal, the struggle of getting here didn't seem as important anymore.

With your hand formed into a lousy fist, you knocked and knocked and knocked until the door swung open.

“When was Ethan here?” You asked, not willing to waste any more time.

Spencer stared at you completely dumbfounded. He blinked, unsure at first whether you were really here or if his mind was playing tricks. Truthfully, he’s imagined this happening many times in the last few months - you finding out the truth behind that night. Especially with the context of your voicemail still lingering in the air every time he saw you.

“Fuck.” You breathed, one hand rockily landing on Spencer’s chest. He instantly reached to grab you and hold safely you up in position. Completely unfazed by your sudden closeness, with your free hand, you brought your knee to your back and you loosened the strap of your heel.

Spencer watched you silently, the overpowering whiff of your perfume mixed with alcohol hitting him like a brick. He quickly took note of the plastic tiara in your hair and the sash wrapped around your rather loose outfit. All that went through his head in that moment was how happy he was you got here safe and sound.

“Do you need me to drive you home? Or, ehm, or call you a cab?” Spencer raised a brow as you regained your wobbly stance, your hand still clinging to his sweatshirt as if it was your only lifeline. Which judging by your... condition, it surely was.

You scoffed, unintentionally blowing your loose strands of your hair away from your face. “Don’t be a jerk, don’t call me a taxi.”

The handsome doctor smirked. “A jerk?”

You nodded. “And do not think for a ss-second, you’re getting away with answering my question.”

“I had a feeling you would say that.”

Spencer carefully led you inside the confide of his apartment. With one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, he closed the door behind and guided you toward the couch. You plopped down with a gentle bounce and he couldn't help but chuckle.

“Let me get you some water.” He offered, but you grabbed his arm and using all of the strength you could muster, you pulled him down next to you.

“Answer my question first.” You mumbled while placing your hands on his cheeks and gaping into his hazel eyes. Gosh, he had such pretty eyes.

Spencer swallowed before licking his lips. Your proximity should be making him nervous, but he felt nothing of the sort. Instead, he found himself shuffling in closer.

“Please, Spencer... I need to know.” The plea was gratuitous because deep down you already knew the answer. You just needed him to confirm your suspicions.

As the tears started to form in your eyes, the brunette doctor sighed deeply. Now was his only chance to set the record straight. He might not get another one, in fact he knew if he let you leave tonight without telling you what really happened he'd lose you permanently. Even as a friend.

Now or never, he thought, then proceed to explain.

And you listened. You listened patiently and attentively, letting the waterfall of tears escape and trail mascara down your face. His words were slowly sobering you up. Everything was starting to become clear once again.

Spencer always loved you. He never stopped loving you. He never wanted to end things, he simply did what he thought was the right thing to do. The right thing for you because your happiness was more important to him than his own. He still loved you. He loved you.

By the time Spencer was finished, the alcohol had completely faded from your system. Your arms instantly draped around his neck, and you fell into his comforting embrace. Attaching yourself like a magnet. His hand landed at the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. Basking in your warmth. He whispered apologies into your ear, repeating over and over again that he will never let you go again.

You believed him.

When you finally pulled away, the tears had stopped falling. Using his thumb, Spencer gently wiped the lone droplets that remained on your face. There were so many things he wanted to tell you, so many things he wanted to do with you, but at least now he knew he didn't have to rush. The chase was over.

His fingertips traced along your jawline before settling on your chin. The two of you gazed into each other’s eyes, because in this moment you were the only people to exist. The only people to matter.

“Can I kiss you?”

A smile circled your features. “As if you have to ask.”

His mouth brushed against yours with tenderness and care. You melted into him completely, glad he was taking his time because the first touch of his lips on your sent a jolt down your spine. One hand slid from your chin up your cheek, cupping your face, while his other hand graciously moved up and down your arm.

Your lips parted from shocking overwhelming sensation in your body. You hadn't realised just how much you missed his touch, not until his hand traveled from your arm to your neck. His fingertips brushing across, not quite landing in any particular place, as his tongue eagerly slid into your mouth.

Conveyed in his kiss were over a million loving thoughts and conversations previously left unspoken. The pent up tension, built up over the occurrences of these last few months, suddenly exploded. In the moment, in this kiss, you were both your pure selves.

He was yours, and you were his.

Forever.

Do you want me or do you not? I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another

-

A/N: as always i’d love to hear your feedback! if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

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