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mrs-weasley-reid · 19 days

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Sweet Addiction

Spencer Reid x bau!reader

Summary: Spencer always felt afraid you'd be too sweet for him. Turns out, you were just the right spice he needed.

Warning: Fluff with a pinch of spice.

A/N: an alternate narrative draft of my other published draft, Regrets Sting... enjoy✨

— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿

Spencer found you saccharine.

As a colleague, a friend, and... an enchanting woman.

He spent most of his days hypervigilant, careful not to fall for your tempting, bright smiles and witty jokes.

He watched you smile warmly to each and every family of the victims you'd ever encounter. Spencer would never stop bragging about his high intelligence, but somehow, he couldn't figure you out. You were a beguiling force to behold, an enigma of kindness and walking epitome of apricity.

Spencer loves everything about you. He loves you. He was obsessed with you. Craved your presence. Greedy for your attention.

He was afraid that whatever feelings brewed in his chest were going to ravage you. Afraid that he'd ruin a beautiful art due to his impulsivity.

So he chose friendship. He had to, or else...

He became your motivator. Your stimulus. Your best friend.

He was there for you. He was there when a case became too heavy. He lent you his day off. He became your personal therapist, listening to all your vents in the hopes that it would stop the nightmares just for one night. He kept you company, reading a book to you until you drifted off to sleep but left as soon as he tucked you in.

And without you, or him, knowing, he fell for your addicting sweetness all over again. Spencer Reid was in love with you.

He felt guilty. Falling for you right after being in love with someone else because he wanted to avoid falling for you. Even Spencer couldn't make sense of himself. It was a mind-boggling conflict.

And yet, Spencer held himself back for as long as he could. He made himself believe that all he wanted was your friendship. Shoving his feelings into a box as if it were a dirty sin, he tried to keep a secret.

The deeper he fell for you, the more obvious it became to the team.

JJ figured it out first when Spencer put in too much effort to make you smile after a case that hit too close to home. You have been bland with everyone but not with Spencer. He managed to get you to laugh just by saying a couple of nerdy jokes. She knew, then, that you'd be the perfect match.

Emily and Derek noticed Spencer's smittenness at the same time. You were all on a case, and the unsub's victims disturbingly fit you. Spencer was protective of you and knew exactly how it'd make you feel. So he always kept you in his line of sight and insisted on working with you before Hotch had the chance to object. Of course, along with that was Penelope squealing about her suspicions that Spencer had a huge crush on you.

Rossi had a hunch. He saw Spencer's eyes light up every time you walked into any room, staring at you for as long as he could. One time, he saw Spencer organize your case file in the way you preferred: written detailed descriptions instead of photos. And he suspected that Spencer had done so since your first day with the team.

Hotch? He always knew but kept his mouth shut. Spencer went to him for any type of indirect romantic advice. Spencer was experiencing childish love, so who was Hotch to ruin it for the boy genius?

And so it goes...

JJ would ritually give Spencer new, interesting facts about you. Emily would become suggestive whenever you made Spencer his daily cup of sugar with drops of coffee. Derek would flirt with you whenever he caught Spencer staring at you, then report to Penelope about the progress in their project: get Spencer to confess. Rossi, at times, pulled Spencer back from his trance whenever he started to malfunction because of something you did that made his stomach flip. And Hotch was Spencer's go-to companion. Vaguely describing his feelings for you in hopes that the unit chief had some sort of advise in return.

So he could only imagine the heartbreak when you arrived one morning with an unfamiliar scent of shampoo and a giddy smile as you walked in with the precinct's detective.

He immediately expressed his disapproval. Of course, you were confused about it. What was worse was you didn't know why. And worse than that was Spencer couldn't tell you why.

Or so he thought.

"I don't understand why you're making a big deal out of this," You walked into an interrogation room.

"Just because Det. Lohan is an old friend of yours does not mean he can be trusted. You haven't seen the guy in years. I think it's safe to say that sleeping with him was not a smart choice." Spencer wanted to smack himself for his poor choice of words, but he'd rather you lecture him than spend more time with the detective that still lingered on your hair.

You laughed, not taking his words personally. "Spence, I'm a woman with two guns dangling on each side of her hips. I can take care of myself." You took his worry into account and yet made your decision clear.

Out of nowhere, Spencer pushed you by your hips against the door. You gasped out of shock, a dangerous sound that rang in his ears.

"Still think you'd be safe?" Spencer could barely look at you. He didn't know what he would do if he did.

"You're making him sound more dangerous than he is. This is clearly not about keeping me safe. What's going on? You know you can always talk to me." Your voice was like honey. It was sweet and kind. You had no doubt, no suspicion. You trusted him too much. You were too sweet on him.

Spencer released a sharp sigh. He really had no other choice, did he? "I'm in love with you," He muttered under his breath but loud enough to tickle your ear.

Your expression changed. You took time to read whatever his eyes could say, but you came up with nothing, "Spence... you already rejected me. You said we're better off friends. You said you weren't attracted to me." You kept your tone unfairly soft, filling him with guilt.

"I lied, okay?!" Spencer was losing his cool. How much you affected his mood was beyond torture.

"Well, that's not fair... I was in love with you. Told you how I felt." Your face was sullen. "And what? I'm supposed to just take you in my arms because now you want me?" You gently pushed him, looking down on your feet. "I'd like to be alone, please." You were firm with your words, hurt lingering under your breath.

"Was?" Spencer queried.

You looked back up, "What?"

He stepped closer, "You said, 'I was in love with you.' You're not anymore?" Spencer's eyes bore into your very soul. It felt like he was interrogating you with a different charge of crime than a few seconds ago.

"That's not the point," You barely managed to sound in control. His entire demeanor changed, focusing on one phrase.

"You don't love me anymore?" Spencer moved closer, leaving nothing but his breath between the two of you. He quickly glanced at your lips, then stared at you once more, making sure you saw what he just did.

You subtly gulped, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat. "What are you—"

"Say you still love me, and I'll kiss you," It was as if every restraint Spencer had finally snapped the longer he was alone with you. He has been restricting himself from every inch of you, after all, despite you being unaware of it.

You shook your head, lifting your chin up, "I'm really not in the mood to play games with you, Spence. Why can't you just leave the entire thing alone?" You hoped he couldn't hear how loud your heart was beating right in your ear.

Spencer's eyes soften. He drooled at the sight of your lips, leaning his forehead on yours. Spencer closed his eyes in desperation, "Please say you love me so I can kiss you..." He begged in a small whisper.

A lot of possibilities and doubts flooded your senses, but only one thing rang in your head.

"I—" You didn't get the chance to say it. Spencer's lips were already attached to yours.

Your mind went blank, and your knees turned weak. If he hadn't wrapped an arm around your waist, you would've long fallen on the floor and ruined the euphoric moment you were in.

His kiss wasn't anything like you'd imagine. Nowhere near the gentleness you've known him to be. His kisses were desperate and eager.

Spencer pressed your back against the two-way mirror, harsher than when he'd pushed you against the door. The loud thud echoed in the entire room. His kisses became hotter and hungrier by the second.

And just as his lips were about to trail down to your jaw...

"Uhm—"

You froze at the sound of the speaker sending feedback, lightly tapping Spencer to abruptly stop.

"Sorry... But, uh, the interrogation room's actually not empty. At least not on our side." JJ spoke from the speaker.

You bit your lower lip as you tightly closed your eyes, "I know I'm going to regret this, but who's with you?" Your voice cracked from utter embarrassment.

The speaker spilled a chuckle all over the room, "You got room for another, sweetheart?" Derek could barely hold his laugh as he spoke.

"Count me in, too," Emily chimed in, creating another horrible feedback.

Spencer squinted at the mirror as if he'd be able to see them the more he stared at his reflection. You were glad your back was against, or else they would've seen how red your face became.

"Uh... Can you leave? Please?" You looked up at the ceiling. You couldn't even look at Spencer's face from the embarrassment you were feeling.

"Just don't make a mess. We still need to use the room for the unsub later." Derek teased.

"No promises," Spencer grinned at you, making your face heat up more than it already was.

Emily's amused laughter echoed, "Getting a little too pride of yourself there, Reid." Her voice went one-eighth octave lower. "I won't hesitate to beat you up if you do some dumb shit."

You waited for at least a minute to make sure that they did leave before you collapsed on the floor with your hands covering your face.

Spencer squatted in front of you and took your hands, intertwining your fingers. "Regret falling in love with me yet?" A playful smirk danced over his lips.

"Right now? I do. I really, really do." But you were too sweet for him. So you rolled your eyes, groaning in indecisiveness, "I really don't."

"Yeah," Spencer couldn't help but smile, "You really don't." He grabbed your face by the cheek and stole another kiss.

Spencer couldn't help it. You were his sweet addiction. And he'd keep it that way as long as you let him.

#spencer x reader #spencer reid imagine #ssa spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminalminds #fem!reader #spencerreid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fluff

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hiro-doodlez · 2 months

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Happy Valentines!! Since it's that sad boy time of year for me (for reasons my aroaceness will explain) I have 2 books about being on the aroace spec that I think anyone looking for, uhh validation would enjoy!! Theyre a joy to read and very very comforting on bad days!! More about them under the cut :3

LOVELESS

Loveless is a novel that tells Georgia Warr's story of finding out she's the A in the LGBTQIA+ community. This book has so many quotes that make me just want to cry, like WHY are you this good.. please mx alice oseman STOP THIS ATTACK ON MY HEART “In the end, that was the problem with romance. It was so easy to romanticize romance because it was everywhere. It was in music and on TV and in filtered Instagram photos. It was in the air, crisp and alive with fresh possibility. It was in falling leaves, crumbling wooden doorways, scuffed cobblestones and fields of dandelions. It was in the touch of hands, scrawled letters, crumpled sheets and the golden hour. A soft yawn, early morning laughter, shoes lined up together by the door. Eyes across a dance floor. I could see it all, all the time, all around, but when I got closer, I found nothing was there.” my fav quote: “I'm at uni for three months and suddenly I'm not straight any more.” “I used to dream of a spellbinding, endless, forever romance. A beautiful story of meeting a person who could change your whole world. But now, I realised, friendship could be that too.”

IS LOVE THE ANSWER?

Is love the answer? Is a manga following a girl named Chika figuring out she's (aro)ace. The entire thing has AMAZING art and just some of the most.. i feel you buddy lines i've ever read. For example: "I see. I just haven't met "the one" yet... yeah. I'm sure that's all it is." "I'm asexual. That's what I am. There might be other possibilities. Maybe a year from now I might identify differently. But right now, that's what feels right to me."

#aroace #aromantic #asexual #aromanticism #asexuality #aro #ace #alice oseman #loveless alice oseman #is love the answer?

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 10 months

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The Maid Of Honour & The Best Man.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - this photo screamed to be written about, so here we go!

word count - 8.6k

in which, being made of honour at your best friends wedding, gabriella and cameron, meant that today was going to be a good one, scratch that a brilliant one, but that all takes a turn for the worst when it’s revealed that cameron best man is none other than your ex-boyfriend and his best friend, the days bound to take a turn for the worse now…or is it?

Today was going to be a good day. You were sure of it.

Today was the wedding of your two best friends Gabriella and Cameron, two sweethearts who both held captive their partners' heart.

It was a warm summer's morning on July 1st. Today was going to be a day filled with anticipation and excitement as the golden rays of the morning sun gently kissed the earth, signalling the arrival of a momentous occasion.

It was a day of pure joy,

In the stillness of the morning, you find yourself seated in the driver's seat of your car, having just arrived at the venue in which the wedding was taking place, a quiet observer amidst the whirlwind of activity unfolding before you. Today is a day of profound significance, for it marks the union of two souls, in a sacred bond of love. As you gaze out of the window, the scene that unfolds before your eyes is nothing short of an aesthetic masterpiece.

Soft sunlight streams through the canopy of leaves, casting a golden hue over the surroundings, as if nature itself is painting a breathtaking backdrop for this momentous occasion.

The air carries a gentle breeze, delicately rustling the vibrant blooms adorning the venue. It is a symphony of colours, with the flowers - delicate roses, lush peonies, and cascading wisteria - casting a spellbinding display that evokes a sense of enchantment.

The workers, dressed in their dedicated attire, move with graceful precision, their actions a dance of meticulous craftsmanship. Each stroke of their brushes and every delicate arrangement they create adds to the visual tapestry of beauty that envelops the venue. Their dedication and attention to detail are palpable, as they ensure that every corner exudes a sense of magic.

Guests arrive in their vehicles, each one a unique piece of the grand puzzle that is this wedding celebration. The cars, sleek and polished, line up like a procession of elegance, their presence adding a touch of sophistication to the scene. As they gracefully come to a halt, doors open to reveal the anticipation that gleams in the eyes of the guests. Their outfits are works of art themselves, carefully chosen to enhance the aesthetic of the day.

You watch in awe as the guests step out of their vehicles, their attire blending harmoniously with the surroundings. Their movements, slow and deliberate, exude a sense of reverence and respect for the occasion. They carry with them the weight of their love and support, their presence an integral part of the intricate web of connections that surround Gabriella and Cameron.

The final preparations are being meticulously attended to, like brushstrokes on a canvas. Workers delicately arrange ethereal drapes and hanging lights, transforming the venue into an ethereal wonderland. Each detail seems purposeful, each element deliberately chosen to create an aesthetic symphony that resonates with the hearts of all who bear witness.

As you sit in the driver's seat, taking in the scene before you, you feel a profound sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the privilege of being part of this magical day, for the bond of friendship that connects you to Gabriella, and for the beauty that surrounds you. In this moment, everything seems perfectly aligned, as if the universe itself conspired to create an atmosphere of pure aesthetic bliss.

As you prepare to join the celebration, a sense of awe and excitement courses through your veins. Today is a day of love, connection, and aesthetic splendour. It is a day where beauty is not just seen but felt, where every detail weaves together to form a symphony that transcends the ordinary. And as you step out of your car, you are ready to immerse yourself in this exquisite tapestry, knowing that you are about to witness a love story unfold in the most aesthetically captivating way possible.

As you step out of your car, your mind preoccupied with nerves and excitement, fate has a different plan in store for you. In a twist of unexpected fate, your shoulder collides with someone, causing both of you to stumble back. Your heart skips a beat as you look up and find yourself locked in a moment of electrifying intensity with none other than your ex-boyfriend, Harry Styles.

Time seems to stand still as your eyes meet, and the world around you blurs into insignificance. The air crackles with a charged energy, and you can practically feel the seismic shift in the atmosphere. A cocktail of emotions floods your veins, mixing angst, longing, and surprise into a heady concoction that leaves you breathless.

As you regain your composure, you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from Harry's piercing eyes. The moment hangs heavy with unspoken words, the weight of your shared history and unresolved feelings casting a shadow over the present.

"Harry..." you whisper, your voice barely audible, but the intensity of your emotions echoes through the single word. His name dances on your lips, a bittersweet reminder of the connection that once consumed you both.

He stands before you, an enigma of conflicting emotions. There's a flicker of recognition in his eyes, a fire that still burns from the remnants of a love that once ignited your souls. His lips curve into a half-smile, mirroring the mix of nostalgia and desire swirling within you.

"What a surprise," Harry says, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and an undercurrent of longing. The way he looks at you, as if you were a ghost from his past, sends shivers down your spine.

You find your voice, trembling with a potent blend of apprehension and curiosity. "What... what are you doing here, Harry?" you manage to utter, your words laced with a mixture of vulnerability and hope.

A wistful smile plays on his lips as he responds, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "I'm here for the wedding. Cameron's asked me to be his best man," he reveals, his words punctuating the gravity of the situation.

The realisation washes over you, adding another layer of complexity to the already tumultuous mix of emotions. The irony of the universe's cruel twist is not lost on you. Fate has brought you face to face, in the midst of this celebration of love, where the echoes of your own past love still reverberate.

A storm brews within you as you lock eyes with Harry, the unresolved tension between you threatening to consume the very air you breathe. The dramatic collision, the unexpected encounter—it all feels like a cosmic reminder of the unfinished business that binds your hearts.

You gather your strength, your voice trembling yet determined. "I never thought I'd see you here, Harry. Not after all this time," you confess, the weight of your words lingering in the charged silence between you.

You and Harry dated for two and a half years.

January 2020 to August 2022.

They were the best years of your life, you never knew that you could love someone as much as you loved Harry.

You had met his parents two months into dating and they claimed you as one of their own, you even had phone calls with Anne every now and then to catch up with each other, Harry had even dragged you on holiday with the family on multiple occasions.

So when he broke up with you, to say it was a shock would have definitely been an understatement.

Sitting on the sofa in your boyfriend's house, you can sense the heaviness in the air, a cloud of tension that has settled between you. He's been distant lately, and it's been gnawing at your heart. As you gather the courage to address the growing unease, he takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes, his expression a mix of sadness and resolve.

"There's something I need to tell you," he begins, his voice soft yet tinged with anxiety. "I've been wrestling with my feelings for a while now, and I can't ignore them any longer."

Your heart skips a beat, fearing what comes next. "What is it?" you ask, your voice trembling.

"I think it's best if we go our separate ways," he admits, his words landing like a sudden blow. The shock stings, and you feel a lump forming in your throat.

"Why?" you manage to whisper, trying to steady your trembling hands.

He takes a moment to choose his words carefully. "I've realized that our paths are leading us in different directions," he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. "As much as I care about you, I don't see a future where we're truly compatible."

Tears well up in your eyes as the weight of his decision sinks in. You struggle to find your voice, trying to hold back the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. "But we've been through so much together," you say, your voice shaking. "Can't we work through our differences?"

He reaches out and gently takes your hand, his touch bittersweet. "We've tried, and it hurts me to say this, but I think it's time for both of us to find happiness apart," he replies, his voice tinged with regret.

The pain in your chest intensifies, and you feel like the ground beneath you is giving way. "I still love you," you admit, the vulnerability in your voice laid bare.

He looks at you with a mix of affection and anguish. "I'll always care about you," he replies softly. "But sometimes, love isn't enough to sustain a relationship."

As tears spill down your cheeks, you can't help but feel a sense of loss and heartache. The realization that the person you once envisioned a future with now sees a different path sends shivers down your spine.

When you and Harry broke up, you ran straight to Gabrielle’s house, and the second she opened her door you launched yourself into her arms and sobbed.

You always thought that you and Harry would be a forever thing.

But clearly he had different plans.

Longing to escape the whirlwind of feelings that have consumed you. You're about to take your first step away from him, eager to get inside to see your best friend but a gentle touch on your wrist stops you in your tracks.

Your ex-boyfriend's voice, soft and filled with a mix of hope and desperation, reaches your ears.

"Can we talk later?" he asks, his words carrying a plea for another chance at closure.

You pause, feeling the weight of his touch and the intensity of his gaze. But something inside you resists, a self-protective instinct urging you to shield yourself from further heartache. Ignoring his request, you withdraw your wrist from his grasp and without looking back, you continue your journey towards the entrance of the wedding venue.

With the dress secured in your arms, you gracefully weave your way through the elegant décor and the fluttering excitement, trying to keep Harry at the back of your mind. The workers' diligent efforts have transformed the venue into a picturesque scene straight out of a fairy tale.

As you draw closer to the entrance, you catch a glimpse of Gabriella's parents greeting guests with warm embraces, their eyes reflecting the love and pride they feel for their daughter. You share a heartfelt hug with them, expressing your gratitude for their kindness and hospitality.

The entrance looms before you, adorned with an arch of delicate flowers that seems to welcome you into a realm of enchantment. You can hear the soft melody of music floating on the breeze, adding to the anticipation of the imminent ceremony.

With each step, your heart beats with greater excitement. The air is charged with emotion, as if it knows that this day holds a significance that will linger in the memories of all who attend.

But one thought lingers in the back of your mind.

And his name was Harry.

As you make your way into the bustling bridal suite, a rush of excitement fills the air. The room is abuzz with anticipation and joy, the sweet fragrance of flowers mingling with the soft murmur of conversations. As soon as you step inside, your best friend Gabriella catches sight of you and a beaming smile spreads across her face.

"There you are!" she exclaims, her voice filled with excitement. Without a moment's hesitation, she rushes towards you, pulling you into a plush seat by the makeup station. "You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this day!"

You laugh, feeling a surge of warmth at Gabriella's infectious energy. "I've been counting down the days too, Gabs. You look absolutely stunning already!"

Gabriella's eyes sparkle with delight as she gestures to the team of talented hair and makeup artists. "Well, now it's your turn to shine! We're going to make you the most beautiful maid of honor ever!"

As the artists begin their work, the room fills with laughter and chatter. Gabriella sits beside you, her excitement palpable as she watches the transformation unfold. "I want everything to be perfect today," she confides, her voice brimming with emotion. "Having you by my side means the world to me, and I want you to feel just as special."

Touched by her words, you reach out and squeeze her hand. "Gabriella, I'm honored to be here with you on this day. You've always been there for me, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure your wedding is everything you've dreamed of."

Gabriella's eyes well up with tears of happiness. "Thank you, my dear friend. Your support means everything to me."

As the artists work their magic, the conversation continues, weaving through memories and shared laughter. Gabriella reminisces about the journey that led to this day, the ups and downs, and the love that has brought her and Cameron together.

"And do you remember when we used to dream about our future weddings?" Gabriella asks, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

You laugh, a nostalgic fondness colouring your voice. "Oh, yes! We'd spend hours discussing the perfect dresses, the romantic venues, and the dreamy first dances. It's amazing to see those dreams become a reality for you."

Speaking of weddings, was now an appropriate time to ask her when Cam asked Harry to be his best man?

Probably not.

Gabriella sighs dreamily. "I couldn't have asked for a better partner in life than Cameron. And having you here, sharing in this moment, makes it even more special."

"Gabriella, I want you to know that no matter what happens, I'll always be here for you," you say, your voice filled with sincerity. "You deserve all the love and happiness in the world, and I'll be your biggest cheerleader, no matter what."

Tears shimmer in Gabriella's eyes as she envelops you in a tight embrace. "Thank you, my dear friend. I couldn't ask for a better maid of honour."

As the final touches are being made to your hair and makeup, you find a moment to confide in Gabriella, your best friend and the radiant bride-to-be. The room is filled with a sense of excitement and anticipation, but there's a question nagging at the back of your mind that you can no longer ignore.

"Gabs, I have to tell you something," you begin, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and vulnerability. "I bumped into Harry outside before coming in here. He said he's Cameron's best man. When did that happen? And why didn't you mention it?"

Gabriella's eyes widen in surprise, momentarily taken aback by your revelation. She pauses for a moment, collecting her thoughts before responding.

"Oh, I'm so sorry I didn't mention it earlier," she says, her voice laced with regret. "Cam asked Harry to be his best man a few weeks ago. It was a decision they made together."

Your brow furrows slightly, not out of anger but from a genuine need to understand. "I understand that, Gabs, but why didn't you tell me? We used to share everything, and this caught me off guard."

Gabriella's expression softens, and she reaches out to take your hand, a gesture of reassurance. "I'm really sorry if it seemed like I was keeping it from you. It's just that things have been so hectic with the wedding preparations, and I didn't want to overwhelm you with any unnecessary emotions or complications."

You nod, understanding her perspective, but a mix of emotions swirl within you. "I appreciate your concern, Gabs, but Harry and I have history. I just wish I had known he would be here. It caught me off guard, and it brought back a flood of feelings that I thought I had put behind me."

Gabriella's gaze holds a depth of empathy as she gently squeezes your hand. "I understand, and I'm really sorry you had to go through that. But I want you to know that I value our friendship, and I never intended to cause you any pain."

You take a deep breath, allowing her words to sink in. The love and understanding in her eyes reassure you that this conversation is one of transparency and genuine care. "I know, Gabs. I'm not angry with you. I just wanted to talk and understand what happened. And I want you to know that I'm here to support you and make sure your day is perfect."

Gabriella's smile returns, a mix of gratitude and relief. "Thank you, my dear friend. Your presence alone means the world to me, and I'm so grateful to have you by my side today. Let's focus on celebrating love and creating beautiful memories together."

As the final preparations in the bridal suite come to a close, it's time for you to slip into your maid of honour dress, adorned with elegance and grace. With gentle hands, you carefully remove the plastic covering, revealing the exquisite fabric beneath. Each movement is deliberate, a testament to the significance of this moment.

As you step into the dress, its soft fabric drapes around you, embracing your form with a sense of purpose. Adjusting the straps and ensuring every detail is in place, you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day's emotions settle upon your shoulders.

The dress that Gabriella had picked out for you was sage green. The skirt was flowy and it had a slit up the inside to create some air space for you. There was a floral lace pattern adorning the bodice and it hugged your figure perfectly.

With one last glance in the mirror, you step out of the changing area and into the main room. And there, standing before you, is Gabriella, resplendent in her wedding dress. The sight of her takes your breath away, and tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

As you step out of the changing area, your gaze immediately lands on Gabriella, resplendent in her wedding dress. The sight of her takes your breath away, and tears well up in your eyes, overwhelming you with emotion.

"Gabriella," you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of joy and sentimentality. "You look absolutely breathtaking. This moment, it's everything we've ever dreamed of."

Gabriella's eyes shimmer with tears, mirroring your own. She reaches out a hand, her voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you, my dear friend. You've been there for me through it all, and having you by my side today means the world to me."

Unable to contain the surge of emotion within your heart, tears spill down your cheeks as you take a step closer to Gabriella. "I am so incredibly happy for you. This is your fairytale moment, and I'm honored to be a part of it."

She pulls you into a warm embrace, the layers of tulle from her dress enveloping you both. "I couldn't have asked for a better maid of honor," Gabriella whispers, her voice filled with sincerity. "You've been my rock, my confidante, and my source of strength. Today, let's make unforgettable memories together."

You nod, your heart swelling with a mix of nostalgia and excitement. "Absolutely, Gabs. This is a day to celebrate love, friendship, and the beautiful journey that has brought you and Cameron to this point."

As you and Gabriella are caught up in the embrace of the moment, a soft knock on the door interrupts the tranquility. You turn your gaze towards the door, and there stands Gabriella's father, a warm smile on his face.

"Gabriella, my love, it's time," he says, his voice filled with a mix of pride and tenderness. "The guests are eagerly awaiting your entrance."

Gabriella's eyes meet her father's, a mixture of excitement and nervousness filling the room. She takes a deep breath, releasing herself from your embrace, and steps towards him. "Thank you, Daddy. I'm ready."

He extends his arm, offering it to Gabriella. "Shall we, my beautiful daughter?"

With a nod, Gabriella places her hand in her father's, and together they step out of the room, leaving behind a trail of anticipation and love.

As the maid of honor, you follow closely behind, joining the other bridesmaids in a line that forms behind Gabriella and her father. The air is electric with excitement, and each step feels like a dance, a rhythmic cadence leading you closer to the moment when love will be proclaimed before all.

The hallway is adorned with delicate flowers, their fragrance lingering in the air. Whispers of encouragement and last-minute adjustments to dresses fill the space. Each bridesmaid shares a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the role you play in this momentous occasion.

With each step towards the aisle, your heart beats in synchrony with the music that softly fills the venue. The weight of the day's emotions settles upon your shoulders, but you draw strength from the collective energy surrounding you.

As you reach the entrance to the aisle, the space opens up before you, revealing a sea of smiling faces. The anticipation is palpable, and the love that radiates from the guests is a testament to the profound impact Gabriella and Cameron's relationship has had on their lives.

As the bridesmaids gracefully make their way down the aisle, the air is filled with a palpable sense of anticipation. Your heart skips a beat as you step forward, one foot in front of the other, following in the footsteps of your fellow bridesmaids. The soft notes of the music guide your every movement, as if leading you towards destiny.

As you walk down the aisle, you can't help but feel the weight of each step, the significance of this moment seeping into your very being. And then, it happens. Your eyes meet the gaze of Harry, standing next to Cameron with a small smile gracing his lips. Time seems to stand still for a fleeting second, as a surge of emotions rushes through you.

In that instant, memories of your past love flood your mind. You can't help but imagine how it would have felt to have Harry standing beside you on your own wedding day, promising forever to one another. The thought stirs a bittersweet ache deep within your heart.

But as quickly as the thoughts come, you remind yourself of the present, of Gabriella's radiant joy and the love she has found in Cameron. The smile on Harry's face, though filled with a hint of longing, serves as a reminder that life has taken its own course.

As the memories flood back, a vivid flashback transports you to a time when everything between you and Harry felt blissfully perfect.

It was a sunny afternoon, and you both found yourselves strolling hand in hand along a picturesque beach.

The golden sand stretched out before you, a canvas of possibility, as the waves crashed against the shore in a soothing rhythm. The salty breeze whispered promises of a future filled with love and shared dreams. At that moment, it seemed like the world belonged solely to the two of you.

As you walked, your fingers intertwined, Harry's voice broke the comfortable silence.

"You know," he said, his eyes locked onto yours, his voice filled with an earnestness that tugged at your heart. "One day, I'm going to marry you."

You stopped in your tracks, your heart leaping in your chest. A mixture of surprise and delight filled your being, as you searched his eyes for any hint of doubt. But all you found was unwavering love and a conviction that mirrored your own.

A smile spread across your face, your voice filled with a mixture of excitement and tenderness. "You really mean that, don't you?"

Harry's grip tightened around your hand, his eyes never wavering from yours. "I mean it with every fibre of my being. You are my everything, and I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else but you."

In that moment, the world seemed to pause, as if granting you a glimpse into the future, a future where the promise of forever was within your grasp. The weight of his words settled in your heart, igniting a fire of hope and love that would burn brightly for years to come.

With tears of joy and a heart overflowing with love, you threw your arms around Harry, your embrace sealing the unspoken vows that resonated between you. Time stood still as you revelled in the sheer beauty of his declaration, knowing that this was just the beginning of an extraordinary love story.

But now, standing in the present, you are reminded that life doesn't always follow the script we envision. Paths diverge, hearts change, and the once-unbreakable bond may shift and fracture. And yet, the memory of his words lingers, a testament to the depth of the connection you once shared.

As Gabriella and her father make their way down the aisle, a radiant glow surrounds them. The delicate strains of the music fill the air, creating an atmosphere of enchantment. You watch with awe and admiration, feeling the weight of the moment in your very core.

Turning your gaze towards Cameron, the groom, your heart swells with emotions. There, standing at the end of the aisle, you see tears streaming down his face, mirroring the overwhelming joy and love that fills his heart. It's a testament to the depth of his feelings for Gabriella, a visible expression of his immense happiness.

The sight of Cameron's tears warms your soul, reaffirming the strength of the love that unites this couple. It's a reminder that true love has the power to move us to our very core, evoking emotions that cannot be contained.

As you shift your attention, your eyes meet Harry's intense gaze. There he stands, his eyes locked onto yours, a mix of emotions flickering in his expression. Time seems to stand still as your eyes connect, memories flooding your mind, and an unspoken understanding passes between you.

In that fleeting moment, a whirlwind of emotions unfolds. The unspoken connection you share with Harry resurfaces, a reminder of the love that once burned bright. Despite the passage of time and the paths you have each taken, the spark remains, a testament to the depth of the bond you once shared.

But as quickly as the moment arrives, you tear your gaze away, focusing once more on the unfolding ceremony. This day is not about what might have been or the complexities of the past. It's about Gabriella and Cameron, their love, and the promise of a beautiful future together.

With a deep breath, you redirect your attention towards the couple, their radiant smiles shining through tear-streaked faces. The moment is too precious to be clouded by the lingering echoes of a different time.

As the ceremony continues, you find solace in the knowledge that even if paths have diverged, the impact of the past remains. The love you once shared with Harry has shaped you, and the lessons learned have paved the way for the person you've become.

In this bittersweet moment, you choose to embrace the present, to honour the love that binds Gabriella and Cameron, and to celebrate the beauty of their union. The future may hold uncertainties, but for now, you stand as a witness to the joy and the promise of their love, ready to support them with unwavering loyalty.

The vicar cleared his throat, before addressing the crowd of awaiting guests.

“We are gathered here today, in this beautiful place to witness the joining of two lives. Gabriella Eden Clark and Cameron Curtis Callister.”

The after party of the wedding goes into full swing, the air alive with laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses. You find yourself standing at the bar,empty glass in hand and a sombre smile painted across your facial features.

As you stand at the bar, contemplating your drink options, the bartender, a charming and flirtatious individual, approaches with a warm smile. "What can I get you, beautiful?" he asks, his voice laced with a hint of playful admiration.

You can't help but blush at the compliment, feeling a bit flustered by his attention.

"I'll have a gin and tonic, please," you respond, trying to maintain a composed demeanour.

The bartender quickly prepares your drink, and as he hands it to you, he leans in slightly, his eyes playfully meeting yours. "You seem like you could use a bit of cheering up. Tough day?"

You chuckle softly, feeling a hint of flirtation in the air. "You could say that. But it's a wedding, right? Shouldn't I be all smiles?"

"Well, smiles don't always tell the whole story," the bartender replies with a knowing grin. "Sometimes, there's a lot more going on beneath the surface."

You can't help but be drawn into the conversation, finding solace in the casual banter. The bartender seems perceptive, almost as if he can sense the complexities of your emotions.

Before the exchange can go any further, a familiar figure steps in, and you feel the atmosphere shift. It's Harry, wearing a strained smile as he casually places his hand on the small of your back. "Hey, babe, sorry to interrupt. Can I get you a drink?"

You raise an eyebrow, both surprised and irritated by his sudden intrusion. "I already ordered a gin and tonic," you reply, struggling to keep your emotions in check.

The bartender glances between you and Harry, sensing the tension in the air, but he remains polite and professional. He serves you the drink and gives a nod to Harry before excusing himself to tend to other customers.

Harry leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with frustration. "Can we talk, please? I don't like seeing you talking to other guys."

You roll your eyes, feeling a mixture of annoyance and longing. "Harry, we broke up. You don't get to be jealous anymore."

His jaw tightens, a sign that his emotions are getting the best of him. "I know, but seeing you with someone else... it's not easy."

You cross your arms, trying to hold your ground. "You left me, Harry. You made the decision to end things between us. So, I have every right to move on."

"I know I messed up," he admits, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. "But that doesn't mean I've stopped caring about you."

The raw honesty in his voice pulls at your heartstrings, reminding you of the deep connection you once shared. But it also reignites the frustration of the unresolved feelings that continue to linger between you.

"Harry, it's not that simple," you say softly, trying to convey the complexity of your emotions.

"I know," he replies, his voice softening. "But just for tonight, can we try to put the past aside? I don't want to ruin Gabriella's day, and I don't want to see you hurt."

You take a deep breath, searching for the right words. "I won't let anything ruin her day, Harry. And as for me, I'll be fine. I promise."

The emotions in his eyes are raw and genuine, a reminder of the connection that once bound you together. But the wounds of the past still feel fresh, and you know that pretending won't heal them.

"I should go find Gabriella," you say, breaking the silence.

You step away from Harry, determined to find Gabriella and immerse yourself in the joyous celebration once again. The echoes of your conversation with him still reverberate in your mind, the angst and longing echoing through your heart.

As you make your way through the crowd, searching for the familiar sight of your best friend, the music fills the air, the rhythm offering a temporary respite from the tangled emotions that have consumed you.

Finally, you spot Gabriella, radiant in her wedding dress, surrounded by friends and family. She notices you and her face lights up, a smile stretching from ear to ear. You can't help but smile back, her happiness infectious and momentarily overshadowing the complexities of your own emotions.

"Hey, there you are!" she exclaims, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I've been looking everywhere for you. How are you holding up?"

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you return her embrace, feeling a surge of love and pride for your best friend. "I'm... I'm okay, really. Just a bit overwhelmed with everything."

Gabriella studies your face, her eyes full of understanding. "I know it's not easy seeing Harry here. But I promise you, today is about celebrating love and new beginnings. And that includes your happiness too."

Her words strike a chord within you, reminding you of the bigger picture and the importance of finding your own path forward. You take a deep breath, finding solace in Gabriella's unwavering support.

"I know, Gabby. I'm so happy for you and Cameron," you say, your voice filled with sincerity. "And I wouldn't let anything ruin this day for you."

Gabriella smiles warmly, a mix of gratitude and empathy shining in her eyes. "Thank you, bestie. Now, let's enjoy the rest of this celebration together. We'll make beautiful memories that will last a lifetime."

As the lively chatter fills the air, the clinking of glasses and the laughter of guests echoing through the reception hall, a hush falls over the room as the emcee takes the stage. The DJ lowers the music, allowing the focus to shift to the front of the room where the bridal party gathers.

You watch as Cameron's best friend, Harry, stands up, a mix of nerves and excitement evident on his face. The crowd's attention turns to him, eager to hear his words of praise and heartfelt anecdotes.

With a deep breath, Harry steps forward, his eyes scanning the room before settling on the newlyweds, Gabriella and Cameron, standing side by side. The microphone in his hand seems to provide a sense of grounding as he begins his speech, his voice carrying with a blend of sincerity and charm.

“Hi…hello. For those of you who don’t have the pleasure of knowing me, m’names Harry and I’ve got the privilege of being Cameron’s best man. And when he asked me I just knew for a fact that I had to say yes. There was no doubt about it.

I’ve had the privilege of knowing Cam for twenty years now, in fact I was the one who introduced him to Gabriella.”

You sat next to Gabriella on the family table where the bride and groom, the parents and the beat man sat.

When Cameron met Gabriella, it was also the same day that you met Harry. At a bar downtown approximately three years ago.

On a balmy summer evening, you and Gabriella decided to escape to a vibrant beach bar, seeking the embrace of salty air and the rhythmic crashing of waves. The soft glow of tiki torches and the melodic tunes drifting from the stage set the perfect ambiance for a memorable night.

As you settled at a cosy table with Gabriella, laughter and chatter filled the air, creating an atmosphere of carefree joy. It was then that two intriguing men approached your table, their smiles both charismatic and inviting.

One of them caught Gabriella's attention immediately. His charisma was undeniable, and his playful banter made her giggle like a schoolgirl. It was Cameron, a man whose easygoing nature and warm presence resonated with her.

“Well, hello there. You certainly know how to make an entrance!" Your best friend giggled, twirling a strand of her her hair.

Cameron showed off his pearly whites. "I couldn't resist coming over when I saw two beautiful ladies enjoying themselves. Mind if we join you?"

Gabriella grinned, "Not at all! I'm Gabriella, and this is my best friend (Y/N)."

While Gabriella was swept away by the instant connection with Cameron, your attention was captured by the other man standing before you. It was Harry, the renowned singer and actor, whose mere presence was enough to make hearts skip a beat. His eyes met yours, and in that moment, it felt as though time stood still.

"Good evening. I couldn't help but notice your radiant smile from across the bar. Mind if I take a seat?" Harry had a charming smile on his face.

You blushed. “Of course, please join us. I'm (Y/N). It's a pleasure to meet you."

From that point on, conversation flowed effortlessly. With Cameron and Gabriella engrossed in their own world, you found yourself immersed in a captivating dialogue with Harry. Topics ranging from music and movies to life's profound questions filled the air, weaving a tapestry of connection between you both.

“M’harry, and it’s a pleasure to meet y’aswell, love.” Harry took the seat closest to you and offered you a small smile. “So what brings the two to the bar tonight?”

“I was kind of hoping that I’d be the best looking person in the room today, but I must say Gabriella…you're giving me a run for my money over here.”

You swallowed. There was no doubt about it that he was the best looking man in the room.

He had a black suit on, the jacket open revealing a white tank top that hung low against his chest revealing his swallow tattoos and the cross necklace that was wrapped around his neck as well as the beaded necklace that you had gifted him for your first anniversary.

You had only just noticed that he was still wearing it.

“I would like to thank Cam and G for allowing me this honour today. As I don't feel it can be said enough, I'd also like to thank everyone who has worked so hard to ensure that this special day for the bride and groom has been so perfect.

Cam you are one of the cleverest, most loyal, generous, char charm…Sorry, I can't read your writing. You'll just have to tell me that part later. Seriously though, Cameron is one of the highest-quality people I know and is an invaluable friend. He's the kind of friend who asks you how your day is, and really wants to know.”

Always the jokester.

“Gabby, you've snagged yourself a great catch. And Gabby, you definitely bring out the best qualities in Cameron and make him very happy. I could tell how special you were when Cam called me up after your first date. He finally got off the phone after two hours. I have a lot to thank you two for.

Now that you're married, you have been officially promoted from when is the wedding, to when are you having kids!!”

You watched as he turned to look at the bride and groom.

“Cam, take G’s hand and place your hand over hers. Now remember this moment and cherish it because this will be the last time you'll ever have the upper hand!!! Lastly, remember to always communicate and try not to go to sleep angry at each other.

At this time I ask everyone to raise their glass:

Here is to love, laughter, and a happily ever after, Cameron and Gabriella your fairy tale is only beginning.

Cheers.”

You as well as all of the other guests raised your glasses up in there air and you couldn’t help but feel your eyes well up slightly.

You couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever have a day like this.

A day where you felt you were loved and enough to be called someone’s wife.

As the enchanting melodies fill the air, casting a magical spell over the dance floor, you find yourself sitting alone at a table, a small slice of wedding cake resting on your plate. The bittersweet taste of the frosting lingers on your lips, mirroring the mix of emotions swirling within your heart.

From your vantage point, you watch Gabriella and Cameron take to the center of the dance floor, bathed in soft, romantic lights. They move gracefully together, their steps choreographed in perfect harmony. The love and happiness radiating from their embrace is palpable, filling the room with an undeniable warmth.

While everyone around you immerses themselves in the joyful celebration, laughter and smiles filling the space, you can't help but feel a profound sense of sadness and longing. It's as if the world has come alive with love and happiness, but you're trapped in a web of anguished emotions.

You take another bite of the cake, savoring the sweetness that contrasts with the bitter ache in your chest. The layers of fluffy sponge and decadent frosting seem to melt in your mouth, offering a fleeting moment of solace amidst the melancholy that weighs you down.

As the music swells, intertwining with the laughter and applause, you watch as Gabriella rests her head on Cameron's shoulder, her eyes shining with adoration. Their connection is undeniable, a love story unfolding before your very eyes.

In this moment, you can't help but wonder what could have been. If circumstances had been different, if Harry hadn't left, would you too be sharing a dance, lost in a world of your own? The thought stings, reminding you of the love you once shared, and the dreams that now lay shattered.

Lost in your thoughts, you fail to notice the curious glances and concerned whispers from friends and family. They try to pull you into the festivities, urging you to join the dance floor, but your heart feels heavy, anchored to a past that refuses to release its hold.

You watch as couples twirl and sway, the music carrying them in its embrace. Each step seems to magnify your solitude, intensifying the pain of being left behind. The angsty turmoil within you grows, like a tempest brewing in the depths of your soul.

Yet, even in the midst of your sadness, a small glimmer of hope flickers. It reminds you that this is just a chapter in your life, and that healing will come with time. As difficult as it may be, you know that you must navigate the stormy sea of emotions, facing the waves of uncertainty and emerging stronger on the other side.

With a sigh, you set aside the half-eaten slice of cake, no longer finding solace in its sweetness. The dance continues, the music carrying the echoes of love and joy throughout the room. And though you may feel lost in this moment, you remain hopeful that someday, your own dance of happiness will come, guiding you towards a brighter tomorrow.

Feeling a mix of emotions and a longing for some fresh air, you decided to excuse yourself from the bustling dance floor. Stepping out into the cool night, you found solace leaning against the venue's exterior wall, your phone grasped firmly in your hand, contemplating whether to call an Uber and retreat to the comfort of solitude.

Just as you were about to tap on the Uber app, a familiar figure emerged from the crowd and made their way towards you. It was Harry, his presence surprising yet oddly discomforting in that moment.

Harry approached with a conflicted expression. "Hey there, (Y/N) Mind if I join you for a moment?"

You let out a soft sigh, to tired to argue with him and push him away. "Harry...What do you want?"

As Harry closed the distance between you, tension hung thick in the air. The atmosphere crackled with unresolved emotions and lingering wounds.

Harry spoke gently. "I saw you step outside and thought I'd check on you. Can we talk? There’s a few things I would like to say."

You nodded your head, tilting it up to properly look at him. "Fine, talk. But don't think it changes anything."

Harry paused slightly, his voice filled with regret. "I made a mistake, (Y/N). Breaking up with you was the biggest regret of my life. I still love you, and I want you back more than anything.”

Your voice was trembling with anger. "You want me back? After all this time? You're unbelievable, Harry. You broke my heart, and now you expect me to just forgive and forget?"

“I know I messed up, but I've realised what we had was special. I can't imagine my life without you, and I'll do whatever it takes to make it right." Harry was starting to get defensive.

"You don't get it, do you? You left me broken, questioning my worth. And now you waltz back into my life, claiming you still love me? It's too late, Harry. I've moved on." Your voice was laced with pain as you replied.

Harry was full of pleading now. "But I love you. Can't you see that? We can work through this. Please, give us another chance."

Your voice was trembling, tears welling up in your eyes. "Love isn't enough, Harry. Trust was shattered, and scars remain. I can't go back to that pain. We can't keep hurting each other."

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future. A torrent of emotions swirled within you, torn between the love you once shared and the wounds that still lingered.

“I still love you, (Y/N), And I know deep down, you still love me too. We can't deny what's between us." Harry spoke softly.

Your voice was quivering. "Maybe we do... but love isn't always enough. We both deserve to find happiness and heal. It's time to let go, Harry."

He was getting frustrated. "How can you say that? We can't just give up on what we had. We fought for each other before, we can do it again."

"I fought for us, Harry. I fought to keep our love alive, but you gave up. You walked away when things got tough. I can't go through that again." Your voice was filled with pain with every word you spoke to him.

He was trying not to get angry. "I made a mistake, okay? I messed up, but I'm here now, begging for another chance. Can't you see how much I still love you?"

Your voice was shaking with anger. "Love is not enough when trust is shattered. How can I believe that you won't leave again when things get difficult? I can't keep living in fear of being abandoned."

The emotions spiraled out of control, hurtful words exchanged in the heat of the moment. Pain radiated from both of you, as the scars of the past resurfaced with a vengeance.

“I never stopped loving you, [Your Name]. I regret what I did every day. Please, give me a chance to prove that I've changed." His voice was breaking.

Tears were streaming down your face. "I wish it were that simple, Harry. But trust isn't rebuilt overnight. It takes time, effort, and a willingness to face our demons. I don't know if we're capable of that anymore."

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, suffocating the hope that lingered in your hearts. The love you once shared seemed overshadowed by the pain and doubts that had consumed your relationship.

"I can't let you go, (Y/N). You're the one who got away, the one I can't imagine living without. Please, don't shut me out completely." Harry’s voice was filled with desperation.

You felt like giving up completely. “I never wanted to shut you out, Harry. But sometimes, moving on is the only way to heal. We need to find our own paths, our own happiness. It's time to say goodbye."

As you stood outside, your emotions still raw from the intense conversation, you felt a gentle touch on your arm. You turned to find Harry standing there, his eyes filled with a mix of vulnerability and hope.

Harry spoke softly. "(Y/N) I know we've been through so much, and we both made mistakes. But deep down, I believe we still have something worth fighting for."

You looked into his eyes, searching for sincerity, and found a glimmer of the love that once connected you. A hesitant smile formed on your lips, and before you could say a word, Harry closed the distance between you, pulling you into an embrace.

In that moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, holding onto each other tightly. The weight of the past started to lift as the power of your love resurfaced.

As your lips met, it felt like a floodgate of emotions was released. The passion and longing that had been suppressed for so long found an outlet in this one simple act of reconnection. The kiss was filled with tenderness, forgiveness, and a renewed sense of hope.

As you and Harry pulled away from the passionate kiss, your eyes locked once again, and you could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. In that tender moment, you found the courage to express what your hearts had been longing to say.

“Harry, I..." You whispered into the air, only to get interrupted.

Harry interrupted you gently. "I love you, (Y/N). I've always loved you, and I never stopped, I don’t think I ever could stop loving you…you own every fibre of my being."

A rush of emotions washed over you, filling your heart with warmth and reassurance. The love that had endured through time and distance was finally being acknowledged, breaking down the barriers that had kept you apart.

You were smiling, tears of joy glistening in your eyes. "I love you, Harry. With all my heart."

And that love would never fault. Not after you’ve finally got him back.

The nights you couldn’t sleep because you missed his warmth and his embrace had all led to this very moment.

The moment you finally had him back in your arms.

In that moment, the world seemed to pause, and the whispers of "I love you" echoed in the night. It was a declaration of love that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words and the promise of a future filled with love, understanding, and growth.

As you held each other tightly, your hearts intertwined once again, you knew that this love was worth fighting for. And as you turned to rejoin the celebration, hand in hand, the words "I love you" echoed in your minds, creating a harmonious symphony of love, hope, and a promise of a beautiful future together.

Unbeknownst to you, Cameron and Gabriella had stepped outside and witnessed the passionate embrace. They exchanged knowing glances, their smiles speaking volumes. They had always believed in the deep connection you and Harry shared, and seeing it unfold before their eyes only affirmed their faith in true love.

Cameron whispered to his wife. "I told you they were meant to be together. Love like theirs doesn't just disappear."

It really didn’t and it never would.

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pastel-charm-14 · 1 month

Text

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ masterlist/intro post ♥

﹒──── ✩！ᶻz ⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜ㆍ﹒

◞ ★ ︉﹒hi!! i'm pastel︔

ᨳ i use she/they pronouns ﹕

◞ ★﹒i'm a demigirl︔ ︉

ᨳ i'm bi ﹕

◞ ★ ︉﹒ ︉i like anything pink, sanrio, soft girl stuff, helping people︔

ᨳ i dislike racism, homophobia, misogynism, pedophilia ﹕

◞ ★ ﹒i speak spanish and english, and i'm so happy to meet you all!! let's be friends!︔ ︉

this post is a list of all of the posts i've created thus far. i'll try to update it as often as i can, but please tell me if i miss anything!

﹒──── ✩！ᶻz ⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜⸜ㆍ﹒

q&a is open!

important announcement

romanticizing series:

intro to romanticizing

romanticizing school

romanticizing work

romanticizing your routines

romanticizing friendships

health/wellness/self-care masterlist

personal development/mindset masterlist

beauty/fashion

curling your hair effectively

eye makeup guide

applying lip gloss and lipstick

soft girl minimalism

find your signature scent

soft girl makeup bag essentials

how to do your hair

the art of layering

how to be a soft girl

diy manicure - step-by-step

treasure hunting: a guide to thrifting

embracing pastels

styling your school uniform

creativity/art

nostalgia poem

all too well lyric analysis

journal prompts

bullet journaling

cosy book recommendations

pink poem

pink-themed DIY project

hobby ideas

how to organize your room and keep it that way

aesthetic tips + ideas for your phone

relationships/social

nurturing effective communication

friendship

how to say what you mean and mean what you say

miscellaneous

taking care of succulents

starting a garden

top 10 sanrio characters

editing aesthetic photos

pink velvet cupcakes

floral tea recipe

navigating financial wellness

eco-friendly living

the history of hello kitty

aesthetic YouTube channels to check out

sustainable aviation fuel

how to make a vision board

volunteering

the difference between "i love you" and "love you"

notes

dear diary

what i'm manifesting rn

note: i'm so sorry i had to make a couple more masterlists; the post was getting so long it started glitching when i tried to edit it :)

#masterlist #self care #that girl #it girl #pink #pink pilates princess #clean girl #coquette #just girly things #vanilla girl #cute #master list #masterpost #navigation #this took way too long #this took so long #this took forever #aughhhhhhhhh #pastel dreamer✨

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crushedsweets · 8 months

Note

Got any cool hip creepypasta headcanons?!?😱😱

DEPENDS... its hard without any specific prompts but yk what anon im capable of talking out of my ass no matter what.

this'll be talking about the main 12 i usually talk about, so if i say smth like 'so and so is the ONLY one who does this', they aren't actually the only one

toby rides a bike everywhere. he just steals random ones if he sees one he likes or knows hes hella far from home and doesnt wanna walk. brought home a pink beach cruiser once and natalie laughed her ass off. . .

the proxies (tim, brian, toby) have a cabin that tim and brian treat more like a safehouse rather than a home. tim and brian share an apartment near the city though. toby is the only one who lives there full time. they all have to pitch in for the bills, but toby has to scramble to get the majority bc again.. lives there full time.

the cabin only has 2 bedrooms, 1.5 baths, a connected kitchen/living room, and an attic. the small bedroom is filled to the fucking BRIM with random bullshit that they keep as storage but its just ridicoulous. like boxes filled with random shit toby steals (i kinda hc toby as a kleptomaniac too), tables, dressers, clothes, etc. a lot of it is also stuff that like, jeff or nat dropped off being like 'keep this safe for me' and it eventually just devolved into a storage room. the master bedroom is where tim or brian sleep IF they are at the cabin. toby made the attic his bedroom, but he falls asleep on the couch or in the master bedroom if the other two aren't home. he just likes that the attic is someplace nobody else really wants to go cuz.. why would they need to?

tim owns a busted rusty reddish colored pickup truck. he totally named it something like sheila and calls it a 'she.' brian prob just has a basic little grey honda. does not name it . .

natalie has huge issues w her gender. not in a queer way(well sort of in a queer way bc im projecting) but in a like. 'fuck this shit im fucking tired' because growing up, she was always a daughter, sister, niece, etc before she was her own person. she grew up in a house of men, and her extended family was largely ran by shitty, loud, sexist men that constantly ostracized her for being a girl. toby is legit the only dude she's fully like Ok. I'm ok with u. ur just fucking stupid. and she pokes fun at him being a mamas boy and says thats why shes ok with him. she stopped talking to him for like a month the one time he made a gender roles comment that he got from his dad.

natalie used to play volleyball and basketball growing up cuz again, grew up with boys and she was always really tall (like 5'7 in 6th grade, 6ft by highschool). sports and art were her ONLY outlets, but she was always degraded and shamed by her dad and brother for art. her dad loved that she played sports though, one of the only things he was supportive about . until she got a little older and he decided that being a tomboy wasnt as endearing on a teenage girl.

i cannot explain how close jane and her parents were. she was an only child in a upper middle class house to a lawyer and a real estate agent so she was always spoiled rotten, taken care of, always told how beautiful and smart she was. hence why losing them is the most fucking detrimental shit to ever happen to her. she literally worhsips her parents. she's wore mothers wedding dress to her own wedding. her uncle(dads brother) walked her down the aisle holding a framed photo of her dad. she almost refused to walk during her university graduation because her parents couldn't be there, despite the years worth of hardwork and dedication she put into it.

mary(janes wife) was janes bestfriend in highschool. it was one of those crazy homoerotic female friendships. they were eachothers first kiss even when they thought they were straight ("oh lets practice kiss for our future bfs!").

my idea of ben kinda combines the idea of ben the kid who drowned, and BEN the experiment to put souls into a digital afterlife. ben bought majoras mask from some creepy neighbor at a garage sale, and the neighbor had like. this completely absurd theory that he could put himself into a game or something. so he ended up tricking several kids into buying the same majoras mask cartridge, killing them after they beat the game together, and their souls DID get trapped in the cartridge but it didnt do much for his theory... WHICH MEANS that BEN is a culmination of several people, kids and teens raging from like 7-19, but the ben we know is sort of like.. the only one who escaped the cartridge (he was the last one killed and the reason the man got caught for murder)? but he was stuck in said cartridge for about like 7 years before he was 'reawoken' so traces of others souls are in him. ITS REALLY COMPLICATED it makes sense in my head but idk. he has a lot of identity issues that come packed with having his childhood stolen from him.

he's so close to sally because he relates to her on that level. while their trauma was different, being a kid taken advantage of and fucking murdered is insane. despite coming from completely different time periods (sally died in the 1900s, ben died in the 2000s), ben can only find himself truly relating to sally on an emotional level. sure, him jeff and toby can laugh and play video games and wrestle and stuff, but sally is the only one who can even begin to understand what it's like to be a dead kid.

sally and ben kinda make a lot of comments about humans and stuff LOL. most of it is in the 'you ungrateful pieces of shit you THREW AWAY YOUR LIFE' but sometimes it's something more bittersweet. 'you lived to adulthood, you have so much, you can do so much, please keep going, there's so much left for you, don't let it go' etc etc. they can sometimes be the wisest in their perspectives of life, death, mortality. but theyre both so bitter and traumatized and hurt but it that it's mostly overshadowed by envy. that's why the two of them can be so close, even if they dont really sit and like.. philosophize about life. lmfao

ben has gotten into several like police and governemnt systems and removed so many cctv footage of everyone getting in trouble, or even wiped their shit from systems. he is like the main reason none of them are in jail unironically.

jeff is the only one who truly enjoys murder. he's a sadist at heart and has a fetish for all this blood and guts. toby and natalie did have their own periods in life where they killed for relief/as a power trip(toby only ever did it under orders, natalie took some sleezy guys home from bars). the rest of them either aren't killers, or don't do it by choice (brian and tim).

i was gonna ramble about nina next but im kinda embarrassed that i just spoke so much about them BAHAHAH OK THANKS ANON

#chatterbox #hcs #creeped #ummm #creepypasta #ticci toby #clockwork #jane everlasting #jane richardson #ben drowned #natalie oullette #asks

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venusianc0mplex · 8 months

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Children of Aphrodite

Children of Aphrodite are elegant, captivating, mesmerizing and artistically gifted geniuses. They are also sensitive, quick-tempered and love a good banter from someone they like. They are made to captivate an audience through beauty and learn from their multitude of experiences in love.

Gifts

EXTREMELY gorgeous people

Very talented songwriters

They ALWAYS know what kind of clothing or style looks good on them

They naturally know how to charm the pants off the opposite sex

They know what to do to get what they want

Veryyy good at social climbing

They know how to utilize their social powers very well

They have very good taste in art and knows what the mass like artistically

They have people lined up for miles chasing after them

They are usually blessed with beautiful or well-off friends

They usually spend most of their days enjoying food, art, and beauty

A lot of them are gifted with very nice bodies that fit the modern beauty standards

When healed they are extremely loyal and very attentive lovers, the men are usually huge providers

They understand what to do in love naturally

They usually have a very good relationship with their masculinity/femininity

They either have very good physiques naturally or they build up their bodies very easily

They naturally make very good gurus

They are v

Very charming speakers who grab other people’s attention easily without trying

Very good tastes in clothing

They are charming without trying too much

They are allowed to be indulgent in the beautiful things in life

They have a very good eye for photos

They are blessed with very lovely voices

They are very persuasive people

Common Themes

They usually thrive the most in some kind of art or fashion related industry

They are usually very generous to their friends

They love giving advice or becoming other people’s guru

They usually don’t stand out very much aura-wise but they are very beautiful people who are noticed for their visuals

They are very popular people even if they hate 80% of the people in the room with them

They LOVE sweets ;)

They usually have very nice aesthetics going on their social media account

They usually treat their partners very well but some people can resort to cheating to move on fast from their ex-partners

They tend to move on fast from their relationships while their exes still longs for them

Their relationships tend to go very public

They are usually very spiritually inclined even if they are not the most gifted ones

They would be the type to cast a love spell on someone

They usually THRIVE opening some kind of beauty item business of their own (makeup, skincare, candles, or perfume)

They love to hang around gorgeous people, they usually treat their pretty friends very well

They are usually very responsible parents or they will think things through before having kids

They can be very very sharp-tongued and they LOVE a good banter

Their flirting consists of you complimenting them + banter

They LOVE memes or are huge memers

Either very serious or super unserious for the most part

They tend to have a good work-life balance

They are meant to learn from all of their relationships instead of chronically indulging in them and jumping from one relationship to another

They are usually huge realists

They usually stick to the aesthetic they like the most and they are not really open to switching their aesthetics or style up

They don’t tend to see themselves in a bad light

They usually have a logical/practical approach to life

They grow to understand that they attract the energy they put out there

They usually have a relationship in life that is their greatest challenge

They usually learn to take VERY good care of themselves

They usually do end up manifest their dreams very successfully by taking practical steps to make things happen

Challenges

They need to learn from the mistakes of their past relationships

They can be very superficial, in friendships and with people in general

Escapism through relationships and materialism

Inability to resolve things properly because they don’t want to offend people by having hard talks with them

Inability to dive into deeper topics until they’ve suffered the problem in life

They aren’t the most considerate people until they’ve suffered some hardships and criticisms in life

Stubbornness and refusal to change, very hard stuck on their ideals

Too idealistic when it comes to relationships

They can be too giving to the wrong people because they think being nice to that person will bring them social benefits

Refusal to create genuine friendships due to fear of opening up, fear of not being accepted, and fear of abandonment, life feels much easier when they keep everyone at a distance

Genuine refusal to change

Surround themselves with the wrong people because they want to be with the “cool kids” or they surround themselves with too many yes men

They have trouble finding their fault until they truly fked up in life

Keep everything too surface leveled

Avoidance

Exclusivity because the person doesn’t bring what they want in life or doesn’t embody a certain aesthetic

A lot of them are a best friend to no one when they are younger

They need to learn to use their charm responsibly

They tend to close up and withdraw during the times they need to reach out to people the most

They can be very nice on a surface level to strangers and spill all of their worst sides to people closest to them and end up burdening the people closest to them

The girls can be VERY vengeful and they will choose vengeance over talking things out even with people closest to them

The Aphrodisian girlies can be very competitive and jealous of other girls despite being very blessed people

One of their biggest lessons in life is to not give excessively to their partners and remember to always love themselves first

They are quick-tempered

They can be very sharp-tongued to people that don’t deserve that treatment

They have trouble seeing why the wrong things they do are bad for others especially when they are young

They are usually quick tempered and like to complain a lot when things don’t go as expected, however, they also like to hold their anger in and suffer as a result

Disclaimer: Everything I mentioned above are based on my own observations, I do not claim to be 100% correct

#deity work #deity worship #greek gods #greek mythology #hellenic gods #spirituality #greek pantheon #pjo #observations #records #aphrodite #venus #venus worship #children of aphrodite

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bipstargirl · 7 months

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❝ Art, love and sunny days❞

Be part of the tag list and posting schedule - TAG LIST E SCHEDULE based on the idea: (painting/cooking/etc) together.

★ Painting Nights: Tara and you love to spend your Saturday nights painting together. You spread out a large canvas on the living room floor, put paints and brushes around it and start creating works of art. She usually chooses bold, colorful themes, while you prefer soft, relaxing landscapes. Your styles contrast, but that only makes your painting sessions more interesting. Sometimes you compete amicably to see who can create the most amazing painting. In the end, they usually laugh at your attempts, but it's incredible fun.

★ Double Cooking: Tara is an amazing cook, and you are her loyal assistant in the kitchen. Together, you love experimenting with recipes from different parts of the world. One of her favorite dishes to cook is sushi. She prepares the rice perfectly, while you cut the ingredients and help roll the rolls. It's a collaborative process that results in delicious home-cooked dinners. Sometimes they create their own recipes and give them funny names, like "Surprise Noodles" or "Adventure Chicken". They never know how it will turn out, but it's always a fun and tasty experience.

★ Nature walks: when they want some time away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, Tara and you go on nature walks. They love exploring forest trails, riverbanks and beaches. As you walk, you talk about your dreams and plans and observe the natural beauty around you. It's a time for reflection and deep connection. Tara always brings her camera to capture special moments, and you help her choose the best angles and compositions for her photos.

★ Movie Nights at Home: on some lazy evenings, they opt for movie nights at home. You prepare popcorn, set up a comfy blanket on the sofa and watch a movie marathon. You each choose a movie, and alternate between genres, ranging from romantic comedy to action movies and fascinating documentaries. Tara has an incredible taste for classic movies, and you like to introduce her to foreign films she's never seen before. It's a great way to expand your cinematic horizons together.

★ Collaborative art projects: from time to time, you venture into collaborative art projects. It could be a clay sculpture, a whimsical collage or even a mural on your wall. Working together on art projects allows them to combine their creative ideas and unique skills. The end result is always an expression of their friendship and collaboration.

TAG LIST -

#scream fanfic #scream imagine #scream x reader #scream x yn #scream movies #scream #scream headcanons #scream 2022 #scream franchise #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter x reader #tara x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader

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asterdisaster06 · 8 months

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Always and Forever

John "Soap" MacTavish x gn!reader

summary > childhood friends to lovers, with a dash of angst. well, a little more than a dash

word count > 4.9k

cw > lyrics from Sadie Jean as dialogue, Price having to bear witness to the awkward and emotional reunion

a/n > honestly, this story pains me even writing it. sorry in advance. just be glad i didn’t decide to make it a series about how the reader joined the shadow company and betrayed soap. although, if anyone asks i wouldn’t be opposed to writing something like that. then again, i’m writing a similar plot with konig and a 141 reader so. maybe not

ao3

You had known John “Soap” MacTavish since you were wee little kids that had playdates together due to your mother’s long standing friendship with each other. They had spent their pregnancies together through the beautiful moments of wonder that comes with the first ultrasounds to holding each other’s hair back in the morning as they expelled their guts out of their body - all because the day smelled off. Your mothers had their water break on the exact same day; a wonder pushed by the divine forces as your parents would say. You were born first and then Johnny came a mere minute later. You’ve held that fact over his head for a long time.

You were raised together in matching onesies and moments spent rarely apart. You were as much of Johnny's family as he was yours. Seasons and holidays were celebrated side by side with photo upon photos to prove it - your mother still embarrasses you by bringing them out of their dusty boxes every time you come around. Which, isn’t enough as she states.

New years parties that ended in cupcake crumbs on each of your faces. Valentine’s day arts and crafts that culminated in your mother’s unending giggling at the glitter that stuck to their children’s hands. Easter egg hunts that you suspect Soap always let you win; although he vehemently denies even considering such a thing. Fond memories of eating home-made hot cross buns with the icing always ending up smeared on the side of your mouth. April fools days spent with you two running around causing mischief around the neighbourhood much to the chagrin of your parents. Halloween costumes always matching to some degree even as you guys got older; and the tradition of Soap always giving you your favourite candy is something you still remember. The light shows viewed on your parents’ shoulders during Guy Fawkes night always bring a smile to your face as you remember the permanent face-splitting grins you two shared those nights. Christmases that had your parents wondering why they decided to have kids whenever the pair of you ran into their room at five in the morning jumping around and screaming about presents. Of course, they could never refuse the excitement that had an effect on even them as gift wrapping was ripped open and pretty bows were discarded in favour of the gift underneath the concealment.

Every picture of every moment of you two together - which were most of the photos given that you two never seemed to be apart except for bathroom breaks - always had a toothy grin on each of your faces. A few images over the years exhibited the matching gap in your front teeth that you shared with your MacTavish. You vaguely remember Soap celebrating the fact that his very same tooth as yours was wiggly. Although, you also recall that the reason it was loose was due to the fact he got clocked after defending your - in his words - honour from an older school boy. However it ended up missing, it was always a sweet memory that you held close to your heart.

You remember sneaking away after primary school to get ice cream - Soap always had the weirdest combination of flavours that somehow worked, magic as he called it. Everytime you got the sugary treat, MacTavish had always let you try his with the excuse that you needed to taste how good it ended up being. After the ice cream adventure the pair of you walked over to the nearby playground and stayed there until you were the only ones left; that and your parents began getting tired of waiting there after they ended up finding you. Swings were always the thing you two gravitated towards within the park because it let you guys talk about this and that. You also always had fun attempting to get yourselves in sync enough to hold hands. When spring came around Soap taught you how to make flower crowns while he continuously made rings of dandelions to propose to you with. It was always a promise to marry each other when you grew up - much to the amusement of your respective families.

Of course, your school life just had to be spent with paper airplanes and study sessions that really were just spent gossiping about people around the school. You two hooligans were actually banned from the library at least twice, something that your mothers like to bring up whenever they can. Despite the library prohibition, studying was something done on the regular at each other’s houses the night before tests. In spite of the giggling fits and existential questions about the meaning of life, good grades were made on a majority of tests and assignments. It was always a point of teasing when one of you got a better grade than the other when “we practised the exact same shite!”

Secondary school came and went, with so many hijinks occurring that you’ve lost count. Soap’s cousin came to visit once or twice during the holidays and it got him absolutely hooked on the possibility of following in their footsteps. His attempt to lie about his age was seen through, but he was promised first dibs whenever he was old enough to enlist for real. It was a topic spoken about a lot during the late hours of the nights, tossing a tennis ball back and forth between each other and sharing your thoughts out loud.

If you were being honest, it was simultaneously intriguing and terrifying to you. You certainly weren’t going to stop him from achieving his seemingly heart set career, but at the same time it sent chills down your spine at the thought of losing him to a stray bullet on the field. A wound that he couldn’t heal from. A moment of pause too many that left the life that sparkled so beautifully in his eyes drained from the bright cadet blues. In all honesty, this very thought is likely the reason you decided to enlist as a combat medic. You wanted to be able to be out there in the field alongside soldiers in order to treat them then and there. Soap promised to keep in touch whenever he was deployed, and to his credit, he did for a while.

The once abundant amount of calls that came from the familiar MacTavish son sizzled out as he got more and more busy and so did you. The once nightly tradition of talking to each other whether over the phone or a simple goodnight text had faded as your adult lives trickled into reality. It was something that pained you, and you thought of the man every day. You would’ve followed him to the ends of the earth if you had the time and heart, but unfortunately life moved on and the planet kept revolving.

That doesn’t mean that your feelings for him faded in the slightest - in fact, they only grew stronger as you messed around with a few men at bars. You quickly learned that none of them would ever amount to anything compared to the Scot that still was all that you wanted. You climbed the ranks with the thought of Soap in the forefront of your mind, a single call made when you were drunk the last time you had heard from him two years ago. He could be dead for all you knew, but you knew he wasn’t from his family. They claimed that his captain had been giving simple updates. It just seemed like he didn’t want to talk to you - or anyone associated with you. Or maybe he was too busy with his new task force friends - and don’t get it wrong, you were goddamn proud of your old childhood friend achieving all that he wanted and more. It’s just the fact that you wish you were there alongside him.

You remember that call like it was yesterday, regretting it just as much as you did when it happened. You got stood up by a soldier on base that you had been getting closer to until he asked you to go out to this one bar. Of course, it appears as if he wasn’t going to show up, effectively leaving you to the wolves. You figured it out after two texts and one call to him going unanswered after fifteen minutes of embarrassment. You sent one last call to someone that you didn’t even expect to answer, John MacTavish. It rang once, and then twice, and then his voice answered and sent your heart down to your stomach.

“What are you doing calling at this hour, Bonnie?”

Bonnie. An affectionate term that he coined sometime around highschool to make you blush. He never meant anything beyond the simple compliment beyond it, but it became tied to you nonetheless that you’d still answer to, to this day.

“I miss you, and-” You start babbling.

“Are you drunk, love?” He asks. You can hear shuffling and laughter in the background. There’s the unmistakable voice of a girl asking if he’ll join her on the dance floor, and you swear your heart breaks in two immediately.

“I love you, I always have. No matter where we are, you still have my heart. You were all that I wanted, you still are. You’re the one I can see me growing old with.”

“Hold on, love-”

“No, let me finish. Remember how you said you’d build me a house and plant me roses in the front yard? I want to cash that in. I’ve been looking for love around - and maybe some of them are real good guys - but they’re never gonna be like you though. You set the bar above the moon, MacTavish. I don’t want to be twenty-something and still in my head about seventeen in my bedroom talking. You swore, you said by now we’d paint the walls of our shared apartment,” You start sobbing at this point, your makeup running down your face.

“I know, Bonnie, I know,” He says, his voice a low timbre that sends shivers down your spine.

“Now that you’ve finally got the job you like. I wish I was there with you. By your side. Are you with somebody right now? Should I even care? Is it wrong that I don’t? I still care about you, Johnny. Still have your faded t-shirt that I’ve kept this long from that one festival. I think I’ve always known that I would love you. Now and forever,” You let out, realising that there was a distinct silence on the other end of the line. “Johnny?”

“Bonnie, I can’t do this.”

Your heart freezes; your frantic nerves slowing to a gentle tremor manifesting through your shaking frame.

“What do you mean? Shit, I’m sorry, I’m drunk and I don’t know what I’m saying. Forget I said anything. I won’t remember this in the morning anyways,” You awkwardly laugh, praying that he’ll go along. You didn’t know what you would do if he didn’t. You couldn’t bear the thought.

“We can’t forget this happened. I can’t. Shit.” You hear an audible swallow over the phone, and you imagine his hands running through that oh-so soft mohawk of his. The very same one that you cut and styled for him when he was sixteen - much to the chagrin of his family. They learned to agree it suited him after a month or two though.

“I think it’s best if we move on from each other. I need to forget about us, and I think you do too,” Soap snaps, and it would’ve rang warning bells in your head if you weren’t so drunk and distraught.

“Please, please don’t leave me. I can’t do this without you Johnny,” Your knees give out and you collapse, clasping a hand over your mouth to stop the sobs from escaping. The harsh brick street would leave bruises on your knees and the cold puddle from the rain only empathised with the tears running down your cheeks.

“Forget about me. It’s for the best, I’m sorry. . .” A click, and that was the last you ever heard from him.

You turn that memory in your head over and over again. Every time coming up with a new theory as to why he would’ve said that - none being good enough to satisfy your depraved curiosity. Or maybe it was desperation. It didn’t really matter to you anyways; considering the fact that all you knew was that Soap wanted nothing to do with you. Wanted nothing more than to forget you even existed and to free himself from you. You’ve tried your best to honour his request even to this day. Even though it pains every single part of you from your bones to your blood cells.

It’s the exact reason you’ve done your best to avoid anything regarding the infamous 141 Taskforce that you’ve heard so much about. The whispers across the battlefield through bated breaths tell you more than enough of what your old friend had achieved. You were proud of him, despite it all. It didn’t seem right to hold a grudge against someone just because he didn’t like you back - that and there’s always some part of you that remains stuck in the mindset of you as a teenager waving Soap off for his deployment. Letting go of that would mean disregarding all of the memories you two had shared together, and that wasn’t something you would do easily. Or willingly.

What you could do though is actively avoid any conversations, transfers, or promotions that would be a step towards the one that broke your heart. Even though he promised he would never do that. You couldn’t move on though, not when he was never really too far gone. There were only so many times you could side step working with or towards the task force before your superiors volunteered you to be moved to their compound. Nothing you could reasonably say would sway their viewpoint, and if it could it’s already been used as an excuse in the past. The only thing you could do was take a deep breath and shield yourself as you walked past the gates. A small part of you wished there was something wrong with your ID and they wouldn’t let you in, but of course that wasn’t the case. Everything was up to date and your footfalls resounded down the long hall to Price’s office.

A renowned man that you’ve heard all too much about through both your fellow soldiers and Soap in the past. Always good, always with admiration lacing the words. Unfortunately that wasn’t what you were feeling right now - in spite of the fact that you knew you worked damn hard to be promoted to this position and deserved it. You wish you didn’t.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Seer. You’ve saved more men than I can count. Your skills are unparalleled and you hold yourself in high regard. Which is why I wonder exactly why you’ve turned down this position three times over,” Price says with his head tilted to the side.

Seer. The callsign given to you after you had saved your entire team with simple intuition about a mission gone bad - quickly. You had gotten all of your men out and relatively unscathed with only a few singe marks from the explosion. The explosion from the bombs that you insisted had to have been rigged and live just as a trap for your squad. It was furthered by your uncanny ability to be exactly in the right place at the right time to save numerous soldiers that would’ve died without your intervention. Divine intervention as your old captain said, adding a religious spin onto your nickname.

“I thrive on continuity and felt as if I was doing a lot of good where I was previously stationed, sir,” You reply, knowing it’s complete bullshit.

“That’s complete bullshit.”

He wasn’t wrong, but you were pissed to no end that he could read you that well. The only other person that you believed held that skill was your old crush. John “Soap” MacTavish. The real reason why you were so determined to stay away from this place.

“Do you want to know something? I’ve looked at your file. Laswell has looked at your file. And we both noticed an interesting little tidbit about your birth place. Scotland. If that wasn’t enough, I’ve been around Soap enough to know a Scottish accent from a specific small town when I hear it - despite your best attempts to mask it. All of that might not be enough, but you had the exact same reaction to my soldier’s name as he did yours. What’s your history?”

Damn, he was good. What you focused on in his rant the most though was the fact that Soap had physically recoiled as much as you did if you were to believe Prices’ words. And you did. There was no reason to doubt it, no reason for him to lie.

“Childhood friends. We lost touch over the years,” You stick with, not wanting to blurt out how hurt you’ve continuously been about his abandonment of your relationship. Platonic or not.

“And? I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want you on this team; if I didn’t care about you as a soldier. I also wouldn’t be this concerned if it didn’t seem like it would be an object of vulnerability. A liability one might say. You deserve a position on this team, which is why we’ve been persistent in offering it to you,” Price says before he’s interrupted by a knock at the door. A single knock that seemed to only be one of pure courtesy before it was slammed open.

You’re met with a sight that’s haunted you for almost half a decade. A ghost of a person that’s still alive and kicking. Someone that’s been on your mind ever since he had gotten on that chopper and left you to fend for yourself with empty promises that he’d be back. That he wouldn’t forget you. Promises fueled by letters and flowers and a promise ring that he had gotten you when you were kids. One that you couldn’t bear to wear anymore but couldn’t imagine throwing it away. One that still rings true against the metal of your dog tags sitting so close to your heart.

“Bonnie?” Ironic as it is, Soap looks equally if not more terrified - like he’s seen a ghost.

“Sergeant,” You respond curtly, your body acting on a harsh auto-pilot immediately.

A way of protecting yourself from ever getting your heart broken again. You bite your tongue in a feeble attempt to stop yourself from running into the arms - and screaming all of the little things you’ve kept bundled up - of your best friend. It wasn’t really him that you saw though, because he was always the first to sweep you off your feet and whisper sweet nothings after bittersweet reunions. Whether it was five minutes or five days or five months without seeing each other, he never failed to wrap you up in his arms and protect you from the idea of never seeing him again. Five years seemed to be too much to carry over for him though apparently.

“Please don’t do that. I know I deserve all of it and more, but please hear me out. Bonnie, please,” His voice cracked alongside your heart at his words.

You swallow harshly, speaking after a brief moment of silence. “Don’t call me that.”

Your sharp words met their mark, making the broken man in front of you wince like a kicked dog. Baby blue eyes sending a pleading look your way as he collapsed inwards, hunching over like he wanted to seem smaller. Small enough not to scare you off, as if it wasn’t too late.

“Seer, let me explain.”

“I haven’t seen you in person in five fucking years, MacTavish. I haven’t heard from you in two. I think it’s a little late for that,” You hiss out sharply, a glare set on him. It didn’t seem to matter to you that Price was still there, watching intently. You pushed past Soap, begrudgingly brushing up against him as you did. It would be a lie to say that it didn’t satisfy you to see the look of hurt flash across Soap’s face as you all but shoved him to the side.

“The night you called me,” Soap started.

That stopped you in your tracks, your nerves itching to run and never look back in anticipation of his next words. You were too curious to hear what he was going to say though, a small part of you hoping it was bad enough to make a dent in the walls you held so high for someone you used to open the doors to your soul for willingly. The rest of you was simply too curious and ready to argue that you couldn’t move from your spot.

“It was the night of one last bar run before Ghost and I were sent into deep cover for a month. A month of hell and shame that still gives me nightmares to this day, but nothing compares to the pain of having to stop talking to anyone at the chance of risking not only my life, but theirs,” Soap admits, his eyes glazing over with tears threatening to fall. Real pain infiltrating his features. It’s a sight that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since his cousin - the very same that convinced him to join the army - had passed from a mission gone wrong.

“Why didn’t you call me afterwards? Or better yet, let me know then and there?” You quietly whisper, staring down at your feet.

“I was a dumbass. I thought it would be easier to not tell you that night. You deserved to move on with someone that was closer to you. Someone that you could talk to every night. Someone that wasn’t me. Someone who didn’t have a chance of dying every day. As for afterwards? I couldn’t drag you back if you had managed to move on, not after all I had put you through,” Soap says, his voice shaking almost as much as you were.

“I never moved on,” You say quietly.

“What?”

“I never moved on from you. I never could. They were never you, and if anyone came close; well, you still had my heart.” A single tear runs down your face at this, despite your best attempts to stop this.

“You’re still as beautiful as the day I lost you, love. I never meant to hurt you that badly,” Is all Soap said in response.

“Well, you did. It doesn’t matter anymore anyways. I listened to you finally and moved on, I think you need to as well,” You throw his own words back at him, taking sick pleasure in the way his face falls.

“Obviously we need to have a talk. Privately. Both of you. This has turned into more than a liability. Letting either one of you go is not an option either. This isn’t something I want to let turn you two into loose cannons on the field. Sorting this out is happening, and then therapy,” Price intervenes.

“Please, let me talk,” Soap starts. “I pushed you away, and no apology can fix that immediately. You trusted me with your feelings and I threw you to the wolves. Despite the situation, there were better ways to handle it - I understand that now. I loved you then. I love you now. I loved you when we were little kids on the playground and didn’t even understand what the word truly meant. What I did understand is that you deserved better than me. Better than someone like me,” He says, hanging his head low.

“Fuck, Johnny. You really fucked up,” You murmur, finally turning to face the man you had known all your life. Had grown up next to from diapers to enrolling in the army. You looked at him, truly looked at him. Truth and resignation for whatever you deemed his punishment was written all over his face - you never forgot how to read his signs, or maybe he never changed them.

“I know, Bonnie. I know, and I’m sorry if that means anything.”

“I love you too, if that means anything,” You reply, a bittersweet smile on your face. Something that pissed you off to no end was that you could never stay mad at Soap, whether it was for cheating off your test or ‘borrowing’ your favourite pencil. Or in this case, going MIA for two years. A hopeful expression dawns on Johnny’s face.

“Shit, doll, I will love you till the end of time, follow you to the ends of the earth, spend the rest of my life worshipping the ground you walk on if it means I can even be in the same room as you. I know damn well I have a lot to work on making up to you, and I won’t stop until every crack is mended in your heart, I swear,” Soap blurts out, falling to his knees in front of you.

You couldn’t help but let out a poignant laugh at the fact that this all could’ve been easily avoided. It pained your very soul at the thought that you both loved each other, but never openly said it. The nostalgic memories flooded your mind at the possibility of how your lives could’ve been so very different if you confessed at a different time and place.

“To think, I joined the army to do the very same for you, Johnny. I wanted to be here with you, make sure you stayed safe.” You don’t know why you admitted that, but it felt like the right thing to do.

“I wish I would have told you sooner,” He says, taking your hands in his and laying a gentle kiss on your knuckles that had fought for even a chance to be where you were right now.

“I think we both wished we did things differently,” You admit, kneeling down to cradle his face in your hands.

“Sweetheart, you have a heart of gold to not only have fallen for the mess of a man I am, enough to want to risk your life for a chance of saving mine, but to continue loving me through everything that’s happened.”

“It hurt like hell, I’m not going to lie, but I also can see where you’re coming from. I can’t say I didn’t think of doing the same when I was put in the same situation.”

“But you didn’t, and that’s what makes you a better person than I am. But I swear until the day I stop breathing, I will work to make it up to you. I’ll even let you try my ice cream like when we were kids,” Soap says, offering up a hopeful smile at the nostalgic memory.

“You’re such a dork. I don’t forgive you, not yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over this-”

“And that would be completely reasonable. I would understand if you told me to fuck off. I would leave this team and become a hermit if you wanted me to,” Soap quickly interjects.

“And, let me finish. I don’t know if I’ll get over this, ever, but I do know that I want you by my side while I try.”

“I promise I won’t ever leave you again. Not even for a mission. Not again. It would never be more important than you,” Soap swears, holding your face between his fingers just like the morning paper.

“Now I wouldn’t say ever. . .” Price starts, but Soap sends him a glare that says enough without anything being spoken.

“But I’m sure we could figure something out if it did occur,” Price swiftly amends his statement.

“You’re something, MacTavish, definitely something,” You softly say, your heart beginning to heal.

“But I’m your MacTavish, right?” Soap says hesitantly, almost as if he was scared you would pull what he did and run away. Not like he would blame you, never in a million years. It would be what he deserved anyways.

“But you’re my MacTavish, Johnny,” You gently say, leaning into his tentative touch.

“I think we have a lot to talk about you two, but I think it can wait until tomorrow. I still want individual therapy for the both of you, separate doctors, but I can see that you need time alone together,” Price breathes out, likely exhausted by the back and forth between his two soldiers.

“Thank you, Price, thank you,” Soap says, meaning more than what his captain had just said. He was thanking him for dragging you here, letting him talk, allowing there to be a safe place for blame and forgiveness.

It wasn’t going to be easy or even vaguely okay for a long, long time, but you were willing to try. Your heart was still broken. Soap would inevitably do something to bring doubts and traumas back up. But he would be there, finally, to ease your pain and reassure you that he was there to stay. That he was there to hold your heart together as the glue set up. He was there to hold you as you cried and laughed and slept and woke up and cooked. He was finally there, and he wasn’t going anywhere as long as he could help it. And that promise is what kept you by each other’s side, forever and always.

#ao3 #cod fic #cod mw2 #fanfic #mw2 141 #cod 141 #john soap mactavish #mw2 #angst #emotional angst #angst with a happy ending #fluff #drabble #domestic fluff #light angst #childhood sweethearts #soap x reader

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seaoflove07 · 10 months

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“You would be so beautiful as a silent corpse.” ☠️

Kanato & Liz

Water Aesthetic.

- Bad Ending -

•Lizzy!!!!! I hope you like this aesthetic and I hope it’s dark enough for you. This was a little challenging for me 😅 since you told me, you didn’t wanted cuteness and fluffiness. Like Gurl!!! You putting me to work like this•😂💗

Love you! And thank you for your support and friendship. @animefanliz

Photo Credits: Pinterest, Diabolik Lovers Anime and Kanato & Liz Photo edits arts, she did those on the Neka App.

#self ship #Diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers moodboard #kanato sakamaki #diabolik lovers fanfiction #diabolik lovers fandom #diabolik lovers oc #sakamaki brothers #diabolik lovers kanato

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littlequeenies · 7 months

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Demri's "book"

Ana from the much missed "Memories of Demri" instagram/tumblr accounts collected all the different memories that people who met her, shared...

I came up with the idea of sorting them not only by subject, but also a bit of a chronological display...

And then she add some more info,photos and created a very beautiful design.

This is, for now, what looks to be like a book about Demri's life and legacy. It's work on construction and it's done with much love and respect.

Please, feel free to join and share it.

This is for you, Demri, your mum, and all the people who loved you.

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fernthewhimsical · 1 month

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Rainbow Magic

To work with the rainbow in magic is not much different as either using colour magic, or the magic of other natural phenomena such as the Sun and Moon. Rainbow energy can be raised by the homemade rainbow methods above, and then channeled into the working. Nevertheless, here are some ideas on how to use rainbows in magic.

Charging: Charging your tools, amulets, jewellery, journals, plushies, decks, and whatever else you can think of with rainbow energy. This can be done by placing it in rainbow light, charging them when there is a rainbow, or on a charging plate. You can also first cleanse your tools or items in the rain, before charging them with rainbow energy.

Candles: Candle magic using seven candles in the individual colours, or using rainbow coloured candles. There are also drip candles, which are white on the outside and drip in rainbow colours as they burn. These are great for revealing magics, where the "true colours" are revealed as the candle burns down

Poppet magic: Poppets are often made from fabric, yarn, wheat, or clay, the last of which can be coloured. Making a poppet of rainbow fabric or draping a rainbow across the poppet can be used to bring rainbow energy into someone's life, or bring joy, wonder, and happiness.

Sachets or envelopes: Making sachets or envelopes in rainbow colours to make talismans, or put photos and petitions in them to charge with rainbow magic.

Rainbow water: Charging water while there is a rainbow, in the same way you would make moon water. Another way to make rainbow water is to place a bottle or glass of water on a charging plate, letting it soak up those good rainbow vibes. Another way is to divide your water up into seven, and use food colouring to colour it. Drink those colours!

Clothes: Bring some rainbow magic into your life by wearing rainbow clothing, jewellery, or accessories.

Meditation: Use meditation to connect with the magic of the rainbow. Sit in rainbow light, or drape a rainbow scarf or piece of fabric around you. Meditate while there is an actual rainbow outside. You can also try and find the end of the rainbow in meditation. You can meditate on the rainbow as a whole, or on the individual colours. For example meditate on one colour every day and see what this colour brings you. Or do a breathing meditation where with each inhale, you inhale a different colour of light.

Body: Makeup and face paint are another way to practice rainbow magic. There are some really cool rainbow makeup looks out there (like I wore to my wedding!), or you can use facepaint to draw sigils, symbols, or just a whole rainbow on you. If you want it to be more permanent, there are so many beautiful rainbow tattoo designs out there. Use this to bring in rainbow energy in general, or focus it on specific spots for some extra healing and oomph. Nailpolish is also a great way to carry a bit of rainbow with you.

Kitchen Witchery: Rainbow foods. Just, rainbow foods. I have a pinterest board. They are so cool and fun.

Crystals: Above I mentioned some crystals which look like captured rainbows. Use them in magic, or use seven different stones for the seven colours of the rainbow. My favourite set is garnet, carnelian, citrine, aventurine, turquoise, sodalite, and amethyst.

Fabric Arts: weaving with colours, braiding seven colours together, knot magic with different beads knotted in the yarn, crocheting with rainbow yarn, rainbow friendship bracelets, there are a lot of ideas here.

Time: Not something I personally use, but there are seven days in the week, and seven colours in the rainbow. These facts can be combined to make magic.

Visionboards: Making visionboards are a great way to tap into rainbow magic and bring it into your life, especially if you also incorporate the words of the associations you want to use.

Inner Child work: Ever notice how so many toys are multicoloured and fun. How crayons and pencils come in the colours of the rainbow with a few added ones. Practice inner child work by playing. Just play, let out you inner gremlin and create or play without fear or shame.

Altar: Create an altar for your rainbow magic, rainbow entity, or just a "wonder altar" in general. Add things that bring that same burst of joyous wonder that you feel when you see a rainbow. Some ideas for your rainbow altar are rainbow candles, statues of rainbows (tip: Christmas ornaments!), pictures or art, unicorns, golden coins, pride flags, prisms, rainbow lights, rainbow roses (real or fake), crystals, art supplies, and bubble wands.

Music: Why are there so many songs about rainbows? (I had to) But Kermit was right, there are many songs about rainbows so why not make a playlist for your rainbow magic?

Sigils: Draw sigils with a rainbow pencil (remember those?), layer the different colours over one another, or draw pieces of the sigil in different sparkly pens to make them rainbow.

Galaxy Jars: These are jars filled with cotton balls, water, glitter, and food colouring. By packing the cotton tight these jars look like a galaxy. You can use one jar per colour, or make a layered jar with all the colours of the rainbow. I like to hide little pouches with herbs, sigils, and crystal chips in my galaxy jars to make them spell jars.

Natural dyes: Using dyes or inks made out of herbs, flowers, vegetables, plants, minerals and fruits can draw the energy of those materials into your rainbow magic as well.

Queer Magic: The rainbow has been inextricably linked to the queer community. Therefore rainbow energy can also be used in queer magic. for example in community protection spells, pride flag spell bottles (using Gilbert Bakers colour meanings), charming pronoun pins, and queer tarot spreads.

[Part of a Rainbowmancy series, masterpost here]

#rainbowmancy #rainbow witch #rainbow magic #rainbow #magic #spell #spells #poppet #sigilcraft #queer witch #queer #altar #sacred space #witch #witchblr #witchcraft #mine #personal

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mmhcs · 9 months

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E1610! Miles x Bronx! Reader

A/N: Because I don't know why we haven't thought of this yet! P.S.: I'm not a Brooklyn-native. P.P.S.: I tried my best to make this as gender-netural as possible!

Y'all most definitely argue over which borough is better. Miles, of course, proceeds to list a million and one reasons as to why Brooklyn is better.

He's fascinated by the differences in the way you two speak. He loves it when your "accent" is audible in the way you speak.

Miles tries his best to indoctrinate introduce you to Brooklyn culture. He takes you to hotspots (Coney Island is one of the first that y'all hit up), but mostly sticks to local, Brooklyn-exclusive places (i.e. his favorite pizza spot, some of his favorite places to graffiti, that one small, Black-owned business that he gets some of his favorite clothes from).

Miles most definitely loves the South Bronx better than the North due to its street culture and abundance of unique graffiti. He literally drools when he sees a beautiful mural on the wall of a bodega or deli. He goes inside and asks the owner about the artist, get said artist's name, looks them up so that he remembers, and then proceeds to go back outside and take an abundance of photos of the mural before taking the next ten minutes to study it like a museum exhibit.

If you live in the North Bronx, Miles still finds to things to love. He still goes feral for any street art that he sees, and he'll make an effort for y'all to go out on adventures where you show him and/or discover new places in your area.

If y'all go to the Bronx Zoo, Miles takes a billion pictures in front of the entrance, claiming that he has to because this is an "infamous New York location!"

His favorite Bronx stops on the train are probably Simpson Street and Prospect Avenue.

I feel like Miles's dad, Jeff, and his Uncle Aaron used to spend their adolescent years out and about on the streets of New York. They grew especially fond of the Bronx, leading to them starting to visit the borough regularly and establish friendships and connections. However, Jeff ultimately fell out with this affinity after he started attending police academy. Aaroon kept up with it, though.

^Despite his shock, pain, and grief over his uncle, Miles forced himself to go through his uncle's apartment after his death. There, he found some old-school records and mixtapes, the latter mostly by local, underground artists from across New York. Miles kept them and has them stored somewhere safe in his room (probably his closet).

^^Y'all go through the collection, listening avidly as you study the flow of each of the artists, analyze the album cover, and the artists' styles.

^^^Most of the mixtapes feature Bronx-native artists.

^^^^Miles, refusing to accept this, runs out of his room and into the living room where his parents are sitting. He begins to explain the situation and asks Jeff to tell you that Uncle Aaron loved and represented Brooklyn through-and-through.

^^^^^Jeff laughs, a bit nervously because he's always raised Miles to take pride in where he's from (yes, the borough representation is real, people). He then explains that, yes, while Uncle Aaron loved Brooklyn, he loved the Bronx almost, if not just as much. He loved traveling to and from, made a lot of good friends and connections there. The Bronx is also where a few of his greatest and most memorable "honeys" are from.

^^^^^^Okay, I know that this is supposed to be a Miles Morales headcanon, but: when he wasn't out, working as the Prowler, Aaron was actually "away from a few days" as he says in his voicemail. He would travel to the Bronx to hang out and see friends. He was actually pretty well-known in some parts of the borough.

^^^^^^^Before his death, Aaron was serious relationship with a woman from the Bronx. Despite them seeing each other steadily for a year or four, he didn't tell Miles because he didn't want to introduce to him to someone that he would love, care for, and cherish, only to have it go up in flames. He most definitely gushed about her to Jeff and Rio on the down-low, though.

^^^^^^^^Aaron also thought about moving in with her and even marrying her more than once. Major Jabari x Meadow vibes.

^^^^^^^^^Uncle Aaron looking down at Miles with a smile because he's taking after his uncle.

^^^^^^^^^^"'Dem Bronx folk, man. They'll do that to 'ya."

If You Attend Visions Academy:

If you attend Brooklyn Visions, Miles texts you from the moment that he wakes up in order to make sure that you wake up with enough time to comfortably do your morning routine, get ready, and catch your train(s) with added flexibility in case of train delays.

^He never used to wake up early before, but he doesn't want you to be late. Not that it's a big deal (Miles has been late more times than he can count) but he doesn't want you to have frequent lateness on your record. Plus, the earlier you get there, the more time you two have to talk and prep for the upcoming day.

Often asks if you feel homesick. He can't imagine how it must feel. He only lives a few blocks away and yet he feels so far from home (hehe, get it?).

^^Does his best to make you feel accustomed to Brooklyn. He makes it a point to take you out and show you around so that you develop a sense of familiarity and don't feel out of place or lost.

If someone says that Brooklyn is the better borough, Miles will occasionally chime in with a reason or two as to why the Bronx is superior.

^You owe him a Brooklyn-based adventure after this, though.

^^If y'all are dating, you owe him kisses and cuddle-session in addition to a Brooklyn-based adventure.

Best believe that he's at the train station with you ever Friday and Sunday, helping you lug your suitcase and additional bags to and from Visions.

If You Don't Attend Vision Academy:

Y'all video call regularly to discuss your respective days as well as plan an in-person meet-up.

Y'all often meet-up in Manhattan because neither one wants to give the other the satisfaction of traveling to their respective borough for your meetups.

You two mainly meet up in the expensive, upper-class parts of Manhattan, though because Miles's parents threatened to ground him for two years if he was ever caught hanging around 125th Street.

^Miles takes that threat very seriously because he knows that, as the captain of the NYPD, his father has eyes everywhere.

When y'all get tired of watching the rich, expensive, and privileged go about their daily lives, y'all quite literally spin a wheel to see whose borough you're meeting up at next time.

Miles uses the times that you visit him to show you his life, starting from Brooklyn Middle, to Visions, and then his house.

He uses Brooklyn-exclusive menagerie to subtly flex and persuade you into admitting that Brooklyn is the best borough.

^ "They don't pizza like this in the Bronx, eh, mami?"

One time Miles suggested that you two visit Staten Island.

You looked at him for a moment, confused, because What's Staten Island?

Once you remembered, you gave him another look. He thinks he's so damn funny.

Y'all actually did end up going and had an above average time, surprisingly.

The next time Miles gets on your nerves, though, you threaten to banish him to Staten Island.

^His parents like the threat and start using it, too.

Bonus: "Hey, Miles, how come Brooklyn has a friendly neighborhood Spiderman but the Bronx doesn't?"

"Well, you see..."

A/N: Hi, hope y'all enjoyed! This was all in good fun and we love and support every borough (yes, even Staten Island).

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rosepetalgold · 7 months

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the art of saying goodbye

Summary: Remus expects a lot of things from the Queen Anne Victorian house he’s just purchased—a restoration project to occupy his time, some peace and quiet from nosy neighbors, a chance to brag about being a homeowner before his goody two-shoes brother.

What he doesn’t expect is for the property to come with a very real, very curious ghost. But what is he supposed to do, just ignore the spirit? That'd be nothing short of rude, especially considering that the specter's fascination with modern science and penchant for hijacking Remus' technology proves unfairly endearing.

But even as their unlikely friendship grows, so too do the questions swirling in Remus’ mind: Why is Logan still haunting the place he used to live? Who is the mysterious Janus he refuses to talk about? And what will it take for the ghost to finally find peace with the life and the love that were stolen from him so long ago?

Relationships: Platonic Intrulogical, past romantic Loceit, background romantic Prinxiety

Warnings for this chapter: None!

Word Count: 7000

Notes: My fic for this year's @sandersidesbigbang, aka another angsty tale that inexplicably grew out of a single fluffy scene, aka a prime excuse to procrastinate by poring through countless photos of beautiful Queen Anne houses my beloved. I hope you enjoy this ghostie story as much I enjoyed writing it! A big shoutout to my wonderful beta reader @dragonsaphirareads for all their feedback on this fic, and don't miss the amazing art by the incredible @casart and @onthevirgeofdestruction—you can check out their pieces here and here! (Seriously, even if you don't read the fic, go feast your eyes on their work because it is straight-up stunning. Go look, you'll see.)

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

start (you’re here!) - next

“This place is definitely haunted.”

Remus snorts, giving his brother a friendly sock in the arm.

“Oh come on, Ro, you scared of a few ghosties now? Afraid a floating white sheet is gonna jump out and yell boo?”

Roman doesn’t answer, just eyes the Queen Anne Victorian home in front of them with the amount of trepidation he usually reserved for any time Remus started a sentence with ‘I have an idea.’ The house does give off distinctly spooky vibes, Remus has to admit, what with its boards in desperate need of a new coat of paint and its broken window in the attic, not to mention the porch that looks liable to send someone plummeting to the ground if they take a single wrong step, but what was wrong with any of that? It all just added to the building’s character, and the risk of falling through the veranda was a delightful way to keep visitors on their toes, in his superior opinion.

And besides, he couldn’t turn his nose up at the property’s many flaws when they made it dirt-cheap. He wasn’t exactly a millionaire.

He grabs Roman’s arm, tugging him forward.

“C’mon, there’s some wicked spindlework on the back you gotta check out.”

His brother makes a sound of protest, dragging his feet as Remus hauls him onward.

“Aren’t we going to go inside?”

“Nah, I don’t have the keys yet. Everything’s still pending or whatever.”

Roman shifts his incredulous gaze from the house to Remus.

“You made me come all this way just to look at the outside of a house you haven’t even officially bought yet?”

Why yes, he had. He was such a good brother.

“Don’t act like it’s such a burden to drive twenty minutes out of the way to get here, especially when it means you’re twenty minutes closer to a booty call with Virgil.”

Roman splutters, face flushing a splendidly scandalized shade of crimson, and Remus cackles. That was more like it.

“Now c’mon c’mon c’mon, the sooner you ooh and aah over all my cool house shit, the sooner you can get some of that good di—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Roman interrupts, slapping his hands over his ears, but he doesn’t protest as Remus pulls him around to the back of the house and points out the expansive if overgrown backyard, the plethora of decorative elements adorning the home, the leaded glass windows that have survived well over a century.

“I don’t get it, though,” Roman says as he eyes the tower gracing the corner of the house, something Remus would swear is a hint of jealousy in his gaze. Made sense. He knows for a fact his brother would sell his soul to be Rapunzel. “If this is such a nice place, why has it sat empty for so long?”

“Dunno. The realtor just said it stayed in the family of the guy who built it for a while before changing hands a bunch. Apparently every time it’s been on the market it’s taken ages to find a buyer, but she didn’t really say why no one wanted to live here for too long.” Probably just her trying not to scare him away from what was clearly a substantial restoration project so she wouldn’t lose her commission. Either that or there was some kind of toxic fungus in the walls that had taken over all the previous residents’ brains and turned them into zombies and Remus was about to become its next victim.

What a delightful gamble to find out which one it was.

“Can we please go now before some serial killer comes charging out of this place and we both end up on the news?” Roman asks, already edging back towards the front of the house.

“Sure, if you really want to give up your one shot of having your fifteen minutes of fame in the media,” Remus replies, dancing away with a grin as Roman aims a kick at his shins. “Fine, fine, we’ll go. I wouldn’t want to keep you from a hot date and some—”

Something catches his attention, a flash of movement out of the very corner of his eye, and he pauses mid-stride, doing a double-take at the second-story balcony overlooking the backyard.

Nothing. Not even a curtain blowing in the non-existent breeze.

“What?” Roman questions from where he’s also stopped a few yards ahead of him.

Remus looks a moment longer, searching for anything out of place, but all is still.

“Nothing. Probably just a bat or something. Wouldn’t that be cool as shit, to have bats as roommates? Hey, maybe they have rabies if they’re out in the daytime. Did you know…”

He launches into a spiel of the most gruesome and fascinating facts he knows about the disease, joyfully watching his brother’s face grow increasingly horrified with each one as they make their way back across the yard, and by the time they reach the driveway, the flicker of movement is barely a blip on his mental radar.

Just a trick of his eyes, surely.

It wasn’t like houses could actually be haunted, after all.

---

Home sweet home.

Or home rundown-and-slightly-musty-smelling home, as the case may be, but who was Remus to nitpick?

He fits his shiny new key into the lock and steps inside, letting the door click shut solidly behind him as he pauses just over the threshold, taking a moment to survey the foyer. His foyer now, in his very own home. The sale had been endless offers and counteroffers and a mountain of paperwork so large he’s positive he could have buried himself beneath it and never been seen again, but the place is finally his.

Him, a homeowner. Who’d have thunk it. He’ll be rubbing this in Roman’s apartment-renting face every chance he can get, thank you very much. It’s the least he can do, really.

He unceremoniously deposits the cardboard box in his arms on the floor and wanders further inside, trailing his hand along the smooth wood of the stair banister as he passes. He’s supposed to be meeting some of his friends back at his old place shortly—or now, actually, but that was wholly irrelevant—to start moving all of his worldly possessions into his fancy new abode, but he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of taking the first load of boxes alone just to have the place to himself for a bit; he could use a few minutes to enjoy the space in peace before it’s filled with Roman and Virgil squabbling about the worst Disney movie heroes or whatever argument they were bound to get into.

Despite its well-worn exterior, the house is in surprisingly good condition inside, he muses as he roams through the empty rooms. There’s clearly extensive work that needs to be done if he wants to restore the place to its Victorian glory, an ambitious undertaking he knows will be neither cheap nor easy, but the bones of the structure are all solid, especially considering how many years it’s stood empty.

He finishes his meandering loop around the first floor and heads up the stairs, the tread of his steps entirely too loud for the pervasive quiet as he continues his exploratory wandering through the second story rooms. He pauses as he reaches what is clearly the master bedroom, surveying the original fireplace, the century-old hardwood, the attached balcony that was just begging to be used to pour water onto his unsuspecting brother’s head. Shit, his new house was cool as fuck.

It’d make the most sense to start hauling his load of boxes here, considering that’s where most of his crap is going to end up eventually, but the longer he hovers in the doorway, the more something feels … off. Just the slightest tingle prickling down his spine, and not the good kind. He steps inside and the temperature drops noticeably, a chill raising the hair on his arms.

“The fuck?” he mutters, raking his gaze over the windows in search of damaged panes letting in a breeze, but everything is intact.

He advances another step on impulse and the pinpricks dancing along his vertebrae only grow stronger, now accompanied by the distinct feeling he’s being watched. He scans the room again, slower this time, but there’s no furniture, no closet, not so much as a nook or cranny for anyone or anything to hide. Even the ceiling is empty when he turns his gaze upwards on the off chance he really does have some bats hanging around that he’s somehow missed on his numerous pre-sale walk-throughs.

Nary a beady eye to be found and still the sensation of being in someone’s sights doesn’t lessen. Not that it’s a threatening feeling, exactly, just distinctly unsettling, like there’s someone behind him no matter how many times he glances over his shoulder and finds nothing but empty air.

But that was crazy. He’d read the final sale documents until his eyes had been about to start bleeding and he’s absolutely positive that the house hadn’t come with any roommates. He’s probably just imagining the feeling, the result of watching one too many horror movies in the last week or his brain making things up in an attempt to liven up the empty space.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, yanking him out of his thoughts, and he rolls his eyes without even looking at the screen, already able to see the text from Roman in his mind’s eye: where you at?? i’m not packing up all your crap for you followed by an absurdly long string of emojis that basically constituted their own Roman-specific hieroglyphic language.

Time to face the moving-day music before Roman got annoyed enough with waiting that he rescinded his promise of free manual labor, then. Any investigations of potential invisible voyeurs would have to wait, no matter how titillating such a prospect sounded when he put it like that.

“You win for now, house,” he says into the quiet as he turns to leave, an edge of coldness still dancing along the goosebumps on his skin. “Keep your secrets. I’ll figure ‘em out eventually.”

---

The afternoon passes in a blur of hauling entirely too many heavy boxes and unwieldy pieces of furniture to the new house, and by the time night settles onto the horizon, Remus is utterly exhausted. He flops back on the couch, too tired to even think about putting his bedframe together, and he’s out in minutes.

He wakes disoriented, mind scrabbling blankly for a moment before the darkness coalesces into the still-unfamiliar contours of his sitting room. He just lies there for a moment, trying to figure out what’s roused him, but all is still. Just his brain deciding to deprive him of some tantalizingly horrifying nightmares, unfortunately—

Tap tap tap.

Remus bolts upright at the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the hardwood upstairs, adrenaline surging in a dizzying rush. There hadn’t been any signs of a squatter all day, and surely he’d remembered to lock the doors so no one could steal all the crap he’d just spent a whole day of his life lugging around. He waits for a moment, holding his breath as silence falls, and just when he’s about to pass the whole thing off as his imagination playing tricks on him, the steps start up again, slow and rhythmic like someone is pacing on the upper level.

Fuck his luck. If someone is secretly living in the attic of his fancy new home, he’s not going to be pleased.

He rolls off the couch and snatches his phone off of one of the plethora of boxes waiting to be unpacked, debating whether to risk turning on the flashlight before deciding for it; he might give away any element of surprise with the beam, but he’s certain to give it away if he starts banging face-first into walls or cracking his skull open falling down the stairs. His eye catches on a glass paperweight on the coffee table, a characteristically pretentious housewarming present from Roman, who apparently thought Remus had so many papers flying about that he needed to corral them with a glorified rock, and he seizes it on a whim.

Makeshift weapon was a much more useful purpose for the thing than its intended function anyways.

He edges around the scattered boxes towards the stairs, careful to keep his steps light and his hand shielding the light from his phone as the footfalls continue overhead, and makes it all the way up the steps without so much as a creak to give him away.

Flawless. He knew all those times sneaking up behind Roman to scare the shit out of him as kids would pay off someday.

He pauses on the landing to triangulate the noise, then creeps down the hall towards the footsteps as the sound grows even more distinct. The master bedroom again? What the actual fuck was going on with that room? Had he really managed to miss someone in there when he’d investigated earlier in the day? No, he couldn’t have, but then how had someone managed to get past where he’d been sleeping on the couch? Unless he really did have somebody living in the walls—

A floorboard squeaks underneath his foot, deafeningly loud in the quiet of the night, and the footsteps abruptly stop. Remus swears under his breath. Traitorous piece of wood. Now or never, then.

He lunges forward into the doorway of the master bedroom, raising the paperweight and howling a war cry as he swings his light across the room to reveal—

Nothing. The space is as entirely and utterly empty as it had been that morning.

Well, shit. There went any element of surprise he had left.

He darts back into the hall, racing to search through the rest of the rooms on the upper level one by one, but they’re all just as vacant as the first. He even hauls himself into the attic, bracing himself to be clubbed over the head by whoever is lurking, but with the exception of innumerable shadows billowing away from his flashlight, the space proves equally empty as the rest.

Unease stirs in his gut, creeping in alongside the lingering adrenaline as he makes his way back down the precariously rickety ladder into the main house. Surely there’s no way someone could have gotten past him, not when he would have heard them in the hall or going down the stairs.

And yet, as far as he can tell, besides a few mice tucked away in the attic, there isn’t another living soul in the house.

He stops in the doorway of the master bedroom again, staring inside. He’s positive this is where the footsteps had been emanating from, lack of proof be damned. Something weird was going on with this house.

Good thing Remus had just made the biggest financial commitment of his life to buy it.

Nothing for it now but to hope some elusive, wall-dwelling ax murderer doesn’t give him the chop in his sleep, he supposes, although he has to admit that’d be a badass way to go.

He reluctantly makes his way back downstairs and shoves a pile of boxes at the foot of the stairs to trip any nefarious intruders coming down, then retreats back to the couch, all the while keeping his ears primed for so much as a whisper of sound above him.

But even though it takes him a long time to drift back to sleep, the house around him remains as silent as a grave.

---

The whole thing must have been an impressively lucid dream, Remus decides the next morning. A second investigation in the light of day doesn’t reveal anything out of place: no shoe prints on the floor, no critters, certainly no people. It was probably nothing then, he tries to convince himself, just his overactive imagination needing an outlet after being a bit too jittery from all the excitement of moving.

But he finds himself pausing in the master bedroom again, something drawing him back to the space. First the chill and the strange feeling of being watched, then the mysterious footsteps? Two separate coincidences, or something more?

God, he sounded about as paranoid as Virgil. Next thing he knew he was going to be inventing his very own conspiracy theory to explain a few bumps in the night.

It really was nothing, he tells himself, shaking off any lingering unease as he tromps back down the stairs. If he starts jumping at every little noise in his old-as-shit house, he’ll be long dead before he gets the property restored. If he starts seeing glowing red eyes in the dark, he’ll start to worry. Until then, he has a mountain of boxes to unpack.

Unfortunately, said mountain does not pull a Beauty and the Beast and begin unpacking itself, leaving Remus to spend a dreadfully dull afternoon doing it instead, only the allure of building a fort out of all the empty boxes keeping him from living out of cardboard for the rest of his life.

By the time he’s finally finished unboxing most of the downstairs and getting the tv and wifi set up, most of the day has passed him by, afternoon sunlight splaying golden fingers across the hardwood.

Break time, then. He’s earned it, if he does say so himself.

He collapses onto the couch, flipping on the tv and surfing through the channels until he finds a rerun of some low-budget horror film from the eighties. Perfect. Nothing like a bit of mindless tv to rot his brain just that much more. Settling back more comfortably into the cushions, he pops open the bag of chips he’s snagged from the kitchen and pulls out his phone, beginning to scroll through his notifications.

Modern multitasking at its finest, truly.

But he’s barely a minute into atrophying his mind via social media before the tv starts flickering, volume dropping precipitously before ratcheting back up, the picture jumping to the weather channel, then a British cooking show, then the news with Spanish subtitles flashing in and out at the bottom of the screen.

Remus freezes with a chip halfway to his mouth, staring at the remote where it’s very definitely out of his reach on the coffee table, all by its lonesome. He’s no expert, but he’s pretty sure technology was not, in fact, supposed to suddenly start functioning by itself without any human input. Was his new house secretly sitting over some freaky radioactive waste? That would certainly explain why no one had wanted to buy it. Or was this some EMP disaster? Had someone decided to take out the whole country’s power grid, starting with Remus’ shitty tv?

He sits up, reaching for the rogue remote, only to pause as a chill moves over him, then past him like it’s heading for the tv, and the screen crackles, static beginning to fuzz both the video and the audio as the picture continues to leap wildly between programs.

Fuck the remote, then. Whatever freak accident has descended upon his living room, it’s time to go straight to the source.

Abandoning his snack, he stands, striding to the outlet and yanking the plug out of the wall. Silence falls immediately, the screen fading to black, but there still lingers a noticeable chill in the air, cold energy palpable against his skin and all too reminiscent of the feeling he remembers from being in the master bedroom.

“What the hell,” he mutters under his breath, casting his gaze around the room. Empty, just as upstairs had been the last three times he’d checked. He takes a step backwards, then another, and the strange chill decreases. On a whim, he pulls out his phone, scrolling through several apps without even paying attention to them, and sure enough, the hair on his arms raises as the temperature falls again, that sparking feeling of energy growing more intense as his phone begins to flicker on its own.

“What the actual hell,” he whispers again. Roman can’t have been right—this place can’t actually be haunted. There’s absolutely no way there’s a real, live—or dead, technically, he supposes—ghost in his living room right now playing fuck-up-the-electronics.

But if there is…

“Hello?” he calls, and the flickering abruptly stops, chill retreating once more. Shit. One word in and apparently Remus has already fucked things up. “Hello?” he tries again. Did this maybe-possible-potential ghostie even speak English? “I’m Remus,” he says, feeling more than a little crazy for introducing himself to his empty living room. If Roman ever knew of this, he’d die laughing and then Remus really would have a ghost haunting his ass.

He wracks his brain for something to say. If he were a ghost and a stranger started moving all of their shit into his home, what would he want to hear from them?

“Um, cool house you have here. I’m not gonna like, fuck it up or anything.”

Silence.

“I’m planning on restoring it bit by bit as I have money so if you could tell me the original paint color or wallpaper patterns, that’d be dope.”

Still nothing. Apparently the ghost is not amused. Time for a different tactic, then.

“What’s your name?”

Not even a cricket chirping. Jesus fucking christ, Remus is really blowing this.

“That’s the tv—the television,” he explains, gesturing towards the device that had seemingly either fascinated or enraged his new housemate, he can’t quite tell which. “It works by… well, I don’t really know how it works. Something with waves and frequencies or some shit? But you can watch recordings, people acting or baking or doing dumb reality dating shows or whatever, so if there’s something that you wanna see…”

He trails off, surreptitiously scanning the room for any ethereal presences, but the house is quiet, the ghostly feeling fading bit by bit. Great. An actual paranormal experience and he’s gone and shoved his foot so far in his mouth he can practically feel his toes wiggling in his small intestine.

“Alright, that’s cool, no worries. Just lemme know if you change your mind.”

He waits a moment more, hoping for a disembodied voice to speak or an object to start moving on its own or his body to suddenly become possessed, but there’s nothing. Snagging his leather jacket off the back of the couch, he beelines for the door, forcing himself not to run as excitement begins to grow with every step, bubbling up around his bones. He has a ghost. A ghost, an actual fucking ghost, and he hadn’t even had to pay extra for it. No way he’s not going to take advantage of the universe handing him the sickest housewarming present in the world, never mind the fact that he might end up a walking meat suit for the spirit.

He pauses as he reaches the edge of the yard, then thinks better of it and pivots, heading for his car instead. Who knew how far ghost range was, and he doesn’t want his new roomie overhearing. He’s practically vibrating with energy as he makes his way down the long, winding drive, and he only makes it a few miles down the road before he’s pulling over onto the shoulder, hopefully well out of spirit range.

His first call rings through to voicemail, but Remus doesn’t bother leaving a message, just hangs up and tries again, only to be met with the same result. The third time, though, proves to be the charm.

“What,” the voice on the other end spits, cheerful as ever. “Fuck you, Remus, I’m in the middle of—”

“You’re still into all that weird stuff, right? Like the cryptids and the creepies and the ghouls and ghosties and all that?” Remus interrupts. He can deal with Virgil’s wrath another time—he has information he needs and he needs it pronto.

A pause, so long he’s sure Virgil has hung up on him and he’s going to have to keep calling until the emo answers his question.

“Yeah?” the distrustful reply finally comes, anger blunted by obvious wariness. “Why—”

“I need to pick your brain,” Remus cuts in again. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

---

Plan Contact The Resident Possibly Unfriendly Ghost Who Might Possess Him, or CTRPUGWMPH to be short and snappy about it, is officially a go.

Unfortunately, it isn’t off to a promising start.

Virgil’s knowledge had turned out to be more spirit lore than specifics about how to get a ghost to actually appear, although he’d been infinitely more helpful than Roman, who’d just stared at him and asked if he’d had the house checked for carbon monoxide poisoning. Remus had soundly ignored him and had left Virgil’s apartment with his head swimming with theories about why ghosts haunt particular places and an extensive lecture from Virgil about how to find any potential objects or reasons tying a ghost to the house that might provide a potential talking point to engage said ghost in conversation.

But despite digging into every crack and crevice on the internet, emailing the local historical society, even calling his realtor to ask again about the history of the property, Remus comes up with precious little. The house had originally been built in the 1880s by a local merchant, everyone seems to agree, and had been inherited by his nephew soon after, but beyond that there’s frustratingly scant information available, and he can’t find so much as a whisper about anyone dying in the home. His ghostie could be anyone, then: A Victorian builder who’d taken a tumble, a flapper girl who’d partied a tad too hard, a hapless victim of some modern serial killer who’d taken advantage of the place sitting abandoned for years to do a bit of light murdering.

With precisely zero context clues as to his new housemate’s identity, then, Remus embraces his remarkable talent of keeping up an entirely one-sided conversation as he works around the house the next few days, rambling about anything and everything related to the property he can think of, hoping something will pique the ghost’s interest. But besides a few more cold spots and flickering screens, the house remains stubbornly quiet. Maybe his ghost just needed a bit of help in communicating, though; drifting around an empty building with no one to talk to for the past god-knew-how-many years can’t have done good things to their incorporeal vocal cords.

Which brings him to Plan B: The infamous Ouija board, favorite tool of grifters and bullshit paranormalists everywhere.

And yet despite the makeshift, very high-budget seance he conducts with the two dollar board and the zero dollar candles he’s lovingly stolen from his brother, there’s once again no reply from beyond the veil besides a chill in the room that somehow radiates disapproval. Apparently his ghost isn’t a fan of pseudoscientific games any more than he is. At least they had standards, whoever they were.

But Remus is a stubborn bastard if he does say so himself, so on to Plan C it is. The used EMF meter he snags off of ebay has definitely seen better days, given the prominent crack across its screen, but the thing had been cheap and still seemed to work, so Remus wasn’t complaining. Fancy equipment was for fancy people, after all, and of all the things he’s ever been called, he’s positive fancy isn’t one of them. He sets up the device behind the tv, which still seems to intrigue his ghost every time it’s turned on, puts on the first show he can find, and forces himself to walk away. His little trap is set. Now all he has to do is bide his time pretending to busy himself unpacking a box of books in the next room—

He barely has the chance to register the tv screen flickering out of the corner of his eye before an ear-splitting shriek is rending the air, startling him so violently that he promptly drops a hefty tome on his foot.

“Shit,” he breathes, surging back into the living room, but the noise has already stopped just as suddenly as it began, replaced by a frigid chill permeating the room. Maybe he should have thought twice about scaring the resident phantom without first hiding any of his valuables. Hopefully he won’t wake up tomorrow to find his tv shattered. “It won’t hurt you,” he calls, though the EMF meter indicates a distinct lack of any supernatural presences. “It just makes noise to let me know when you’re nearby, yeah? Totally harmless.”

No response, but for once he doesn’t mind, not when there’s excitement dancing white-hot across his nerves. There really is a ghost or spirit or demon or something here, and he hasn’t just been imagining things.

Fuck, this house is single-handedly the coolest thing that’s ever happened to him, even if he does now have to worry about his haunting buddy getting a bit of revenge on him in the middle of the night.

But Remus survives safe and sound into the next day without so much as a supernatural scratch on his skin. Bloody payback didn’t seem like his ghost’s style anyways, not when their favorite activity seemed to be pressing as many buttons as possible on the tv remote at once. Curiosity is still nipping impatiently at his heels though, urging him to explore this latest avenue of potential communication more, so he sets up the EMF meter again, this time in the master bedroom where the spirit seems most inclined to spend time if the continued pacing in the middle of the night is anything to go by.

A brilliant plan, only minorly ruined by the fact that the device is nowhere to be found when he goes searching for it the next morning.

“Are you disappearing things, ghostie?” he asks the empty bedroom. “Gonna zap me into another dimension next?”

He’s joking, but as his hunt through the house reveals neither hide nor hair of the EMF meter, he can’t help but wonder. Had the ghost really just yeeted the thing into the ether? Or maybe it was right where he’d left it in the middle of the bedroom, but had been turned invisible like the spirit themself? What kind of ghostly superpowers did he even have, if any—

He comes to an abrupt halt as he emerges out the back door onto the porch, a laugh spilling past his lips as he surveys the myriad bits of metal and broken plastic strewn around him. Looks like he’s found his EMF meter. Apparently his ghost wasn’t nearly as endeared to this technology as he was anything with a screen. He glances up to the master bedroom window over his head, shading his eyes from the sun.

“Fair enough,” he calls, still fighting down amusement despite himself, and there’s the faintest shimmer in the air above the balcony, reminiscent of a heat mirage despite the cool morning air. “No more screeching little boxes.”

Left with zero information about his ghost’s identity, a useless Ouija board better repurposed as a doorstop, and the remains of his one piece of official ghost-hunting equipment, Remus concludes his only option is to embark on Plan D. Said plan isn’t so much an strategic approach as it is a wild hail mary to find any way to communicate with his ghost that didn’t involved hurling objects from balconies, as much fun as such an activity was, but then again, Plan D did sound delightfully dirty, so he’ll take the trade-off.

The internet, of course, is the place to turn to for highly questionable ghost advice, and it only takes a single google search to find message boards teeming with it. Half of it is clearly bullshit, he quickly discovers as he trawls through post after useless post, and the other half is baseless theories without any semblance of evidence to back them up, but just as he’s about to call it quits and move on to whatever the hell Plan E is, an old thread catches his eye.

‘Old Ghost Caught By Photography?’ the title reads, and Remus skims through the post, intrigued despite himself at the detailed claims the author had been able to capture the image of a Victorian spirit by using an antique camera and photography methods from the end of the nineteenth century. He pores over the attached images, searching for the slightest hint of photoshop or manipulation, but everything seems legit. And it made sense in some weird, probably illogical way, he supposes, that ghosts might only be spotted by using technology from their day and age—historical continuity in the metaphysical realm or some shit.

It’s the best lead he has after hours of searching, and really, he’s just spent a very hefty chunk of change buying a whole-ass house; what was the harm in dropping a few more dollars on some vintage photography equipment?

Which is precisely how he finds himself crammed into his makeshift darkroom in the tiny closet under the stairs several weeks later, holding his breath as he carefully begins to look through the latest batch of negatives he’s just finished processing. It had taken an obscene amount of research, a healthy dose of trial-and-error, and more than a few failures to figure out the intricacies of the dry plate photography process, but he’d gotten there in the end, even if the most he has to show for it is a few suspicious blurs in a couple of images.

Maybe this whole idea of capturing ghosts in photos was just as bullshit as the others, he muses as he examines yet another empty picture of the dining room, or maybe his ghost wasn’t from the same era as the camera he’d bought. Maybe his ghost simply didn’t want to have his photo taken, or maybe—

His train of thought abruptly derails as he picks up the next plate.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

The image is still a negative, the reversed colors lending a certain eeriness to the picture under the red darkroom lights, but there, right smack in the middle of the photo—a figure. An actual human figure, clear as day, looking right at the camera. Remus whoops, nearly knocking over a vial of chemicals with his elbow as he dances backwards in pure giddiness. Oh fuck yes , there is a ghost haunting the place. His ghost, now that he owns the house. His ghost who is…

He pauses, forcing himself to focus on the figure in the photo even as he feels like he’s about to vibrate right off of his bones with excitement. Spectacles, clean-shaven, dark hair neatly styled. Neat trousers, white shirt, trim waistcoat, and a decidedly fancy ascot, the whole ensemble distinctly old-fashioned. Victorian, then? Or Edwardian? Or some historical reenactor who’d met an untimely demise in costume? And it does seem to be an untimely demise; the man looks to be in his mid- to late-twenties, unless he’d found some ability to look whatever age he wanted in the afterlife.

Regardless, he can’t make himself focus on fashion for long. He has a ghost to talk to. Fighting his way out of the cramped closet, he bounds up the stairs, forcing himself to slow to a respectable jog as he darts into the master bedroom. He stops in the middle of the still-bare room, trying and utterly failing to keep his hopes in check.

“Hello? Ghostie?”

No response.

“Mr. Glasses and White Shirt?”

His skin prickles, the hair on the back of his neck raising. Aha. There he was.

“Hey, what’s up?” He turns in a slow circle, searching for any sign of his specter, any flicker of light off a spectacle lens or a flash of a shirtsleeve, but the room is as empty as ever.

“I have a photo if you’d like to see it.” Could ghosts not see themselves in mirrors or was that only vampire lore? And if he couldn’t see his own reflection, did the ghost even remember what he looked like?

He raises the picture, proferring the negative to the vacant room, and holds his breath. Nothing, for several long moments, and then the chill edges closer. Remus bites his lip, barely able to keep himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet at the prospect of a ghost being within arm’s reach.

“I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything, I just wanted to see if you were real or if I needed to go check myself into a padded room, you know? I’m Remus, if I haven’t said that. What’s your name?”

Several more excruciatingly long moments that Remus is sure has to be the longest span of silence in history, then—

“Hello.”

The voice is thin and slightly hoarse, quiet enough that Remus has to strain to make it out, but it’s as unmistakably real as the form that flickers into existence right in front of his eyes, identical to the man in the photo. He’s distinctly transparent, the edges of him not quite defined, fuzzing out around the edges like the ambient glow of neon signs, but he’s here and he’s real and this is so fucking cool that Remus could keel over right here and now from excitement and join the ghost in wandering around the house for all eternity.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, because if there was ever a time for swearing, by god this is fucking it, and the spirit withdraws slightly, already guarded expression closing in further. “No no no, it’s good,” he rushes to assure him, resisting the urge to reach out and try to touch him. “Good holy shit. Complimentary holy shit.”

The ghost doesn’t seem entirely appeased, but he tilts his head slightly, something like curiosity sparking in his eyes as he evaluates Remus.

“Why are you not frightened of me?” he finally asks, and Remus has to fight back the absurd laugh bubbling up in his chest. He’s being questioned by a century-old ghost in the middle of his haunted home. Life really was delightfully freaky.

“No offense, man, but you’re not exactly terrifying. I mean, I’ve been here what? A solid month? And you haven’t even tried to pluck my eyeballs out or anything.”

Another unreadable pause. Is he just giving the spirit ideas? Were his eyes about to be forcibly unmarried from his skull à la eagles tearing out Prometheus’ liver?

“Do you want me to be afraid of you?” he asks after a further absolutely unbearable five seconds of silence.

“No,” the ghost admits after a moment of clear hesitation, “but previous residents certainly have not appreciated my presence here.”

Remus scoffs. “That’s their problem. Some of us are smarter than that.”

The other man’s head tilt deepens, something akin to puzzlement furrowing his brow, as if he can’t fathom why having a ghost is actually the most badass shit on the face of the planet.

“Can I ask you some questions?” Remus asks, exhilaration still racing along the underside of his skin so intensely that he can barely stand it. “You can ask me whatever you want, too.”

The ghost nods, although he still seems cautious as one hand fiddles absently with his ascot. “I suppose that would be alright.”

Twenty questions with an undead spirit. Remus’ life really was getting better by the minute.

“Did you used to live here?”

“I did, many years ago.”

“Did you own the place?”

“At one point in time, yes. It was truly a beautiful house in its day, and a wonderful place to reside.”

Oh fuck yes. If having an old-timey ghost who can give him historically accurate advice about restoring the house isn’t the coolest fucking thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t sure what is. He has half a mind to start grilling him on paint colors and wallpaper prints and the original hardwood, but—

“Did you die here?”

The words are blurting out of his mouth without even bothering to detour through his brain on the way out, burning curiosity eclipsing any thought that perhaps asking about death isn’t exactly acceptable ghost etiquette. He barely has time to register the change in the spirit’s expression, the visceral upset written across his features clear as day, before he’s gone in between one breath and the next, vanishing back into whatever thin air he’d come from and leaving nothing but a biting chill in his wake.

Shit shit shit. He’s finally gotten the ghost to trust him enough to show up and talk and then he’s gone and ruined it within the span of two minutes all because he had all the self-control of a sieve trying to retain water.

“Wait,” he calls, casting about in vain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Well, apparently his subconscious had, but that hadn’t been his intention. “Please come back. You can ask me as many invasive questions as you like.” Nothing. “You can haunt me for revenge, if you want.” Utter silence. “Are you gonna hurl me off the balcony like my EMF meter?”

There he goes again, giving the specter ideas, although really, being yeeted out of a window by a ghost would be a damn cool end if he does say so himself. He lingers in the room for several long minutes, forcing himself to keep quiet lest he miss the spirit’s hushed voice, but there’s nothing but the faint sound of a bird twittering outside.

“Alright,” he finally relents, disappointment pooling in his stomach as he glances down at the photography plate still in his hand, the negative serving as indisputable evidence that the encounter hadn’t just been a fever dream. He’ll find a way to make things right with the ghost somehow, one way or another. He has to. “Just come spook me if you change your mind.”

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!): @darth-does-stuff

#thomas sanders sides big bang 2023 #tssbb2023 #sanders sides #ts remus #remus sanders #ts logan #logan sanders #ts roman #roman sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #intrulogical #loceit #ts fanfic #the art of saying goodbye #my fic #rosepetal writes

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wayward-dreamer · 1 year

Text

Undeniable

Square/s Filled: Threesomes - @spnkinkbingo / Doggy style - @anyfandomkinkbingo / FREE - Tell Me A Story Bingo @supernatural-jackles /

Pairing: Jensen x Female!Reader x Danneel

Word count: 4,018

Summary: Y/N can't deny the tangible attraction between her, Jensen and Danneel, and finds herself experiencing something she never thought possible.

Warnings: Swearing, sexual tension, smut: dirty talk, d/s elements, Dom!Jensen, Dom!Danneel, Sub!Reader, threesome, ffm, oral sex (male and female receiving), rough sex, doggy style, unprotected sex (wrap it up people), fluff

A/N: Pretty sure I killed both my betas @evergreencowboy and @makeadealwithdean with this, so let that be a warning... happy reading and enjoy! :)

Comic-con was always one of Y/N’s favorite events. The panels, the cosplay, the atmosphere of the fans - it was all pretty great. As press, it was always difficult to get some time off during the weekend to catch the things she wanted to, but if there was ever a spare moment, she loved walking the convention floor and taking in the excitement of the crowds, checking out the fan art and taking photos of some of the cool cosplays people had put so much effort into.

She had managed a couple of hours that weekend, but it was right back to business as usual, which was a lot of fun, too. She always got to interview the people she had admired, but considering her most favorite show of all time had now produced a spin-off, that was what she was most looking forward to talking about. She had interviewed Jensen several times over the years for Supernatural, and they had developed a great friendship because of it, so she couldn’t wait to catch up with him and his lovely other half.

“Y/N!”

She lifted her head up from the cards she was reading over, editing some of the questions with the pen between her fingers. She heard his husky, deep voice over the buzz of her co-workers as they prepped for the interview, smiling as he came towards her.

“Hey,” she beamed as she stood up from her chair, hugging him. She had a brief moment of confusion as it lasted a little longer than usual, but she didn’t dwell on it as they pulled away from each other. “It’s a been a while, huh?”

“Well, not long enough, clearly,” he joked, shrugging his shoulders.

“True,” she stated, with a slight chuckle.

“Oh, honey,” he turned around, taking the hand of a beautiful redhead as both of them faced her. “This is Y/N, she did a lot of press for Supernatural. Y/N, this is Danneel.”

Offering her hand, she smiled softly when Danneel leaned in and hugged her instead. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“You too,” Danneel said, pulling away after a moment. “Jensen’s always said doing interviews with you has never felt like work, so I’m glad we’re coming around to you first.”

“Yeah, but I’m still gonna grill you both for as many non-spoilery spoilers as possible,” Y/N jested, wiggling her eyebrows.

Jensen chuckled, waving his finger at her as he sat down on the chair across from her. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

Y/N giggled as she adjusted the mic on her top, watching as Jensen and Danneel did the same for each other, sharing a quick kiss. She smiled to herself as she looked away, flipping back to the first card before she glanced back at them.

“Shall we?” she asked.

“Ready when you are,” Danneel replied, a small smirk on her face as she flipped her hair back lightly.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up as their eyes met, a lingering look passing between them. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling as the camera started to record, but she had to push it down.

She had a job to do and couldn’t get distracted by them.

That’s what she kept reminding herself of every time her eyes would meet Jensen’s or Danneel’s as they discussed the new show, but she really couldn’t help herself. They were beautiful, and she suddenly found herself thinking things she really shouldn’t in the middle of an interview. Her mind wandered off briefly as her gaze fell on Jensen’s lips, imagining what they’d feel like on every part of her, before her thoughts transitioned to the way his wife’s would feel as well. She shook her head as she prepped herself to ask the rest of her questions, chastising herself for her unprofessional thoughts.

The interview had gone really well. The rapport between the three of them had been great, and Y/N had wished them all the success for the rest of the season. As they said goodbyes at the end before they headed off to the next string of interviews, Jensen and Danneel invited her to the small event that the studio was having for them later that evening. She was about to decline the offer, but with the looks that had been passing between them, she found herself saying yes without missing a beat.

And that was exactly where she found herself later, a cocktail in hand, as they laughed about memories from past conventions and talked about how life was treating them lately. They sat in the curved booth, Danneel’s knees brushing against hers because of the lack of space.

“Thanks for today,” Jensen stated, smiling softly. “I’m always a little nervous before we start, but having you first definitely put me at ease.”

“I’m glad,” Y/N muttered, taking a small sip of her drink. “It was really great for me to have you guys first as well. I just… I’m really happy for all of you.”

“You know, any time you wanna come down to New Orleans and do some press there, we’d love to have you,” Danneel said, leaning her forearms on the table, making the gap between them smaller.

“Oh, that would be amazing!” Y/N exclaimed, grinning. “Ah, I’d go through the proper channels with my boss first-”

“Of course,” Danneel interjected, placing her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Do what you need, and then let us know. Especially if it’s some time next week, we’ve got some cool stuff coming up.”

“I’ll definitely talk to him soon,” Y/N stated, making a note on her phone to call her boss the next morning as soon as she woke up.

“Great,” the redhead smiled, her hand gently skimming down Y/N’s arm and curling over her hand. “It’s gonna be a lot of fun.”

Y/N sighed softly as she felt the beautiful woman in front of her graze her foot against hers under the table. Her thumb lightly brushed over Y/N’s knuckles, causing her breath to hitch as their eyes met. She had occasionally had the thought of what it would be like to be with other women, but had never acted on it. She certainly wasn’t going to now considering it would be highly unprofessional, but the sudden, familiar warmth that settled low in her core and the glint in Danneel’s eye were making things really difficult for her.

The attraction was undeniable, especially with everything she had been feeling all day, and she was pretty sure they felt it too, as their eyes met hers. She felt her cheeks warm up not for the first time that day, and she knew she was in trouble if she didn’t leave soon. But she made no move to stand up and walk out the door.

“Can we convince you for a night cap back at our hotel?” Jensen asked, his voice deep and husky as he turned to her, his eyebrows raised. “It’s more low profile than here.”

Y/N looked between the couple, her gaze locked with Danneel for a brief moment before she turned away, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips as she glanced at her husband. Y/N knew what he was suggesting, and was very glad he was the one who brought it up.

“Well…” she started, leaning over the table and closer to them, dropping her voice down into a sensual whisper. “I think your room would be much more private.”

Danneel let out a low hum as she bit her lip, shifting closer to Y/N. They pressed their foreheads together as they looked into each other’s eyes, the wicked smirks on their faces almost identical. It was a brief moment, knowing that they’d rather not been seen, all three of them standing up as Jensen told them to wait outside while the valet brought the car around and he said their goodbyes for them.

Things had progressed faster than Y/N could process, but she still found herself squeezing her thighs together as they waited outside in anticipation for what was going to happen.

Jensen unlocked the door to their hotel room, letting Y/N and Danneel in first, before he closed the door behind them. She strolled into the room, biting her lip as she took in the decor. Her stomach flipped as she felt Jensen’s hand slide down her back as he walked around to face her, lifting her chin up to look into his eyes. They had discreetly walked through the lobby and into the elevator, keeping distance between them, but now they were alone together and her heart was beating faster at the thought of what was going to happen.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low but husky.

She gulped. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he whispered.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a searing kiss. She moaned against his mouth as her hands slid up his emerald green jacket, wrapping her arms around his neck as his hands rested on her hips. He groaned as the kiss deepened and he pulled her in closer, wanting to feel every inch of her against him.

“Fuck,” she gasped, as she pulled away from the kiss, their eyes locked. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest as she saw how wide his pupils were already, and she found herself more aroused.

A shiver ran down Y/N’s spine as Danneel came up behind her, her chest pressed against Y/N’s back, her slender hand cupping Y/N’s face and turning it towards her. They closed the gap between them, kissing sensually as Y/N turned away from Jensen into her. Danneel had stripped herself of her clothes, left in her dark red bra and panties, before she joined them in the main room. Her lips were soft, causing Y/N to moan lightly as their hands clung to each other. They pulled away, gazing into each other’s eyes as Danneel smirked, reaching for the ties on the back of Y/N’s blouse. She pulled them open, allowing Y/N to lift the material over her head, throwing it behind her. The redhead flicked open the button of Y/N’s wide leg jeans, pushing them down and letting her kick them off, revealing her black bra and thong to them.

“So beautiful,” Danneel breathed, her eyes roaming down Y/N’s body before taking her hand as she walked back towards the bed.

Y/N’s lips pulled into a small smile as she glanced back at Jensen, seeing him taking off his clothes slowly, his eyes on them as they sat down on the bed. The women turned to each other and continued their embrace, their hands skimming over soft skin as they kissed, passionately. Danneel took charge, pushing Y/N back on the bed and moving on top of her, their bodies pressed together. Y/N moaned as she stared up at the ceiling, feeling the redhead’s lips against her neck, nipping at her flesh. Y/N arched her back and unclasped her bra, throwing it somewhere in the room. She whimpered as she felt Danneel’s lips move down her chest, closing over her left nipple, her tongue flicking over it in circles.

“Danneel, fuck…” She threw her head back, her fingers combing into the fiery red hair as the woman drifted down, pressing a trail kisses to her skin. Y/N turned her head to see Jensen join them on the bed, biting her lip as she saw all of him. They were a god and goddess personified, and Y/N couldn’t quite believe she got to be there with them.

“I-” she started but she cut herself off with a harsh gasp, feeling Danneel’s teeth softly bite the top of her thigh.

“Tell Dee what you want, darlin’,” Jensen husked as he cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“I-I want-” she stuttered, breathing deeply as she closed her eyes. Any coherent thoughts had fallen out of her head, already overwhelmed by what was going to happen.

“Tell me, baby…” Danneel whispered, a wicked glint in her eye.

“I want to feel… feel your mouth on me,” she confessed, lifting her head to look down at the woman between her legs.

“You want me here?” the redhead asked, smirking.

Y/N hummed as slender fingers rubbed over the fabric of her panties, feeling how wet she was already. Danneel sat up for a brief moment, leaning over and capturing Jensen’s lips in a searing kiss before they pulled away, sharing a knowing smile.

“You want my cock, sweetheart?” Jensen asked, smirking as he looked down at Y/N. “Want to feel that gorgeous mouth around my dick…”

She reached out for him as Danneel slowly pulled the thin lace of her panties down her smooth legs, flinging them behind her. She moved back between Y/N’s thighs, instantly drifting down and licking a long stripe against her folds. Y/N tossed her head back against the sheets, a wanton moan falling from her lips as she wrapped her hand around Jensen’s cock, pumping back and forth in a slow pace. Danneel moved her skilled muscle over the bundle of nerves in small circles, feeling the woman underneath her getting more aroused.

“Fuck… oh god, I-” Y/N gasped, as her eyes opened, her hand stroking faster.

He groaned, moving closer to her as he pulled her hand away, guiding her face closer to him. Y/N wrapped her lips around his hard shaft, sinking down and taking him deep into her mouth, feeling him press against the back of her throat. She moaned at the feel of him, bobbing her head back and forth, licking the tip as she came up before taking him in again. His hand gripped her hair tight, a low grunt escaping him as he lightly thrusted into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, his jaw clenching as he looked down at her, “your mouth feels so fucking good, darlin’, taking me in so deep.”

Y/N glanced up at him as she continued to suck, her eyes fluttering as she felt Danneel alternate her ministrations between her clit and her folds, teasing her entrance. She released Jensen’s cock with a harsh breath, air burning her lungs as she grinded down against the redhead’s face. She whimpered, far too overwhelmed by everything she was feeling already thanks to them.

“So fucking beautiful,” he muttered, smiling as he watched his wife pleasure the woman between them. “She taste good, honey?”

Danneel pulled back briefly, winking. “So good…”

Jensen tugged at her hand causing her to sit up on her knees, leaning closer to him. They kissed roughly, a groan leaving him as he tasted Y/N’s arousal on his wife’s tongue. Danneel pulled back from the kiss and shifted back between Y/N’s legs, continuing to pleasure her with her mouth. She could feel how close she was, her palms covering her breasts as rolled her nipples between her fingers, wanting to get to the edge.

“She feel good, Y/N?” Jensen asked, their eyes locked as she stared up at him. “You want her to make you cum on her tongue, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she moaned, loudly.

He smirked, biting his lip as he moved down, kissing her sensually. “She’s gonna make you cum hard, and then… then I’m gonna fuck you, hard and fast, make you feel it for days.”

“Oh fuck!” she yelled, her voice bouncing off the walls.

Danneel worked her tongue faster over Y/N’s swollen nub, moving it down between her folds and up again. With a few more flicks of her talented muscle, Y/N threw her back as her eyes shut tight, a shrieking moan ripped from her throat. She clenched her hands in Danneel’s red strands as the woman lapped at everything she had to give, smiling softly as she sat back on her heels.

“Fuck, that was something,” Jensen husked, as he shifted closer to Danneel, pressing his lips to hers in a rough kiss.

He pulled away, looking down at Y/N as she held herself up on her elbows, her eyes flicking between them. He moved off the bed, standing at the edge as his hands pressed into the flesh of her hips, turning her onto her stomach, causing her squeal in surprise. She giggled as Danneel shifted across the bed to face Y/N, their eyes locked as they leaned into each other, kissing passionately. Y/N whimpered as Danneel’s hands slid down her body, tweaking the stiff buds and making her head even more foggy than it already was. Y/N ripped her mouth away, looking back as she felt him smack his cock against her folds, catching the smirk on his face.

“You want it, darlin’?” he asked, his green eyes darkened as he gazed down at her.

“Yeah…” she breathed, nodding slowly as she shifted onto her hands and knees, pressing back against him.

He clicked his tongue at her, as he pressed his hand into the globe of her ass. “You’re gonna have to beg for it, Y/N. Beg me to fuck you, to make you cum.”

She whined slightly, her frustration and need to feel him inside her getting to her. She looked deep into the eyes of the woman in front of her, leaning into her touch as she stroked her cheek. Danneel smiled softly, her thumbs brushing against the soft skin of Y/N’s face, pressing light kisses to her lips. Y/N felt like she was in a dream, like any moment now she’d wake up and be alone in her hotel room, her hand between her legs as she indulged in one of her fantasies, but this was real. It was happening, even if she couldn’t quite believe it.

“Be a good girl and Jensen’s gonna give you exactly what you need, baby,” she whispered, kissing Y/N’s forehead.

“P-Please… please, fuck me,” she begged, briefly gazing up at Danneel before she turned her head to look back at Jensen. “Fuck me hard, wanna feel that cock deep inside me.”

Jensen made eye contact with her before he looked at Danneel, receiving a firm nod from her as she bit her lip, smirking. His gaze dropped down to Y/N, as he ran his cock through her folds, teasing her. She closed her eyes as he pressed against her entrance, and in one quick motion, he was buried deep inside her, his cock completely sheathed by her walls. She moaned wantonly, her eyes snapping open as she felt him thrust in and out, slowly building a rhythm. He set a fast pace as he gripped her hips, a groan escaping him as he relished the way she felt around him.

“Fuck, oh god,” she whimpered, her eyes fluttering from the pleasure she was feeling. She hummed as Danneel held her close, their eyes meeting as she tried to focus.

“He feels good, doesn’t he?” she asked, a mischievous chuckle falling from her lips, cupping Y/N’s face in her hands. “Feels good being fucked deep and hard by that big cock, huh?”

Y/N’s only reply was a loud moan, almost muffled by the growl that escaped Jensen as he felt her walls contract around him, her arousal growing more with Danneel’s words.

“Dee, keep talking,” he ordered, smirking. “Fuck, she’s so wet and tight… so fucking perfect.”

Danneel smiled, looking deep into Y/N’s eyes. “Really? That’s so fucking hot, love seeing you getting fucked by my husband, taking his cock so well, Y/N. Can’t wait to see you cum so hard for him…”

“Fuck!” Y/N yelled, squeezing her eyes shut.

Jensen continued to pound into Y/N, his hips smacking against the curve of her ass, his sight slightly blurred as he gave into the euphoric bliss that he was feeling. He caught a glimpse of Danneel shifting down, spreading her legs in front of Y/N and guiding her face between them. She moaned as she threw her head back, feeling Y/N’s tongue lick a long stripe from her entrance to her clit, flicking over the swollen nub in tight circles. Y/N paid the redheaded woman the same attention she had to her, feeling a sense of pride as Danneel’s fingers combed into her hair, keeping her head in place.

“Fuck, just like that, Y/N,” Danneel cried out, looking down at her through hooded eyes. “Love feeling your mouth on me.”

She continued her ministrations, leaning onto her forearm to use her fingers on Danneel, thrusting them into her tight heat, matching the pace to the way Jensen was moving within her. She pulled her mouth away for a brief moment, resting her forehead on the inside of Danneel’s thigh as he slammed into her, her walls clenching tight around him as the familiar heat grew in her core.

“Fuck her harder, darlin’,” he groaned, gripping her hips tight in his hands as he watched them. “Want you both cum together…”

She worked her fingers faster, the tip of the digits pressing against the sweet spot inside that had Danneel’s walls contracting around them. Her tongue circled the bundle of nerves at the same time, wanting the redhead to get to the edge at the same time as her. Moans and whimpers filled the room as they both felt themselves getting closer to their release, as Jensen pounded deep into Y/N. With another few thrusts of his hips, Y/N dropped her head down as she screamed his name, feeling the coil within her snap, her wetness covering his shaft. She moved her fingers quickly, as she gazed up at Danneel, smirking as the woman underneath her threw her head back, a string of expletives escaping her as she came hard on Y/N’s fingers. As they reached the peak of pleasure together, Y/N’s orgasm triggered Jensen’s, a few shallow thrusts from him as his neck strained back, a strangled moan ripping from his throat, his cock throbbing as spurts of his seed coated her walls.

Y/N breathed heavily as she rolled onto her back, sliding up next to Danneel as they both came down from the euphoric high. Y/N moaned softly as the beautiful woman turned into her, kissing her lips, sensually. She pulled her close, their mouths fused together in a passionate embrace, as Jensen moved behind Y/N, nipping at her neck. Danneel pulled away, combing her hand through Y/N’s hair as their eyes locked, both of them smiling at each other.

“That was definitely unexpected,” Y/N muttered with a small giggle.

“But it was fucking incredible,” Jensen stated, as he held himself up on his elbow, looking down at both of them.

Y/N nodded in agreement, pushing herself up to kiss him, once, twice before she laid back, sighing in content. Danneel glanced up at her husband, raising her eyebrows in a silent question that they both already knew. He winked at her, causing a wide grin to spread across her face as she met Y/N’s gaze again.

“So… can we expect you in New Orleans next week? Maybe have a repeat of tonight?” she asked, her hand stroking over Y/N’s arm gently.

She looked between both of them, biting her lip as she thought about the offer. When she arrived for the con, she never thought that this would be how the weekend came to a close, but she certainly wouldn’t change anything about it, especially what had just occurred. She didn’t think she’d ever do something like this, but now that she had, there was no way she could go back to living her life the way she used to.

With another kiss to the redhead’s lips, she looked up at Jensen and nodded, smiling softly as she pressed her forehead to his.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

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