ikkyfics

[ikkyfics]

CONGRATULATIONS honey I'm SO happy with this news

「 ✦ 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍’𝒔 𝑪𝒂𝒇é ✦ 」

Hi there! Thank you so much for helping me reach 1,007 followers and for being apart of it (yes, I included the seven because I did not really notice that I have already reached 1k). Anywayyyyy, to celebrate, i will be opening my coffee shop!

welcome to the cafe! It's me, Tally, the owner! Who would you like to prepare your drink today?

──★ James Potter

──★ Remus Lupin

──★ Sirius Black

──★ Poly!Marauders

──★ wolfstar

──★ prongsfoot

what would you like to have? tea or coffee? boba, perhaps?

── .✦ tea 🫖 .ᐟ

꒰ are you into fluff and would love to experience a very romantic life? well, you are in for a treat because we offer sweet teas! ꒱

choose your barista + select what flavor of tea you want from this menu here + specific trope and plot, and i will write a drabble for you!

here’s more for tea: sweet kisses

── .✦ coffee ☕️ .ᐟ

꒰ or you are more into tear jerking angst that would totally pull at your heartstrings? well, you’ve come to the write place! we offer hot and bitter coffees! ꒱

choose your barista + select what kind of coffee you would like to have from this menu + specific trope and plot, and i will write a drabble for you!

── .✦ bobas 🧋 .ᐟ

꒰ but maybe you’re more into the angst + fluff side? well, worry not, we offer cold drinks that taste sweet to mend your broken heart! ꒱

choose your barista + select what flavor of boba you would like to have from this menu + specific trope and plot, and i will write a drabble for you!

would you also like to read a book? there’s a little shelf in the corner!

just send in 📕 + barista + specific trope or scenario and i will write my headcanons for you!

we also offer pastries!

would you like to get to know the owner more?

just send in a 🥐 and choose which questions you’d like to ask!

rules:

i am kindly asking for you to be patient. i have other priorities outside tumblr so there are times when i won’t be able to open this app and work on your request. but rest assured that i will write them for you!

specify! i have mentioned this already, but i would like to emphasize this. please, make your request clear as possible so i won’t have a hard time trying to make out what you want in your request.

be KIND. it will not cost you anything!

the coffee shop closes on March 05, 2025

how to send in request?

ex: ☕ + barista + chosen prompt + specific scenario/plot and trope

for fluff, please specify if you got the prompt from sweet, kisses or the menu!

── enjoy your drinks! ☕🍰

꒰ navigation ꒱

kudos to @novelbear, @blue-slxt and @urfriendlywriter for these amazing prompts!

[ikkyfics]

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW I SCREAMED WITH THIS REACTION (I can't believe that >we both< had a time when we didn't like him, how could that have been possible??) AND MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR THE AFFECTION, you are a sweetheart <333333333333

𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐚

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: “Hey…” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement. “Did you just wink at me?” Your face heats up instantly. “What? No! I just—” James moves closer, and before you can escape, his hands are already around you—warm, firm, secure. And then, he attacks. Kisses. A relentless succession of them.

Warnings: muggle au, est. relationship, fluffy, no use of y/n, james doing a kiss attack, shy!reader

The rain drums softly against the window, streaming down the glass in thin rivulets, distorting the view outside. The apartment is warm and lit by a discreet lamp, casting soft shadows over the furniture. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, your feet swinging in the air, your hands wrapped around your teacup, soaking in the warmth it offers. There’s something comforting about this silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional rustle of the newspaper forgotten on the table.

And then, he speaks.

“Did you know that if you close both eyes, you can’t see anything?”

You blink, lifting your gaze from the tea and meeting his, blue and full of mischief behind the lenses of his glasses. James is leaning against the doorframe, a half-smile tugging at his lips, his black hair in perfect chaos over his forehead. He looks absolutely pleased with himself, as if he’s having fun at the expense of a secret you haven’t discovered yet.

“Of course,” you reply, arching an eyebrow. “Everyone knows that.”

“Ah, but if you close just one...” He leans slightly forward, his elbows resting on the counter. “You can still see everything.”

The sentence hangs between you, and without thinking too much, you close one eye, testing the logic.

In the next second, you realize the mistake.

James lets out a low chuckle, and the glint in his eyes intensifies in a dangerous way. He pushes off the doorframe and advances slowly, his steps feline, his posture too relaxed to be innocent.

“Hey...” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement. “Did you just wink at me?”

Your face heats up instantly.

“What? No! I just—”

But there’s no room for explanations.

James moves closer, and before you can escape, his hands are already around you—warm, firm, secure. One arm wraps around your waist, pulling you forward until your knees bump against the sides of his hips. The other slides up to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your heated skin.

You smell him, that mix of woody soap and something purely James. And then, he attacks.

Kisses. A relentless succession of them.

First, one on the high point of your cheek. Then, another near the corner of your mouth, then another and another, until he traces an entire path across your flushed skin. You let out a weak protest, a breathless laugh escaping before you can contain it.

“Jamie—”

“No, no,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice slightly muffled. “This won’t go unnoticed.”

“I wasn’t flirting!”

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression absolutely delighted.

“Ah, so only I can flirt?”

You open your mouth, but he’s already smiling that impossible smile, the one that makes your heart stumble.

“Good to know,” he says, and then he’s back, nipping lightly at your flushed cheek before pressing a longer kiss there. You feel his lips curve against your skin.

Your chest tightens in a dizzying way, in a way you can’t quite describe.

It’s always like this.

James, whole, intense. He loves as if he doesn’t know how to love any other way. With everything he has, with everything he is.

You, on the other hand, feel small in the face of it. Not in a bad way. But because James lights up everything around him, and you’re not quite sure how you deserved so much.

The shyness still warms your face, but you don’t resist when he starts covering your face with kisses again, laughing between each one. Your hands slide into his black hair, your fingers digging in as he finally gives you a break, resting his forehead against yours.

He’s smiling against your skin, that smile you feel more than see, and his chest rises and falls in a rhythm that matches yours.

James sighs, dragging his nose lazily across your face before murmuring against your cheek, “Did you know I’m all yours?”

Your heart stumbles.

He doesn’t say it with the intention of being dramatic. James never says anything halfway, never loves halfway. The sentence slips from his lips with so much truth, so much certainty, that you feel your chest tighten. You feel something blooming inside you, something that’s always been there but now pulses with more strength.

Maybe it’s the fact that he always takes the initiative, always breaks down your barriers with that tireless, charming way of his.

And maybe, just maybe, you want to surprise him this time.

The idea takes shape before you can talk yourself out of it.

With a hesitant but determined movement, you lean in and press your lips to his cheek.

He freezes for a second, his blue eyes wide behind his glasses, his mouth slightly open as if he’s trying to formulate a sentence that never comes.

You almost pull back, almost shrink away from the sudden impulse, but then you see his expression. It’s rare to see him like this, speechless, without a ready response on the tip of his tongue.

Your chest warms.

So, before your courage disappears, you kiss him again.

With a touch of boldness—the most you can muster—you scatter a trail of kisses across his face, following the same path he traced on yours. The curve of his jaw, his chin, the spot just below his ear. Your shyness makes your skin burn, but something about seeing James so visibly affected encourages you.

And when you return to his cheek, nipping lightly as he did to you, he lets out a low sound, a mix of a laugh and a sigh.

“You...” he stammers, looking absolutely amazed. “Did you just bite me?”

You nod, a little uncertain, and James... well, James melts.

Literally.

His body sags against yours, his arms tightening around your waist, and he hides his face in your neck, laughing as if you’ve just completely destroyed him.

“Ah, that’s not fair,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin. “I wasn’t prepared.”

You feel his smile there, his lips pressed against your neck, and before you know it, you’re smiling too.

“Now you know how I feel,” you whisper, and James lets out a dramatic groan, as if he’s been struck in the heart.

“No,” he says, lifting his face again. His hands slide back to your face, his eyes shining as if he’s just discovered something new and fascinating. “That was worse. You have no idea what you just did to me.”

“Jamie—”

Suddenly, and before you can react, he grabs your cheeks firmly. The gentle pressure pushes them together until your lips form a forced pout.

James smiles. Beautiful, mischievous, absolutely enchanted.

“Ah, what a precious thing,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with an almost exaggerated fondness. He studies your face for a second, his eyes shining, before lowering his head and lightly biting your lower lip trapped between your pinched cheeks.

You squirm in his hands, trying to escape the trap, but he holds your face a little longer before finally releasing your cheeks, his thumbs gently brushing over your warm skin as he watches every detail.

James is always watching.

All the time.

And he never gets tired.

His hands stay there, holding your face with an almost exaggerated care, as if he wants to memorize the feeling. He rests his forehead against yours, and the touch is lazy, comfortable.

“I’m officially a lost man,” he says, so close that it’s impossible to tell where his breath ends and yours begins. “You could ask me for anything right now, and I’d do it without hesitation. My heart? Take it. My dignity? Gone. My soul? Well, I think it’s been yours for a long time.”

You laugh, and James looks absolutely delighted by the sound.

He watches you, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your breath falter.

“Could you kiss me again?” he asks, and his voice is low, almost hesitant.

Your face burns, but you nod, and when your lips meet his skin again, James closes his eyes and lets out a satisfied sigh.

[ikkyfics]

AAAAAAAAAAA I'm so glad you liked it, honey seriously, check out @gingerteafairy and @fear-is-truth work, they're the best ever, I never get tired of reading

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

Tate Langdon x f!reader

Summary: “Tate…” you begin, but he already knows. He leans in again, his mouth brushing lightly against yours, like a ghost’s whisper. Like a secret. “Promise you’ll never leave me?”

Warnings: none, i think— it's tate, self explanatory

A/N: He was the reason I watched ahs and I've been thinking about writing about tate for sooooo long, it's kind of embarrassing that I only did it now

The house breathes.

You feel it every night, in the heavy silence that fills every corner of your room. Your room. But not just yours.

It once belonged to Tate.

The thought should bother you, but it doesn’t. On the contrary. The idea of sleeping in the same space that once was his, of occupying the place that once sheltered him, brings you a strange comfort. As if, somehow, you and Tate have always been connected.

“You’re thinking again.”

His voice cuts through the silence of the room. Low, rough, almost amused.

You turn your head, and he’s there—sitting on the edge of the bed, his blond curls falling over his forehead, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. As always, he arrived without a sound, as if he were just another fragment of the house, an extension of the shadows.

“Is it wrong?” you ask, your voice soft.

“Depends,” Tate tilts his head slightly. “Were you thinking about me?”

“Maybe.”

His smile widens a little. The dimples appear, deep, and you feel something tighten in your chest. Tate has this effect on you—a presence that’s cold, yet warm. Terrifying, yet comforting. You’re not quite sure where the fear begins and where the love ends.

He leans in, resting his hand beside your pillow. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you whisper.

“Liar.” Tate’s dark eyes scan your face as if they could see beyond your skin, beyond your bones, straight to everything that drowns you inside. “You have this thing... this sadness stuck in your eyes. I know it well.”

Of course he does.

Tate understands like no one else. He sees what others don’t, feels what others ignore.

“I can’t explain it,” you confess. “I just... feel it.”

He brings his hand to your face, his icy fingers tracing a delicate path across your cheek. You shiver, but you don’t pull away. With Tate, the cold is never enough to push you away.

“I like it when you talk,” he murmurs.

Your heart hammers inside your chest. “Why?”

“Because you’re mine,” Tate answers without hesitation. The conviction in his voice makes you hold your breath. “And I’m yours. That means I can save you.”

Save.

The word hangs between you, heavy with something you don’t fully understand but that scares you.

“I don’t need to be saved.”

Tate smiles. Slowly. Almost sadly. “Yes, you do.”

The silence stretches between you. Long enough for you to feel the house around you. Its weight, its presence, the whisper of the walls.

Then Tate closes the distance, his lips brushing yours in a light, almost hesitant kiss. You taste him, the scent of the house ingrained in his skin, and you wonder if your love was always destined to be like this: intense, insatiable, desperate.

When he pulls away, Tate holds your face between his hands and looks into your eyes. Enough to make you forget there’s anything else besides him.

“If you die,” he says, so softly it almost doesn’t sound like a threat, “I’ll bring you back.”

The air leaves your lungs.

“Tate…”

He hurries to silence your name on your lips, kissing you slowly, as if he wants to steal your breath for himself. His coldness mixes with the heat pulsing inside you, and the contrast makes you shiver.

“I hate it when you say my name like that,” Tate murmurs, his lips still brushing yours.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re afraid of me.”

You hold his face between your hands. His blond curls fall against your skin as he leans closer, pressing his chest against yours, as if he could absorb your warmth.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you lie.

Tate smiles slowly, almost sadly.

“Yes, you are.” He slides his hand to your wrist, his fingers resting over your racing pulse. “I can feel it from here.”

You swallow hard.

“But I like it,” he continues, his dark eyes holding you in place. “It’s beautiful. You’re here with me anyway.”

Yes. You are.

Even knowing the darkness inside him, the emptiness in his eyes, the raw obsession in the way he touches you. You know there’s something wrong with Tate, something twisted. But how do you run away from the one person who truly understands you?

Tate holds you tighter, burying his face in your neck as if he wants to hide inside you. His body weighs on yours, and for a moment, he’s just a boy lying in bed with the girl he loves.

“I need you,” he confesses, his voice muffled against your skin. “More than anything. More than air itself.”

You close your eyes and hold Tate against you.

He may not need air. But you know that, if he could, he’d hold his breath just to taste your last sigh.

He lifts himself slightly to look into your eyes, his fingers still lazily tracing your skin, almost as if he’s studying you, memorizing every detail.

“You could leave,” he murmurs. “You could run away from this house. From this thing between us.”

You don’t look away. “And do you think I want to?”

Tate presses his lips together, thoughtful.

“No,” he admits. “I think you need me as much as I need you.”

The confession hangs between you, the air almost electric. You feel Tate’s gaze burning against your skin. He watches you with that suffocating intensity, as if you’re the only thing keeping him there.

Because maybe you are.

“Tate…” you begin, but he already knows.

He leans in again, his mouth brushing lightly against yours, like a ghost’s whisper. Like a secret.

“Promise you’ll never leave me?”

The request comes out low, urgent, desperate.

You feel his fingers tighten around your wrist, as if the thought of losing you is enough to pull him back into the darkness he never truly left.

“Promise?” he repeats, and there’s something broken in his voice.

You should hesitate.

But you don’t.

“I promise.”

Tate closes his eyes and lets out a trembling sigh, as if that promise is the only thing keeping him whole.

And then he holds you again, his arms wrapped around your body with a desperate need.

You know Tate died a long time ago.

But somehow, he’s never felt more alive.

[ikkyfics]

this turned out even better than I thought possible

“I want to be a stepdad.” (...) Warren didn’t care about the teasing. His mind was already fixated on what he had to say. "It’s been two weeks since I met my son."

I'M SCREAMING, I want this man, who cares if he's an ex-con? Not me, I want him

God, how lucky I am to have someone so talented as a friend.

i want to thank @marchsfreakshow for encouraging me to post it. this is insanely long, had to be divided into other chapters, this is the first one. hope you guys like it because i loved to write this fic. sorry for the mistakes here. english is not my first language. special thanks for @ikkyfics!!

THE GREAT GUIDE FOR JAILBIRDS IN LOVE

warren lipka x fem!reader

summary: tough times shows up after prision. His only alternative? Working miles away from home. The name of the place was almost faded, but he could still make it out: Last Chance Market.

tags n warnings: postprison!warren, singlemom!reader, language, age gap (late 20s/early 30s), suggestive, complicated family scenario. word count: 13k

Rule #1: Make a Good Impression

Warren was cornered. Spending time in prison wasn’t as tough as what came after: having to rebuild his life from scratch, with that stupid criminal record hanging around his neck like a weight. There was no place for him anywhere, not even at street corner markets selling stolen cigarettes. He felt useless. He’d been turned down even for a job at a sleazy motel, where not even the criminal underworld seemed to want him anymore. Rent was overdue, and his last meal of the month was expired cereal from a month ago and a warm bottle of beer, which he was still deciding whether or not to drink to numb the pain a little.

He had almost given up on looking for more opportunities. Maybe selling art on the beach, like Spencer, or getting rid of all the junk in his place until he was left with just a bed and a fridge. Because, honestly, even a wood-burning stove could come in handy these days.

What was there to do now? The answer was simple: absolutely nothing. Just shrink. He slouched on the couch, legs stretched out, eyes glued to his phone screen, as if it were his last lifeline. The internet bill was the only thing he had managed to keep up with. Funny. He could be broke and starving, but funny videos were a relief. Reality, no matter how harsh, could wait. He mindlessly scrolled through the feed, as if in some way postponing the inevitable, until a message flashed on the screen, snapping him out of his stupor.

Spencer:

Hey man. My buddy’s market is hiring. Cashier. Male. $1,720. Fuel help. Only requirement is knowing how to count change. No small talk. Just show up today at 3 PM.

It was impossible not to feel an immediate sense of relief, like life had suddenly given him a second chance. This had to be some kind of miracle. But of course, there was a catch. It was already 2 PM, and the market was on the other side of the city. So, what did he do? Like an automatic reflex, he glanced at the dirty mirror on the wall. He needed a shower, at least.

He grabbed his phone again without thinking twice. Before stepping into the bathroom, he sent Spencer a message.

Warren:

Thanks, man. I know this could be my last shot before I fade into invisibility.

Spencer:

I know things are tough. Good luck. I know you’ll nail it.

With that, Warren rushed into the shower, doing the bare minimum to look like someone who hadn’t completely lost himself. He thought about his clothes. His first option was what was left of the most “decent” outfit— the T-shirt and jeans he’d worn the day of the robbery. “Great, perfect impression, Warren Lipka,” he muttered, staring at himself in the mirror. The shirt was wrinkled, and the jeans had a hole in the pocket, but deep down, he didn’t care anymore. Ironing? Maybe another day. If he had to go, he might as well go in style. A style that was wrinkled, but still, style.

He checked the GPS and entered the address. The drive would be long, the kind of trip that makes you see parts of the city you only know by name. It felt like a tour, but of a place you didn’t want to know. The city stretched out, as if it couldn’t quite handle its own misery. Finally, he reached a run-down market and parked in a secluded corner. The name of the place was almost faded, but he could still make it out: Last Chance Market.

“Last Chance? What a joke,” he muttered to himself, laughing quietly as he stepped out of the car. He locked the door quickly, not wasting time. What kind of neighborhood was this? You never know when a bigger problem might pop up, something worse than a simple job interview.

He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, but a strange wave of nervousness hit him. It was just another job, he told himself. Just another one, a way to get things moving, even a little. If he was lucky, maybe he'd even come out with some dignity. If he was unlucky... well, he was used to that.

The one thing he knew for sure was that, somehow, life wouldn’t wait for him to figure things out. He had to try. Even if it was at a place called Last Chance.

He pushed open the door, hearing the little bell ring, announcing his entrance. The place was so quiet that the sound seemed to echo in the emptiness. As Warren had expected, no one was in sight. He let out a low, almost scornful laugh, twirling his car keys in his fingers before slipping them into his pocket. "This place looks like it’s been forgotten," he thought, feeling an odd sense of discomfort, but he knew there was no choice but to press on.

“Is anyone here?” he shouted, hoping no one would answer. That way, he could just turn around and leave this bizarre place behind, a bad judgment call.

The silence lingered for a few seconds, but no answer came. With nothing else to do, he shrugged and began walking through the narrow aisles. Hands in his pockets, Warren scanned the area, his eyes sharp, looking for any sign of a security camera. No security in this place? Typical. He gave a crooked smile, and as he passed a shelf, he grabbed a chocolate bar and slipped it into his pocket with a quick, almost natural motion.

"Why are you stealing?" The sudden, sharp voice of a child cut through the air, making Warren jump back, knocking the candy off the shelf. They fell to the floor with a small clatter, creating an absurd scene. "Shit, that scared the hell out of me."

"Jesus, kid. Where did you..." He muttered, instinctively raising his fist, as if it were an automatic reaction, but quickly lowering it when he saw the child. It was just a little boy, there was no way he could hit someone that young. "I wasn’t stealing, man. I was just saving it to pay later."

"Luke, who are you talking to?" Her voice came in soft but firm. Warren turned, his eyes widening, and there you were: so beautiful, it almost seemed out of place in this dead-end town. You appeared so suddenly he barely had time to process it.

"Talking to this guy who was..." The little boy began to reply, but you interrupted him with a calm smile.

"Warren Lipka." He quickly introduced himself, extending his hand to you. He wanted to make a good impression, or at least seem less pathetic than he felt. "I’m here for the job interview they said was going on."

You paused for a moment, then let out a short laugh, gentler than he expected. "Oh, you’re Warren, I should’ve guessed." You shook his hand politely, with a confidence he couldn’t even pretend to have. Then, with a motherly gesture, you turned back to the boy, who was still staring curiously at Warren.

You bent down and kissed the boy on the top of his head, the gesture so natural, like it was something you did every day. Afterward, you turned and started walking toward a door behind the cashier. "Come on, or are you going to steal another chocolate?" You asked, your voice laced with light teasing. Warren almost wanted to bury himself right then and there, embarrassed for being caught.

"How..." He began to ask, unsure of what exactly to say.

"Hidden camera," you explained, flashing a mischievous smile. You watched as he began scanning the room with his eyes, trying to piece together what had just happened. "I’ll show you later. Now come on."

With one last glance around the place, Warren, still confused and wearing an awkward smile, followed you to the door.

The room revealed was simple, with white walls and a large shelf on one side covered in folders and a few books—most of them children’s books, others Warren couldn’t identify, but from the titles, he could tell they were probably boring. You gestured for him to sit, and then took a seat across the desk. Warren distractedly looked at the small photo on the desk: the little boy outside, smiling beside you in a park filled with trees. Their smiles, so natural, reflected a moment of happiness.

"You two look alike." Warren started the conversation, pointing at the photo with one hand while the other fiddled in his pocket.

"They say he has my eyes. But I think it’s the hair, maybe the shape of the face." You smiled softly, stretching your neck to look at the photo more closely, the movement light and effortless.

"Maybe it’s the eyes. They really do look like yours." Warren said, shaking his head with a somewhat awkward smile. "You’re a really great older sister."

You let out a soft laugh, masking a smile that slipped out for just a moment. "Thanks, but Luke’s my son."

Warren froze, his jaw dropping at the revelation. He widened his eyes, unable to believe it, then quickly disguised his shock, putting his hands to his mouth like he was trying to wipe the look of disbelief off his face. "Now it all makes sense," he murmured, unaware of how visibly stunned he was.

"What?" You asked, raising an eyebrow, curious.

"I’ve never seen a sibling so affectionate. I used to fight with mine all the time." Warren laughed, still in disbelief, furrowing his brow casually as if trying to make the moment less awkward.

"Really? I had Luke when I was really young, 18 years old to be exact." You added, your hands folding on the table, your expression now more serious, as if you were sharing a piece of your story.

"Damn. God, I’m sorry. Shit, I feel like such an idiot now." Warren muttered, running a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

"It’s fine. You don’t need to get nervous." You quickly reassured him, your voice calm and soothing. You leaned forward slightly, as if trying to show empathy for him in that moment.

"And I even called you beautiful. Shit, I’m really not cut out for this." Warren placed his hands on his head, leaning on the table with a heavy sigh. He lifted his eyes to you, his gaze now loaded with guilt. "You think your husband would kill me if he knew?"

"Maybe he would, if I had one." You joked, tilting your head lightly in a playful way, trying to ease the tension in the air. Warren noticed a slight sadness in your voice that didn’t go unnoticed, but for some reason, he decided not to bring it up.

You sighed, straightening your posture and sitting up straighter as if shifting the conversation. "Alright. You’re hired."

"What? Already? What about the interview..." He paused, scratching his head, visibly surprised at how quickly the decision had been made.

"You were hired the moment you walked through that door." You laughed softly, stretching in your chair casually. "Not many people make it out here."

"No wonder. A dump like this..." He scoffed, mocking the place, but his eyes widened when he realized what he’d just said. "Oh my god. Again. Shit, I just say the dumbest stuff. Sorry."

"Don’t worry about it. It really is a dump." You laughed, getting up and walking around the table with light steps. Out of nowhere, you surprised him with a quick, almost warm hug that left Warren feeling momentarily disoriented. "Welcome, Warren."

"Thanks. I won’t let you down." He said, offering a weak smile, but mentally cursing himself for noticing how good you smelled as you pulled away. The feeling of being an idiot didn’t leave his chest.

Warren opened the door for you, and you gave him a gentle smile, your eyes sparkling with a kind of genuine warmth. He followed right behind you, closing the door with a soft click, breathing deeply as he watched you walk through the market, seemingly immersed in something only you knew. He wondered if it was something related to the boy’s father or if you were just worried about something missing from the shelves.

"Did you pay for the chocolate?" Little Luke inquired, a confused expression plastered on his face.

"How old are you, kid?" Warren questioned, furrowing his brow, briefly glancing at you before returning his gaze to the boy.

"Seven. But I’m almost eight. In nine months and thirteen days." Luke declared proudly, crossing his arms like an adult.

"Weird kid." Warren thought to himself, silently laughing at the little one with big, curious eyes. Something about him seemed strangely familiar. So he pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. Maybe it was a desire to please you or to apologize to the kid. "Here. It’s for the chocolate."

"It’s $2.35. You’re short $1.35." Luke blinked, extending his hand toward him.

"Oh, kid. Just take the dollar and be quiet, alright? I’m struggling here." Warren hissed at the boy, but instead of crying, the little one just smiled.

"You’re weird. I like you." He chuckled, a funny, purely childlike melody echoing through the small space of the market.

Something warmed in Warren’s chest as he watched that toothless smile. The thought of being a dedicated father flooded his mind, creating false scenarios of an idealized life – a family smiling, him hugging his wife, holding his son in his arms, walking him to school, giving him a dog, teaching him how to shoot. Damn, he’d do anything to be the best dad for Luke, and it wouldn’t even be just because he wanted to win over the beautiful mom from the market. That was the one thing missing from his life, maybe that’s why he was born.

"If you start today, I can give you a tip." Your voice, breaking the idealized moment, brought Warren back to reality. He was an ex-convict, semi-in-love with a single mom, and still trying to figure out if any of this even made sense.

"You don’t have to. I can help." He tried to hide the silly smile that was about to appear, taking the uniform you handed him.

"I insist. The salary’s not great, and you’re practically the only employee here." You remarked, with that radiant smile Warren had already memorized. The sincerity in your tone was palpable.

"No, seriously. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be a pleasure working with you." He stated without thinking, quickly clearing his throat with a small gesture. "Working with you. You get it."

"Yes. Thanks. I owe you one." You waved your hand, heading back to the room with Luke happily trailing behind you, both walking away while Warren stood there, eyes fixed, his heart still beating harder than usual.

"Alright… time to work." Warren stretched lazily, raising his arms above his head before shuffling toward the employee bathroom.

The space was small and functional, a far cry from the public restroom, which for some reason, was absurdly large and had a strange smell that didn’t leave, even with air freshener. He grabbed the uniform you had given him—a yellow shirt with the store’s name printed on the front. Since there were no pants in the package, he decided his own would do the trick.

When he came out of the bathroom, he closed the door with a quiet click and, with a swift motion, tied his hair in a tiny ponytail. He walked to the register, where you were already standing with a notebook in hand. The moment you heard his footsteps, you looked up.

"Looks good on you." Your tone was kind as you pointed to the shirt identical to yours. He hadn’t even noticed when you had changed—maybe it was when you went into the back room.

"Now we match, look." The voice emerged from behind him. Luke appeared beside him, wearing the same uniform, which, even in the smallest size, was still too big for his tiny frame.

"Yeah, kid. Now we’re coworkers. A real man." Warren smiled and lowered his hand for a high five with the boy, who tried to slap it with all his might.

"Wow. You’re strong. You gonna tell me you’ve been training secretly?"

"I train. I watch fight videos on YouTube." Luke replied proudly, striking a boxing guard pose.

"Luke, we’ve talked about this." Your voice came with a warning tone as you approached.

"Ah, mom. I don’t watch blood. Only sometimes." He pouted indignantly, and you tilted your head before pinching his nose with two fingers.

"Ow, mom!"

"Didn’t see that coming, huh?" Warren chuckled without thinking, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment longer than necessary. In the brief silence that followed, something in his expression made his heart skip a beat. Warren Lipka didn’t seem like the dangerous criminal from the TV—just a guy with a big heart and an intensity that even he didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah... we have a routine.” You cleared your throat, shaking off the unnecessarily sweet thoughts and handing the sheet over to him. “Monday is deep cleaning day, Saturday we count the stock. I’m here at 8 AM every day, except Thursday, when I pick up Luke from his grandparents’ house and drop him off at school. I get here at 10 AM that day. The rest is pretty easy, not much movement. Here, take this to memorize.”

“Got it.” Warren took the notebook, noticing how detailed your notes were.

“Today is Wednesday. You’ll be in the deli section.”

“Just checking expiration dates?”

“Yep. Luke usually helps me, but today he has homework.”

“Can I stay with Warren first?” Luke inquired, his eyes shining with expectation.

You gave an indulgent smile before raising an eyebrow. “Promise you won’t fight with your classmates at school tomorrow?”

“I promise.” He nodded firmly and raised his pinky. “But only tomorrow.”

Warren let out a low chuckle, and you gave him a playful disapproving look.

“Don’t encourage him.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He laughed even harder, covering his mouth with his hand. “Let’s go, Luke. Let’s see if this meat is still good. Did you know that a lot of good meat gets thrown away here in the US? I used to collect it.”

“Seriously?” Luke’s eyes widened as he walked alongside him to the refrigerators.

“Yeah. I’d go to markets like this one and take the ones that were still good.” Warren opened the fridge and started checking the labels. Then he paused, blinking as if realizing too late what he’d just said. “…But don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong.” He tried to hold back his laughter but failed miserably. “Hey, what do you think of this one?” He picked up a steak package and held it up for Luke to see.

“I think it’s still good to freeze. It’s got 10 days left.”

“A deal, then. 50% off this stuff that’s about to expire.” Warren shrugged, smiling and tossing the package back into the freezer.

…

Warren paced restlessly back and forth in their usual café, his hands moving nervously, his nails gnawed down to the quick, until a small piece of nail polish chipped off. He could feel a tightness in his chest, as if he were about to burst. His body swayed back and forth, his gaze locked on the clock on the wall, the anxiety consuming him. The weight of the conversation he was about to have was crushing his mind. When he finally saw Spencer walk through the door, the relief was instant, but it didn’t ease his nerves. His snack, the one he’d ordered earlier, lay forgotten on the table, untouched. He didn’t even notice it was still there.

Spencer greeted a few people in the café with a disinterested wave before walking over to the table. He sat down, casually tossing his backpack into the chair beside him, and extended his hand to shake Warren's.

“I want to be a stepdad.” Warren blurted out, not wasting a moment, before Spencer had a chance to say anything. The words came out fast, clinging to his chest like gum, almost as if the pressure had reached a point where it could no longer be ignored.

"Hey, how’s it going, Spencer? How’s work? Good. Thanks." Spencer mocked, rolling his eyes at Warren’s approach. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a sarcastic laugh. "We haven’t talked in two weeks, and that’s the first thing out of your mouth?"

Warren didn’t care about the teasing. His mind was already fixated on what he had to say. "It’s been two weeks since I met my son." He slammed his hand on the table with conviction, the slap of his palm echoing in the otherwise quiet café. The tension in his body was palpable now, his shoulders tight. He quickly ran a hand through his disheveled hair and pulled a nicotine lozenge from his pocket, placing it in his mouth almost mechanically.

"Since when are you quitting smoking?" Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow, an almost amused smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to grab one of the lozenges and popped it into his own mouth.

"Since I realized innocent people suffer from the crap smokers exhale," Warren replied in a serious tone, biting down harder on the snack, the crunch almost matching the stress he was feeling. "I saw it in the paper."

Spencer frowned, skeptical, but chose not to comment. Instead, he flagged down the waitress to put in an order. The conversation was starting to take a curious turn, and he didn’t want to miss his chance to figure out what was really going on with his friend. The café bell rang, and suddenly, Eric appeared at the door, casually waving to the crowd before heading straight to the table.

"Hey, guys." Eric greeted, throwing himself into a chair and locking eyes with Warren.

"Warren wants to be a stepdad." Spencer said, his tone bored, hiding a smirk of irony, and Warren smiled broadly, relieved to finally say it out loud. It was a mix of nervousness and excitement he couldn’t quite suppress.

"Dude, that’s a bad idea." Eric shook his head, disapproval written all over his face. He leaned forward slightly, as if preparing to explain himself seriously. "Those things never work out. Once you get attached to the mom, she’s never gonna let you go. You’ll regret it."

"That’s sexist, Eric." Warren hissed, grabbing Spencer’s coffee cup and taking a sip without caring that it was someone else’s drink. He knew he was breaking the unspoken rules of the café, but he needed something—anything—to relieve the pressure building inside. "And what’s wrong with her getting attached? I like her."

"When’s her birthday?" Eric shot back, his voice relentless, eyes narrowing as if he were conducting an interrogation.

"I don’t know." Warren replied quickly, but a hint of doubt crept in.

"And the kid’s?" Eric pressed, staring at Warren, waiting for a response.

"Wait, I remember, he told me..." Warren trailed off, trying to recall the details.

"What’s her favorite color, and why is it blue?" Eric fired again, a mocking edge in his tone.

"That’s not the point!" Warren snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation, his frustration growing. "I don’t know, man. It’s the way she looks at me. Her and that weird kid. The little pest knows everything, he rattles off stuff I don’t even know. He answered 37 + 53 like it was nothing."

"90." Eric responded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"That doesn't count, you're a robot." Warren muttered, shaking the snack bag with frustration as he glared at Spencer. He noticed the bag was almost empty. "No, seriously. The kid’s really smart. I know he’s not mine and everything. But I’d make an effort. He has the same nose as me."

"Alright, you're stretching it a bit now." Spencer warned, his voice taking on a serious tone as he finished his coffee with a sigh, setting the empty cup on the table. "What about the job?"

"Tiring. I lift boxes, stack them, store everything. I do almost everything. She helps with cleaning and sometimes takes the register when I'm organizing the fridges. The kid helps her with the change. Everyone who passes by loves him."

"Hmmm. Sounds good." Eric shrugged as the waitress approached with a new order, and he gave a distracted thumbs-up.

"What made you change your mind?" Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked at Warren with more intensity, his eyebrows raised in genuine interest.

"She’s a hard worker. Women like that are strong. She’s probably fought hard to get this far." Eric spoke with an almost knowing conviction, his tone calm but determined. "Just don’t screw it up, Warren."

"Now it’s my fault?" Warren defended himself, shaking his head in frustration as he stood up from the table, stepping back slightly while slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Where are you going?" Spencer looked up, concern now evident on his face.

"Home. I need to get some sleep for work tomorrow. See you guys." Warren replied quickly, his movements hurried, shoulders tight as he turned to leave. The tension still hung in the air, but he needed a moment alone to process everything.

Rule #2: (Try) Not to Stick Your Nose in Other People’s Business.

Warren woke up earlier than usual that morning. He felt surprisingly energized, a rare occurrence, so he made sure to take a proper shower before heading out for work. He knew that today was one of those days you tended to be late, so he planned to take care of everything until you arrived.

As he parked the car in front of the shop, his eyes immediately found you sitting on the doorstep, shoulders slumped, hands pressing against your head. Something was off. His chest tightened at the sight. You looked... desperate.

His brows furrowed slightly, and Warren stepped out of the car, walking toward you with measured steps, trying not to invade your space too abruptly.

"Hey, are you okay?" His voice was low, cautious, as if afraid of startling you.

You quickly lifted your face, eyes misty, and your chest rose and fell unevenly, betraying the anxiety trapped in your breathing.

"It’s Luke..." Your voice cracked, and you stood up, your hands nervously twisting in front of your chest. "My car broke down, I can't pick him up from his grandparents’ house, and it's almost time for school. He’s going to miss class, and his teacher already said he’s struggling. My brother isn’t answering, no taxis are coming, and..."

With every word, the weight in your chest grew heavier. You didn’t even notice your hands trembling until Warren gently interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

"Hey, hey." His voice was firm but kind, and without thinking much, he pulled you into an embrace.

The warmth of his body surrounded you, and the sudden gesture made your walls crumble for just a second. The woody scent of his cologne mixed with the softness of his jacket fabric made you realize how tense you were. Your heart, which had been pounding against your ribs, began to slow down.

"Sorry. I thought you needed this," he murmured close to your ear.

You exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and pulled back slightly, but without fully breaking the closeness.

"I did. Thank you." Your voice was steadier now, though there was still a lingering edge of panic. You quickly wiped your face with your hands, trying to erase the traces of tears. "Sorry for unloading all this on you, I’m just... desperate."

Warren tilted his head slightly, watching you closely, as if he were analyzing every layer of your nervousness before speaking.

"Where’s his grandparents’ house?" His voice was resolute, like he had already made up his mind.

You blinked a few times, confused by the sudden question.

"What?"

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, taking a deep breath before repeating himself.

"Where’s Luke’s address? I’ll go pick him up."

You froze for a moment, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. Your instincts told you to refuse — he was just your employee, he didn’t need to get involved. But the desperation pressing down on you was heavier than the pride that wanted to hold you back.

"You’d do that?"

The smile that appeared on Warren’s lips was small, but genuine, his dimples barely visible as he grinned. His eyes lingered on them for a moment before you realized you were smiling too, even if shyly.

"Why wouldn’t I?" He raised an eyebrow, as though genuinely finding your hesitation puzzling.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your chest warmed in a strange way.

"Come on. Let’s go." He gestured toward the car.

"And the shop?"

"Ah, no one comes here at this time anyway." He chuckled, as if the place was his to command. And for a moment, you found yourself wishing it was.

Warren walked around the car and opened the passenger door, waiting patiently for you to get in before closing it carefully with a swift motion. He settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The silence stretched for a few seconds. You were still tense, biting your lower lip, trying to hold onto the last threads of control. Warren noticed and, without saying a word, turned on the radio. A loud rock song blasted through the speakers.

"Shit." He muttered, quickly lowering the volume and switching stations.

The sensual melody of Careless Whisper filled the car.

"Goddamn radio." He grumbled again, spinning the dial hastily. This time, soft instrumental music filled the air. "Better," he said, leaning back into his seat and relaxing.

You chuckled quietly. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For this." You gestured vaguely at the radio and at him. Warren cast a quick glance in your direction before returning his focus to the road.

"Do you like the job?" You asked, trying to ease the weight of the moment, your fingers nervously tapping on the edge of the seat.

"Yeah, actually, I’m pretty attached to it. I think it was my last chance to be a decent citizen." He said with a playful smile, his eyes momentarily glancing at you before turning back to the road.

You tilted your head slightly, studying his profile for a beat, the soft tension in the air palpable.

"Do you like it just for that?" Your question came out more curious than you’d intended, a little more pointed than you planned.

Warren gripped the steering wheel with one hand, using the other to run through his hair, the hint of a mysterious smile curling at the corners of his lips.

"There are other reasons too."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned your gaze to the window, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. You weren't sure why, but the way he said it unsettled you, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

"What about you? Do you like your job?"

You let out a soft, nasal laugh, tilting your head back slightly. "Being the manager of a run-down market wasn’t exactly my childhood dream."

Warren chuckled through his nose, shaking his head in amusement. "How’d you end up there?"

Your smile faltered slightly, and you took a deep breath before answering.

"Well... I got pregnant with Luke."

The atmosphere in the car shifted subtly. Warren fell silent for a moment, as if processing the weight of your words, his hands firm on the wheel, eyes focused ahead.

"Do you regret it?" He asked quietly, his voice softer now, laced with genuine concern.

"In the beginning, it was hard. I didn’t have much support, just graduated high school. College seemed impossible." You glanced down at your hands resting on your lap, fingers twisting nervously. Warren nodded slowly, never looking away from the road. "But then he was born, and... everything changed. It was like my whole life suddenly had a new meaning."

Warren smiled, his thoughts clearly drifting to Luke. And as he did, he realized something interesting: his smile was almost identical to the boy's. That same genuine sparkle in his eyes, a light untouched by time, despite all the struggles life had thrown their way. Without thinking, Warren’s own smile softened, mirroring the one he had just seen.

"Can I ask you about his dad, or would that be too intrusive?" Warren’s voice was gentle now, eyes fixed on you, the concern clear in his gaze.

"No... no, it’s not intrusive." You shook your head, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. "Luke's dad is complicated. He was a great father in the first few months, but then he started saying that Luke was getting in the way of his career."

"What a jerk." Warren spat without thinking, his jaw tightening in indignation. He frowned, immediately realizing his own boldness. "Sorry."

"No... jerk is too mild a word." You shot back, your tone still sharp, but softened by the vulnerability that lingered beneath it. Warren relaxed his shoulders, relieved that he hadn’t crossed a line. "When he said that, I couldn’t take it anymore and ended it. Since then, it’s just been me and Luke. I ended up raising him alone with the help of my parents. Luke doesn’t even know who he is. I prefer it that way. If he asks about him in the future, I’ll tell him, but not now. I’m still angry about it, though."

Warren nodded slowly, processing your words, his expression softening with understanding. For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the distant rumble of tires on the road.

Finally, Warren let out a small, knowing smile, his gaze gentle.

"I may not know much about you guys, but Luke is a really cool kid." Warren’s voice held a genuine tone of admiration. "Not many seven-year-olds can count the days until their own birthday."

"You really think so?" Your eyes lit up at the question, and a soft smile crept onto your lips, the warmth spreading across your face.

"Of course. The kid’s a little terrifying sometimes, I’ll admit." Warren teased, making you laugh out loud. "Seriously, I get freaked out when he starts doing mental math."

"He’s the best in his class at math." You said, the pride evident in your voice.

Warren rolled his eyes dramatically, his expression playful. "Of course he is. That kid’s going places. He’s going to be the next Einstein, and they’ll write books about him. Mark my words."

You laughed again, and Warren held onto that sound, savoring it, like it was a melody he didn’t want to forget. The sound was infectious, and his chest swelled with an unfamiliar warmth.

"He sounds like my brother. He was always super smart, too. Top of his class, just like Luke. He’s the one who owns the market and helped me get this job. That’s how I ended up there."

"So it’s in the genes."

"Maybe." You fell quiet for a moment, absentmindedly running your fingers through your hair, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. Your thoughts drifted as you absentmindedly added, "Does he have a girlfriend?"

The question came out casually, but it hung in the air with an unexpected weight, more serious than you’d intended.

"Me?" Warren raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. He let out a surprised laugh, his face lit up with disbelief. When you nodded, he shook his head, still laughing. "That’s a good one."

"Why?" You chuckled, leaning slightly towards him. "What’s wrong with that? You’re good-looking, charming, funny. There must be someone."

Warren snorted, resting his elbow against the car window, the air suddenly a little heavier. "Oh, yeah, sure, women love a former convict who can’t even afford a Coke." His voice had a mocking tone, but there was something beneath the sarcasm—a hint of self-deprecation that made your chest tighten with empathy.

"No... no one." He answered quietly, his gaze now fixed on the road ahead. "What about you?"

"No…" Your response came out almost hesitantly, and for a brief moment, a flicker of hope danced in your mind before you pushed it aside.

The conversation fell into a heavy silence, the kind that lingered like a thick fog between you. You could feel the change in the air, the tension that wasn’t quite palpable but couldn’t be ignored either. You silently thanked the universe that you were close to your destination. As Warren parked the car, you quickly unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out, eager to escape the weight of your own thoughts before they dragged you deeper into uncertainty.

You hurried up to the door, your hand moving quickly to press the doorbell without hesitation. Warren followed closely behind, stopping a step back, his body still tense, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if ready for something unexpected.

The door swung open.

And then, your blood ran cold.

"Daniel?" Your voice came out as a strained rasp, barely a whisper, your face draining of color instantly.

The man standing there, with his captivating green eyes and a charming smile, widened the door to let you in. "I was really hoping to talk to you. Come on in."

He then looked at Warren, sizing him up with a quick, calculating glance before extending his hand. "Hey, man. How’s it going? I'm Daniel Beavers, but you can call me Dan."

Warren held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, his jaw tightening, before he shook Daniel's hand with deliberate firmness. "Warren." His voice was cold, the warmth and ease from earlier gone completely.

Daniel laughed, a little too loudly. "Damn, you’re strong." He gave Warren a friendly slap on the back, but Warren didn’t flinch, keeping his expression neutral, only offering a polite smile before stepping inside.

Once out of Daniel’s line of sight, Warren leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, his breath brushing your ear. "Who’s that guy?"

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor for a moment before your voice barely escaped your lips, a whisper heavy with discomfort. "Luke’s father."

Warren went silent for a beat, his body stiffening as though the weight of your words had struck him physically. His chest tightened, and his next words came out as a low, almost inaudible murmur. "Shit."

Without thinking, his body straightened, as if some primal instinct had taken over. His shoulders subtly broadened, and he instinctively positioned himself a bit closer to you, as if shielding you from whatever lay ahead. The gesture was so natural, so automatic, it was almost like he was becoming a human barrier.

He didn’t have the right to interfere.

But something inside him screamed that he should.

“Hi, mom!”

Luke’s cheerful voice shattered the tense silence in the room. The little boy appeared, his backpack already slung over his shoulders, running to hug you before turning to Warren with a bright, wide smile.

"Warren!" he exclaimed, launching himself into Warren’s legs for a tight hug.

"Hey, little man. Hope I didn’t take too long." Warren grinned, gently messing up Luke’s hair.

Luke pulled away, furrowing his brow. "What happened? I thought you weren’t gonna come."

"The car broke down, buddy. Warren’s gonna take you to school." You explained, maintaining a smile, though out of the corner of your eye, you couldn’t ignore the way Daniel was watching the scene, his gaze quiet and calculating.

"Cool!" Luke cheered, raising his hand for a high-five with Warren. "Can I sit in the front?"

"Not this time, kiddo." Warren pretended to sound disappointed, crouching down to meet his eyes with a playful expression. "But next time, I promise."

"Okay." Luke whispered, clapping his hands excitedly.

You glanced around the room, feeling the house unusually quiet. "Where are your grandparents?"

"They went to the market. They’re planning a party for Daniel. For some celebration." Luke answered innocently, not noticing the way your shoulders tensed at the mention of Daniel’s name.

You inhaled deeply, trying to keep your composure. "Alright, let’s go. Luke’s gonna be late. It was nice seeing you, Daniel." The falseness of your smile was clear, but it was a necessary mask.

"Wait." Daniel stepped closer, pulling a shiny gold envelope with navy blue details from his pocket. He extended it toward you, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I didn’t even tell you the big news."

Your stomach churned before you even looked at the contents.

"Daniel and Honey?" Your voice came out low, almost incredulous.

"I’m inviting you to my wedding." He announced as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You can bring Warren too. It’d be great to have you both with us. Honey really wants to meet you."

Daniel then pulled out a smaller piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Warren, who hesitated for a moment before reluctantly taking it.

You laughed—not out of happiness, but out of pure disgust. "Yeah, Daniel. You really outdo yourself every day." You stuffed the invitation into your pocket without a second thought.

"It’ll be great to have you there." He softened his voice, his hand making an almost theatrical gesture as it brushed your arm. "Please, sweetheart…"

The silence was thick, suffocating.

Warren watched the scene unfold like a predator studying its prey. His jaw was clenched tight, and his fists were subtly balled at his sides, barely contained by the tension in his body. Something inside him had already pegged Daniel as a fool, but seeing this whole act up close... that was too much. His protective instincts kicked in.

He couldn’t hold back any longer.

"Dude, what’s up with this? Don’t you think this is a little weird?" Warren broke the silence, his voice a low growl that drew every eye in the room to him. His tone came out rougher than he intended, but at that moment, he didn’t care to hide his feelings.

Daniel blinked, genuinely confused by Warren’s reaction. "Weird? Why would it be weird?"

That question only fueled the fire inside Warren.

"Don’t you realize how completely bizarre it is to invite your ex to your wedding without even giving a heads-up? You abandoned this kid, and now you show up years later like everything’s fine?" Warren narrowed his eyes, his muscles visibly tensing as his posture became more aggressive, as if he was ready to jump at any moment.

Daniel let out a nervous laugh, trying to downplay the situation with a dismissive gesture. "Relax, man. I just thought… I don’t know. We’d be good friends. Didn’t know she was already seeing someone again." He shrugged, giving you and Warren a mischievous look, as if he was enjoying the discomfort he was causing.

The statement caught Warren off guard for a moment, making his eyes narrow even further, but he quickly recovered, his expression hardening. "Yeah. Exactly." He reaffirmed without hesitation, crossing his arms firmly. "And even if she wasn’t, you can’t just keep popping in and out of people’s lives like it’s a game. Look at yourself. How old are you?"

Daniel was slightly thrown off, the first crack in his confidence showing in his hesitation. "Twenty-seven."

Warren let out a dry laugh, almost sarcastically. "Twenty-seven." He repeated, savoring the irony of the situation. Then, he stepped forward, forcing Daniel to retreat until his back hit the wall. The intensity of Warren’s presence was palpable. "Listen, man to man. I’m thirty-one. But I had a grip on things long before that."

The discomfort on Daniel's face was unmistakable. He tried to recover his posture, but Warren wasn’t letting him off the hook.

"Alright, man. No need to get all upset or rude." Daniel hissed, attempting to regain his composure as he pushed lightly against Warren’s chest. Warren instantly lifted a fist, ready for any reaction.

It was only then that he remembered you and Luke were still there, silently observing the scene. Warren took a deep breath, cracked his neck, and relaxed his shoulders before speaking in a more controlled voice, though still firm. "Stay out of our lives again, alright?"

Then, with a sharp smile, he straightened Daniel’s perfectly aligned suit jacket as if he were adjusting a porcelain doll, his touch almost mocking. "Are you a lawyer?"

"Yeah." Daniel replied automatically, quickly wiping where Warren had gripped him, trying to salvage his composure.

"I hate that kind." Warren muttered between his teeth, his gaze hardening, but he quickly turned to you, softening his expression. He gave you a more serene smile, almost affectionate. "Shall we go, babe?"

Your heart skipped a beat at hearing him say “babe.” Not out of fear, but because, in that moment, you realized something different. The way Warren said it felt... right. As though he had claimed a piece of you without even realizing it.

"For sure." You smiled, your eyes softening as you started walking toward the door. But then you stopped, turned around, and walked back to Daniel with steady steps.

Without hurrying, you took the invitation from your pocket with a smooth motion and extended it to him, without any emotional appeal. "Keep it for someone who actually wants to go. Best wishes!" Your voice was sweet, but the sarcasm beneath it was impossible to ignore. Every word carried a subtle criticism, something you could no longer hide.

Daniel stood there, frozen, holding the invitation as if he had finally realized it was irrelevant to you, his expression draining of any confidence he had left as the reality hit him. He was out of place. And that seemed clear to everyone in the room.

Warren opened the door for you to pass, but before you stepped out, he gave Daniel one last threatening glance. A silent, but clear, warning.

You both walked toward the car, no longer needing to hide the smile on your faces. The tension from the earlier conversation still hung in the air, but somehow, the whole situation seemed to have brought you even closer.

"Alright, all set..." Warren murmured as he buckled Luke's seatbelt in the back seat. "Now, school."

He was already turning to head to the driver's seat when Luke's curious little voice caught you both off guard:

"Are you and mommy dating?"

The silence that followed was instant. You and Warren froze for a second before exchanging a knowing glance.

Warren raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well... I'm a pretty nosy guy," he said, looking directly at you before turning to Luke. "So, I guess we are."

He twisted the key in the ignition, but before pulling away, he cast a quick glance your way. "Is this alright with you? Us... this."

The question came without hesitation, but with a genuine undertone of concern. You held your breath for a moment, feeling the weight of the silent exchange between you two. Then, you smiled. Not just any smile, but one of those effortless, warm, and real smiles.

"Great." You replied, feeling a lightness in your chest.

He studied your face for a second longer than necessary, as if he wanted to lock that expression in his memory. Then, he nodded, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips.

"Great." He repeated, turning his attention back to the road before accelerating, as if the whole world had just fallen back into place.

Rule #3: Your friends aren’t always right.

After school, you drove to the grocery store. The car’s engine hummed softly before going silent as you turned the key in the ignition. The sound of the seatbelt undoing echoed in the silence between you. You opened the door and climbed out, unlocking the passenger door without looking back. Warren stepped out soon after, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, his gaze scanning the storefront as if something was different, even though everything looked exactly the same.

Inside, the muffled sound of an old radio played some generic music as you made your way to the checkout. Warren, on the other hand, detoured to the warehouse, his steps slower than usual. The smell of dust and cardboard filled his nostrils as he entered. The shelves were crammed, the boxes stacked chaotically, as usual. But Warren didn’t care about any of that. 

He just needed a moment here, alone, to gather his thoughts. 

With a heavy sigh, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it with trembling fingers. His gaze ran over the words written there—how many times had he read them?—but before he could get lost in his own thoughts, the creak of the door opening made him quickly shove the paper back into his pocket.

"Can I come in?" Your voice sounded hesitant, head peeking through the crack in the door. He blinked a few times before forcing a smile. 

"Of course you can. You own the place." He gestured with his hand, a relaxed movement, but his shoulders remained tense. 

You walked in, closing the door behind you, the dry sound of wood echoing through the small space. Your eyes wandered around the warehouse for a second before returning to Warren, who was now swinging his foot on the floor, his right hand still deep in his pocket. 

"I just came to say..." You began, walking slowly towards him. "Thank you for what you did today." 

He let out a short, humorless laugh, looking away from you to the floor. "Oh, that?" His shoulders lifted in a casual gesture. "It was nothing. In fact, I think I was kind of stupid." 

"No." Your answer came out firm, quick, taking him by surprise. You cleared your throat, trying to soften your tone. "It wasn't stupid. It was... it was really good. Really helpful. I lost my mind, I didn't know what to do in that situation. He was such an asshole." 

Warren tilted his head to the side, watching your expression for a moment before asking, "Has he always been like this?" 

You let out a tired sigh, leaning against the wall behind you. "I guess he always has. I just didn't want to notice." 

"That sucks." He muttered, biting the inside of his cheek. After a second of hesitation, he walked over to stand next to you, leaning against the wall as well. "I guess we always have that in life. Not realizing the right person was right there." 

You frowned, lifting your chin with a hint of indignation in your voice. "Why do we do this, huh? All the signs were there. The way he ignored me, how I had to ask him to the school dance..." 

Warren turned his face towards you, blinking slowly. "You asked him to the school dance and not the other way around?" 

"Yeah! Can you believe that?" You huffed, crossing your arms. "He said he forgot! When we were picking out my dress the night before!" 

Warren closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh before muttering, "What an idiot." He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, the fluorescent light above casting soft shadows on his face. With a slow movement, he licked his lips before speaking again. "I would never do that to you."

Your chest tightened, your breath catching for a second. 

"What do you mean by that?" Your voice came out low, almost reluctant.

He pressed his teeth against his cheek, looking away to the floor, as if seeking courage there. When he finally looked back at you, his expression was more serious.

 "I would never treat you like that." His voice was firm, but there was a certain hesitation in his gaze. "I'm not exactly a good guy, you know that. But I’d never leave you hanging like that."

"Really?" You leaned your head against the wall, still looking at him, your fingers tightening the hem of your blouse with an unconscious reflex of nervousness.

Warren nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips, almost as if he was amused by your reaction. You snorted and went back to staring at the ceiling. The silence that followed was almost palpable. Your breathing seemed to echo in the small warehouse, while the dust danced in the air under the yellowish light.

"Oh my God..." The laugh came low, exhaled along with a sigh.

"What?" He frowned, but the corner of his mouth still carried a trace of amusement.

"Now I want to go to Daniel's wedding with you just so he can see that I'm okay." You admitted, covering your face with your hands, feeling the heat rise to your ears. "That's so immature. I'm such an idiot."

Warren let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, come on, I don't care." Without hesitation, he took another step towards you, leaning in slightly as he gently removed your hands from your face. "I still have a password, we can say it's yours and that I'm following."

"No, Warren... That's not right." You protested, but the lightness of laughter was still present in your voice. "I'd be using you and that's so wrong..."

"Do it. I just don't want you to look like that because of that idiot." His voice lowered slightly, seriousness seeping into his tone.

"He doesn't deserve even a second of your emotions, of anything you have to offer. So use me. Do whatever you think is best, because you have a hard enough life to worry about anything else and I'm willing to do anything to help you."

Your heart stumbled in your chest when you felt his warm touch against your wrists. Warren gently lowered them, letting his hands rest on either side of your body. The space between you was decreasing with each passing second without anyone making an effort to break it.

He bit his lower lip, his gaze flickering between your mouth and your eyes. You felt your breath catch at the realization, heat rising in your stomach, in your cheeks. Your own attention followed suit—his lips, then his brown eyes, intense, filled with something unsaid but completely understood. The atmosphere was heavy in a way that seemed impossible to ignore.

Warren's heart hammered against his ribs as he raised one hand, bracing it on the wall beside you. The other still held yours. The space between your bodies slowly disappeared. He leaned toward you, his lashes lowering as your faces came closer, your breath mingling.

Then, the doorbell rang.

The sound cut through the moment like a sharp blade, making you both pull away in an instant. You took a step back, your chest rising and falling with your ragged breaths. Warren ran a hand through his hair, staring at the ceiling as if cursing the universe.

"I better... you know... go outside." He nodded, his voice thick with something that sounded like disappointment.

You nodded, crossing your arms over your body as if that could contain the wave of feelings that were stirring inside you. He hesitated for a moment before leaving, closing the door behind him. But he didn't leave right away—Warren leaned his back against the wood for a few seconds, exhaling slowly, trying to regain control. Only then did he pull away and walk to the cashier.

You stood there for a few more moments, your fingertips brushing your lips, as if trying to feel something that had never happened.

If you had kissed... would it have been wrong? Or was the doorbell a signal not to?

You shook your head, muttering "Stop it" to yourself, trying to push the thought away. But the knot in your chest was still there as you left the warehouse and headed back to the market.

Across the way, Warren was handing over the customer’s groceries with automatic movements, but his mind was elsewhere. When his eyes met yours, for just a second, something flared again—a question, an uncertainty, a regret.

Without saying anything, you looked away and walked into the office, busying yourself with anything that felt like work. You needed to distract yourself, needed to convince yourself that this didn’t mean anything.

The customer left, and Warren stood behind the register, still holding the last bag as if he’d forgotten to let go of it. His mind raced in circles, trying to find a way to talk about what had almost happened. To tell him how he felt without ruining everything.

He walked slowly to the office door and raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. His fingers hovered over the wood for a second before curling into a fist and pulling back.

This didn’t make sense. It wasn’t supposed to happen.

And if it did, he was sure it would ruin everything.

Eric was right. It was better to just give up.

Rule #4: Don't hold back an emotion for too long, it might take over you.

The doorbell rang, and Warren didn't even need to look up to know who it was. The familiar jingle of keychains rattling in his backpack and the sweet smell of grape candies in the air were enough to recognize Luke.

"Hey, little man. How was school today?" Warren beamed, walking around the counter with lazy steps to talk to the boy.

"It was nice." Luke replied excitedly, throwing his backpack on the floor before wrapping Warren in a brief, tight hug. Soon after, he pulled away and stuck his small hand in his pants pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Look, I made this today."

"Awesome, a frog." Warren took the green origami between his fingers, studying the careful folds. He turned the piece from side to side, smiling. "Where did you learn that?"

"On the internet, look. Come see, it jumps." Luke took it back, placed it on the counter, and pressed it lightly on the paper. The little frog jumped. "See?" 

Warren raised an eyebrow. "Boy, you're scary." He tested the frog, squeezing the paper as Luke had done, and the creature jumped again. "This is witchcraft, isn't it? You put magic in it and didn't tell me, you little brat." 

"No!" Luke laughed, shaking his head. "It's just origami. If you fold the paper the right way, it moves, like a lever." 

"I see..." Warren feigned distrust, crossing his arms. "So it's pure skill and not some dark pact?" 

Luke laughed, shaking his head. "Wanna make one?" 

"Tsk, I don't know." Warren leaned back a little, as if it were a risky challenge. "I'm pretty sure I'll ruin it before I even touch the paper." 

"Stop being a wimp." The boy, however, didn't take the refusal lying down. Luke took his hand with determination and pulled him down the hallway to the office. The air grew heavier as Warren walked through the door. 

His eyes met yours for a moment too long. Something unresolved hung in the space between you, and you both looked away almost at the same time, disguising it with silent discomfort.

 It had been a week. 

Seven days since what almost happened in the warehouse. 

Since then, conversations had been limited to short sentences about work, polite words that didn't fill the awkward silence. You spent as much time as possible in the office, while Warren remained at the cash register busy with anything other than talking to you. Always busy. The only close interaction happened when it was time to restock the shelves or when one of you left. And even then, you both avoided looking each other directly in the eyes.

"Hi, sweetheart. How was school today?" You broke the silence first, forcing a smile as Luke let go of Warren's hand and ran over to you.

"It was cool, but Warren and I are really busy right now." He explained excitedly, grabbing two sheets of paper from your desk.

"With what, exactly?" You asked, your gaze falling on Warren more than the boy.

"We're gonna make frogs." Warren answered casually, twirling the sheet between his fingers.

"Frogs?" Your brow furrowed slightly.

"Of paper, Mom." Luke rolled his eyes, as if your question was absurd. "I made one in class and now I'm going to teach Warren how to make one too. Sit here, facing Mom."

Warren hesitated, his eyes meeting yours again, almost as if he was asking for permission. You held his gaze for a second before nodding, pointing to the chair across from you. He sat down, looking guilty, shifting in his chair as Luke stood beside him, full of excitement.

"Here's how it is, follow everything I do or you'll get lost and do it all wrong." The boy began to fold the paper with precision. Warren imitated the movement, frowning in concentration.

"That's it. Now you're going to fold it here... like this."

"Okay..." Warren replicated the fold, narrowing his eyes to check if he was doing it right. "And now?"

"Do it like this, like this. Now fold it like this... Now turn it over. Don't let it get wrinkled, it has to be right. Turn it over again, fold it."

"Easy there, Luke. I'm old." Warren laughed, his hands fumbling to keep up with the boy's agile movements.

Luke snorted, but held back a smile. "You're slow, Warren."

"Hey, that was unnecessary." He made a playfully offended expression.

"Now just this one more and it's done!" Luke showed off his perfectly aligned frog, proud.

"Congratulations, honey!" You clapped your hands, amazed at your son's work. “It looks exactly like a frog. Good job.”

Warren looked at his origami, then at Luke’s. He held up his creation—a crumpled, shapeless ball—and raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, it looks just like mine.” 

Luke laughed loudly. You put your hand over your mouth, trying to hold back your laughter too. “Sorry, Warren. It’s just so funny.” 

“It looks like a frog that got run over!” Luke laughed, placing his hands on his stomach. 

“I know, I know. I should’ve seen that coming. You two are against me.” Warren sighed dramatically, tossing the paper ball aside. “It’s definitely not for me. I’ll leave that to the little man and his super smart mom.” 

But even though he failed miserably at origami, the smile on his face seemed genuine for the first time in a week. 

“You don’t pay attention either, Warren Sillyka!” Luke laughed, sticking his tongue out at Warren. 

“Did you see that?” Warren raised an eyebrow at you, pointing indignantly at the boy. “The kid just gave me tongue!” And without thinking twice, he returned the gesture.

"Hey!" Luke protested, grimacing and pulling the corners of his mouth with his fingers.

"Now, you little criminal..." Warren narrowed his eyes before standing up, his hands ready to attack with tickles.

"No, stop! Stop!" Luke squirmed, laughing as he tried to escape. Warren, however, was faster, grabbing him easily and lifting him in his arms, swinging him from side to side.

"Serious infraction, young man!" Warren mocked, holding Luke tightly. "You have the right to remain silent! Hands where I can see them!"

"Never!" Luke challenged, laughing loudly, clearly enjoying the joke. "I will not give in to you, Sillyka."

"Oh, then let's go again." Warren took a deep breath and threw the boy slightly in the air before catching him again, eliciting more laughter. "What now? I’ll only let you go with an apology!’

You watched them, the scene unfolding before your eyes like something you never imagined you would see. Your son laughing freely, sharing such pure happiness with someone other than you. Warren holding him in his arms felt... right. Like this was where Luke was always supposed to be.

The laughter escaped your lips before you could stop it. And when Warren and Luke looked at you, your laughter turned into something else—louder, looser, more genuine. Your eyes grew teary, but not just from laughter. The emotions inside you bubbled up in a way they didn’t know how to express, that you had kept locked away under lock and key deep in your heart for many, many years.

"No... don't look at me." You tried to contain your laughter, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. "Keep going..."

"Mommy?" Luke frowned, his joy turning to instant concern.

Warren noticed the same and quickly put the boy down before approaching you. 

"Mommy, are you okay?"

You took a deep breath, blinking a few times to hold back the tears. "Yes, my baby... I am." You smiled, even though your voice shook a little. "I'm just happy." It was true. Partially, at least. "Can you go to the storage room and get me a tissue?"

Luke hesitated, still suspicious, but nodded. "Yeah." And then he left, looking back one last time before disappearing down the hallway.

The moment the door closed, the barrier you were trying to hold collapsed. A sob escaped your throat, followed by an uncontrolled sob. 

"I'm sorry." You buried your face in your hands, unable to stop the wave of emotion.

Warren's heart clenched, and before you knew it, he was kneeling in front of you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders in a firm embrace.

He didn't say anything. He just stood there.

Your face buried in his neck, your hands clutching the fabric of his uniform, feeling the heat of his body as you cried without reserve.

“I'm here. Shh..." Warren murmured against your hair, stroking your back in slow circles. "I'm here."

"I'm soaking your clothes…”

"Fuck it. I'll wash them when I get home."

He slid his fingers through your hair, brushing his lips gently against your temple, a silent gesture of comfort. Your breathing began to calm, still shaky, but less suffocating. You sniffed and pulled away slightly, staring at his face so close to yours. The way he looked at you... calm, steady. Like a beacon in the middle of your storm, guiding you back.

"I forget how incredibly perceptive he is." Your voice still cracked. "He always knows when I'm not okay. I can't hide anything from him."

Warren smiled weakly, running his hand over your wet face, brushing away the remnants of your tears with his thumb.

"You don't have to hide it from me either." He said softly, then leaned down, still on his knees, to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Don't hide anything from me." 

The door swung open. 

"Here, Mom! I got it." Luke came running back, holding the box of tissues. "Sorry I took so long. It was really highI had to grab a chair to get up. But I didn't drop anything." 

You let out a shaky laugh, accepting the tissues and opening your arms to him. Luke fit into the hug without hesitation. You looked at Warren over your son's head, his gaze full of gratitude.

 "Well... I guess I'll be going now." Warren mumbled, standing up slowly. 

"Where to?" You asked, grabbing a tissue and blowing your nose. "Leaving already?" 

"To the cashier. It's my turn." He smiled weakly, watching Luke grab another tissue for you. "Take care of your mom, okay?" 

"I'll do it." Luke nodded with the seriousness of someone who takes the mission seriously. He held the trash can for you to dispose of the tissues. "It'll be okay, Mommy." 

You smiled, tightening your arms around your son. "I know it will, my baby. Thank you.

" Warren took slow steps towards the door, almost hesitantly. You watched him go, feeling a tightness in your chest as you watched him walk away. 

"See you later." He paused for a brief second, turning just enough to look you in the eyes. 

"See you..."

…

Warren turned the "Closed" sign on the door, taking one last look at the street before returning to the cash register and writing down the day's records. You always dropped Luke off before five, so you'd be back soon. He wanted to get everything done early to make his job easier.

After reviewing the checklist, he went to his office and left the paper on his desk. When he returned to the cash register, he heard the door open and looked up in time to see you come in. You walked over to him with a small smile on your lips.

"You look happy." He commented, resting his hands on the counter.

"I just found the perfect dress for Daniel's wedding." You said, leaning a little on the counter. 

"When is it?"

"Tomorrow, Saturday."

You walked around the counter, stopping next to him. "Do you have an outfit yet?"

"I have that damn thing I wore on my first day here. Will that fit?" Warren asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and crossing his arms.

"It'll do. It's perfect." You replied, placing your hands on your hips. "I can't wait to show you."

 "The dress?" He raised an eyebrow, and you nodded. "I want to see it too. What color is it? No, wait... Isn't that bad luck?" 

"What?" 

"To know what the woman will wear on her wedding day." He explained, confused. You let out a laugh. 

"No, Warren." He blinked, waiting for the explanation. "That's only for the bride. You can know." 

"Oh... sorry. I've never been to a wedding before." He confessed, relaxing his arms. "Are you excited?" 

"Nervous." You admitted, leaning against the counter. "I don't know how I'm going to react." 

"I'll be there." Warren comforted. "Do I have permission to punch him if he messes up with Luke?" 

"Luke isn't going. It's at night. It starts at eight, but these things always take a while. I don't want him to stay up until the early hours of the morning." 

"So it's just going to be the two of us?" 

The question came with a subtle but noticeable tone of curiosity. 

"Yes." You nodded, feeling an unexpected nervousness grow in your chest. 

"Do you want me to pick you up?" He asked, and there was something else in his voice—a hint of expectation. 

"Yes, it's okay. I was just going to drop Luke off at his friend's house and come back to get ready." 

"Deal. I'll stop by at seven-thirty?" 

"Seven-thirty is fine." You nodded, crossing your arms. He held your gaze for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but he just smiled sideways.

"Shall we go out? It's closing time, and I don't want anyone knocking here." You changed the subject, walking to the door.

"Good idea." Warren grabbed his keys and followed you out, locking the store behind you.

Warren scanned the street, frowning slightly when he noticed one of the streetlights flickering, casting irregular shadows across the sidewalk. The silence of the night seemed to drag on with the cold wind.

"So... is it okay to walk home in this darkness?"

"Yeah, I always walk back after work." You answered matter-of-factly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

He let out a short sigh, pulling the iron to cover the store window. "This isn't good."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as he locked the door. "Since when did walking two streets over become a problem?"

"Since always. Anyone can run into the wrong person." He turned to you, glaring firmly.

"No problem. If anything happens, I'll scream and run." You joked, shrugging.

Warren chuckled and shook his head before approaching. With his hands firmly on his waist, he tilted his face, his eyes assessing you up and down.

“Come on. I’ll take you.” You hesitated for a moment, but ended up nodding and starting to walk. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Going home?” You pointed to the end of the street.

“No. Get in the car.” He patted the hood of the vehicle twice with a half smile.

“It’s only two streets.”

“And I don’t know who’s coming around the corner. Do you know?”

“You’re so worried.”

“Baby, after you go to jail, even your neighbors are suspicious.” He joked, unlocking the doors. “Maybe you have your own criminal record and I’m here all by myself thinking I’m safe and sound.”

You smiled, getting in the car. “And what would my crime be?”

Warren started the engine and pulled out of the space, his eyes narrowing as if he was evaluating the response.

“Murder, for sure. In cold blood, plain daylight.” He teased, turning the steering wheel to enter the avenue. “Maybe poisoning.”

“And why?”

He gave you a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road.

“Because you have this innocent woman look, all pretty, cute eyes who make men fall in love at first sight… the perfect stereotype.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “When I least expect it, I’ll wake up in an ice bath.”

You gave a short laugh and lightly pushed his shoulder. “How awful, Warren. I’d never kill you.”

“I don’t know… what if one day I make you angry?”

He turned onto your street and parked in front of your house. The engine purred softly before being turned off. Silence filled the car.

“Then I don’t know…” you teased, biting your lip as you pretended to think.

Warren chuckled softly and shook his head. “See? That’s what I’m talking about.”

“See you tomorrow.” You said, unbuckling your seatbelt.

But before you could reach for the door handle, you hesitated.

“Warren.”

He turned to face you, leaning in slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was lower, as if he already knew what was coming.

You hesitated for a second, your gaze locked on his lips. Your heart raced as your bodies leaned almost instinctively toward each other. Your hot breath mingled in the small space between you. But at the last moment, you pulled back, looking away.

“Nothing…”

“Fuck, stop saying it’s nothing.” Warren grumbled, letting out a short sigh before unbuckling his belt and cupping your face with his warm hands, pulling you into an unexpected kiss.

The touch was intense, a mix of urgency and pent-up desire. Your fingers tightened the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer, opening your mouth for more of what you craved so much.

When you pulled away, a mischievous smile played on his lips. You smiled, still feeling his breath against your skin, your mouth damp from the trace of what had happened.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, trying to pull away, but he pulled you back, deepening the kiss without hesitation.

This time, you moaned against his lips and released his belt, seeking more proximity. Warren slid his hand under your shirt, pulling your waist closer and feeling the soft skin against his touch. His other hand went to the back of your neck, his fingers intertwining in your hair as the kiss grew more intense.

Time seemed to have stopped. You turned your body so that he had more access, your hand touching his face, the hairs of his growing beard prickling your skin, brushing against your chin. It stung, but it felt so damn good. When air became a necessity, you pulled away with a silly smile, your eyes shining under the dim light of the streetlamp.

“You’re very welcome.” Warren murmured, his eyes fixed on your mouth, his fingers lightly brushing your skin as if he still didn’t want to let go.

You smiled and looked away, opening the door.

“See you tomorrow, Warren.”

“Why?”

“I’m in front of my house.” You laughed softly.

Before you could leave, he pulled your hand and stole one last kiss.

“Just one more.” He murmured against your lips, sealing them once more. You smiled against his mouth before finally leaving.

Warren waited until you got in and closed the door to start the car. He licked his lips, capturing your trail. He frowned, smelling a strange smell in the air. Looking around, he decided to look at his pants and...

“Shit, Warren. What’s wrong with you?” He groaned in disgust, seeing his own situation. His jeans were darker, damp, soft. “I can’t believe this. One kiss! One kiss! I’m so fucked up. That’s the ending.”

Disgusted, he just decided to go home as soon as possible to resolve the outcome of the little moment between you. Even though he was uncomfortable with the sticky feeling between his legs, the satisfied smile didn’t leave his face.

And it didn’t leave throughout the entire night.

[ikkyfics]

GIVE ME THIS MAN 💳💥💳💥💳����I NEED HIM

°❀⋆.ೃ𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐝

“Why’d you have to give your ugly ass genes to this innocent child?” Lemon grumbled as he poked the little girl's cheek sleeping peacefully on her pink decorated cradle.

“Stop cursing in front of her, you fucking idiot.” Tangerine murmured, slapping his brother's forehead. “and we have the same genes if you haven't noticed.”

“and she's prettier than both of us together.” Lemon laughed, ruffling her hair, the girl turning to her side in her deep sleep.

“It's because she doesn't have testosterone. It makes us man ugly with a beard and shit.”

“She's just a baby, stop rushing things.” Lemon giggled, standing up and crossing his arms as he saw Tangerine embrace the girl on his arms, kissing her forehead. “She's lovely, bro. Gotta be honest on this.”

“Yeah… she is.”

You appeared behind him, caressing his back. “Hey, Lemon. Honey, is she awake?”

“Nah. Just wanted to see her close.” Tangerine smiled, hugging her gently so he wouldn't wake her up. “She scratches her nose when she's dreaming. Noticed it last week. Can't stop looking at it.”

“You're lucky she got your wife's face.” Lemon mumbled, giving you a small smile, watching the heart melting scene of Tangerine so concentrated on his daughter's expressions. “I need to take care of some things, guys. Good luck here.”

“Bye!” You waved, watching him disappear on the corridor, the sound of the door clicking after a few seconds indicated you were alone with them again.

“Look. She's bloody scratching again. Look. What’s she dreaming under this little head?” He asked, lifting his head to look at you approaching him.

“I'm glad she has your eyes, Tan.” You softened, coming closer for a hug, the soft baby cologne making you smile.

“Thank God it's the only thing she got from me. Imagine if she had my attitude and sailor mouth.” He chuckled, looking lovingly to your eyes and hers, the clear resemblance on both women. “You think she'll smoke and drink when she's older?”

“Don't rush things, babe.” You giggled, standing tiptoes to peck his lips. “Gimme her. It's her lunch time.”

“Just a little more.” He asked, hugging her again before handing it carefully to you. “Gotta enjoy every moment with the women of my life.”

[ikkyfics]

i havent logged on here in forever just to login and see this new theme???? IKKY ITS BEAUTIFUL IM IN LOVE im eating the ice cream in ur pinned post its mine om nom nom

RAAAAAAAAAAAAW Thank you so much my love (argh, I always, always get emotional with any compliment from you), it's all yours without a shadow of a doubt

[ikkyfics]

thanks for the tag my dear lovely @meelusinees <33 ! and my gosh, your poems are sooooo good, i love these verses so much, you are SO talented (it never ceases to amaze me)

Your face burns, but you nod, and when your lips meet his skin again, James closes his eyes and lets out a satisfied sigh.

npt 🌷 @bohnerrific69 @wintrsoul @babsworlds @jamespottergf @lilyypotter1234 @ezrafrss @sun-kissy @lavieenvalentina @otaku-girl-ao3 @marchsfreakshow @ateliefloresdaprimavera

Writing game: post the last line that you wrote and tag someone for every word in the line.

got tagged by my dearest erika @kedsandtubesocks <33

It’s reverence, it’s worship, it’s lust. 

no pressure tags <33: @habibisagi @saetiate @nagumoan @cruel-hiraeth @jinxedjazz @willossom

[ikkyfics]

𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐚

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: “Hey…” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement. “Did you just wink at me?” Your face heats up instantly. “What? No! I just—” James moves closer, and before you can escape, his hands are already around you—warm, firm, secure. And then, he attacks. Kisses. A relentless succession of them.

Warnings: muggle au, est. relationship, fluffy, no use of y/n, james doing a kiss attack, shy!reader

The rain drums softly against the window, streaming down the glass in thin rivulets, distorting the view outside. The apartment is warm and lit by a discreet lamp, casting soft shadows over the furniture. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, your feet swinging in the air, your hands wrapped around your teacup, soaking in the warmth it offers. There’s something comforting about this silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional rustle of the newspaper forgotten on the table.

And then, he speaks.

“Did you know that if you close both eyes, you can’t see anything?”

You blink, lifting your gaze from the tea and meeting his, blue and full of mischief behind the lenses of his glasses. James is leaning against the doorframe, a half-smile tugging at his lips, his black hair in perfect chaos over his forehead. He looks absolutely pleased with himself, as if he’s having fun at the expense of a secret you haven’t discovered yet.

“Of course,” you reply, arching an eyebrow. “Everyone knows that.”

“Ah, but if you close just one...” He leans slightly forward, his elbows resting on the counter. “You can still see everything.”

The sentence hangs between you, and without thinking too much, you close one eye, testing the logic.

In the next second, you realize the mistake.

James lets out a low chuckle, and the glint in his eyes intensifies in a dangerous way. He pushes off the doorframe and advances slowly, his steps feline, his posture too relaxed to be innocent.

“Hey...” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement. “Did you just wink at me?”

Your face heats up instantly.

“What? No! I just—”

But there’s no room for explanations.

James moves closer, and before you can escape, his hands are already around you—warm, firm, secure. One arm wraps around your waist, pulling you forward until your knees bump against the sides of his hips. The other slides up to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your heated skin.

You smell him, that mix of woody soap and something purely James. And then, he attacks.

Kisses. A relentless succession of them.

First, one on the high point of your cheek. Then, another near the corner of your mouth, then another and another, until he traces an entire path across your flushed skin. You let out a weak protest, a breathless laugh escaping before you can contain it.

“Jamie—”

“No, no,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice slightly muffled. “This won’t go unnoticed.”

“I wasn’t flirting!”

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression absolutely delighted.

“Ah, so only I can flirt?”

You open your mouth, but he’s already smiling that impossible smile, the one that makes your heart stumble.

“Good to know,” he says, and then he’s back, nipping lightly at your flushed cheek before pressing a longer kiss there. You feel his lips curve against your skin.

Your chest tightens in a dizzying way, in a way you can’t quite describe.

It’s always like this.

James, whole, intense. He loves as if he doesn’t know how to love any other way. With everything he has, with everything he is.

You, on the other hand, feel small in the face of it. Not in a bad way. But because James lights up everything around him, and you’re not quite sure how you deserved so much.

The shyness still warms your face, but you don’t resist when he starts covering your face with kisses again, laughing between each one. Your hands slide into his black hair, your fingers digging in as he finally gives you a break, resting his forehead against yours.

He’s smiling against your skin, that smile you feel more than see, and his chest rises and falls in a rhythm that matches yours.

James sighs, dragging his nose lazily across your face before murmuring against your cheek, “Did you know I’m all yours?”

Your heart stumbles.

He doesn’t say it with the intention of being dramatic. James never says anything halfway, never loves halfway. The sentence slips from his lips with so much truth, so much certainty, that you feel your chest tighten. You feel something blooming inside you, something that’s always been there but now pulses with more strength.

Maybe it’s the fact that he always takes the initiative, always breaks down your barriers with that tireless, charming way of his.

And maybe, just maybe, you want to surprise him this time.

The idea takes shape before you can talk yourself out of it.

With a hesitant but determined movement, you lean in and press your lips to his cheek.

He freezes for a second, his blue eyes wide behind his glasses, his mouth slightly open as if he’s trying to formulate a sentence that never comes.

You almost pull back, almost shrink away from the sudden impulse, but then you see his expression. It’s rare to see him like this, speechless, without a ready response on the tip of his tongue.

Your chest warms.

So, before your courage disappears, you kiss him again.

With a touch of boldness—the most you can muster—you scatter a trail of kisses across his face, following the same path he traced on yours. The curve of his jaw, his chin, the spot just below his ear. Your shyness makes your skin burn, but something about seeing James so visibly affected encourages you.

And when you return to his cheek, nipping lightly, he lets out a low sound, a mix of a laugh and a sigh.

“You...” he stammers, looking absolutely amazed. “Did you just bite me?”

You nod, a little uncertain, and James... well, James melts.

Literally.

His body sags against yours, his arms tightening around your waist, and he hides his face in your neck, laughing as if you’ve just completely destroyed him.

“Ah, that’s not fair,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your skin. “I wasn’t prepared.”

You feel his smile there, his lips pressed against your neck, and before you know it, you’re smiling too.

“Now you know how I feel,” you whisper, and James lets out a dramatic groan, as if he’s been struck in the heart.

“No,” he says, lifting his face again. His hands slide back to your face, his eyes shining as if he’s just discovered something new and fascinating. “That was worse. You have no idea what you just did to me.”

“Jamie—”

Suddenly, and before you can react, he grabs your cheeks firmly. The gentle pressure pushes them together until your lips form a forced pout.

James smiles. Beautiful, mischievous, absolutely enchanted.

“Ah, what a precious thing,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with an almost exaggerated fondness. He studies your face for a second, his eyes shining, before lowering his head and lightly biting your lower lip trapped between your pinched cheeks.

You squirm in his hands, trying to escape the trap, but he holds your face a little longer before finally releasing your cheeks, his thumbs gently brushing over your warm skin as he watches every detail.

James is always watching.

All the time.

And he never gets tired.

His hands stay there, holding your face with an almost exaggerated care, as if he wants to memorize the feeling. He rests his forehead against yours, and the touch is lazy, comfortable.

“I’m officially a lost man,” he says, so close that it’s impossible to tell where his breath ends and yours begins. “You could ask me for anything right now, and I’d do it without hesitation. My heart? Take it. My dignity? Gone. My soul? Well, I think it’s been yours for a long time.”

You laugh, and James looks absolutely delighted by the sound.

He watches you, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your breath falter.

“Could you kiss me again?” he asks, and his voice is low, almost hesitant.

Your face burns, but you nod, and when your lips meet his skin again, James closes his eyes and lets out a satisfied sigh.

[ikkyfics]

𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭

Sirius Black x f!reader

Summary: You seemed out of place there, in your delicate dress, your hands gripping the fabric as if it could dissipate the pain. Your face was turned to the side, eyebrows furrowed, and Sirius watched with a flicker of interest as your lip caught between your teeth.

Warnings: muggle au, no use of y/n, suggestive (?)

The needle vibrated between Sirius's fingers, the low hum filling the silence between you. His touch was precise, careful, guiding the machine with a mastery born from years of experience. But this time, there was something different—something in the way your skin prickled under the sporadic touch of his gloved hands, in the way your body seemed tense, holding itself firmly against the chair's upholstery.

You seemed out of place there, in your delicate dress, your hands gripping the fabric as if it could dissipate the pain. Your face was turned to the side, eyebrows furrowed, and Sirius watched with a flicker of interest as your lip caught between your teeth.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected when you walked through the door—maybe that you’d give up as soon as you heard the buzz of the machine, that you’d hesitate when you felt the first sting of the needle. But you stayed, motionless, even as he etched the first star into the skin of your hip.

And now, as he worked on the finer details, he saw the tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. You blinked quickly, determined not to let them fall, and that stirred something in him.

“You okay?” Sirius’s voice came out low, rough.

You nodded, a shaky breath escaping.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.” Your voice was small but firm, as if acknowledging the fact without giving it more power than it deserved.

Sirius tilted his head, allowing himself a small smile. There was something captivating about you, in this silent resistance, in the way you endured the pain without complaint.

He kept the line steady, his eyes fixed on your skin as the needle left a trail of ink beneath the surface. The skin on your hip was one of the most sensitive—an area with less fat, where each prick seemed to reach the nerves more sharply. He could feel the faint tremors of your body, an involuntary reflex, and he slid his other hand to hold you in place, a touch gentle but firm.

You were soft. That was a fact.

The warmth of your skin under his gloves made him wonder what it would feel like without the barrier of latex, if his touch were direct, with nothing to cushion the contact. Sirius pushed the thought aside, but not completely, not fast enough.

He focused on the work. First, the base of the tiny stars—light, careful strokes, following the natural curve of your body. Then, the smaller dots around them, as if he were sprinkling a night sky onto you.

And deep down, a part of him liked the fact that he was the one marking your skin this way.

You shifted slightly, an involuntary reflex as the needle passed over a more sensitive spot. Sirius reacted quickly, gripping your hip more firmly.

“Stay still, doll.”

The pet name slipped out before he realized it, and Sirius felt a thread of satisfaction as he noticed your shoulders rising subtly in response. You didn’t say anything, but he noticed the way your breath caught in your throat.

He held the machine steady, finishing the last strokes of the small constellation on your skin. The needle dipped and retreated with precision. He’d tattooed hundreds of people before, but there was something different about this session, something in the way you clung to the chair with your delicate fingers, as if you needed an anchor.

He wanted to touch your hand. But he didn’t.

Instead, he wiped away the excess ink with an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball, gliding it over your skin with a lighter touch than necessary, just to see how you’d react. Your skin was still tender, freshly wounded, and he noticed when your lips parted in a silent reflex, your damp eyes blinking a few times. You were teary, yes, but you also seemed happy.

Sirius turned off the machine, tossed the cotton ball aside, and pulled off the gloves, peeling them from his fingers slowly, a habitual gesture, but one that, this time, didn’t go unnoticed.

You were watching.

Your pretty eyes followed the movement of his hands, his long, tattooed fingers, the faint veins running beneath his skin. Sirius noticed. And he liked it.

He didn’t break eye contact as he grabbed the mirror and handed it to you.

“Take a look.”

You took the mirror hesitantly, your movements careful, tilting it until the reflection showed the small constellation dotted on your hip. A sigh escaped your lips, something between relief and admiration, and Sirius allowed himself to smile as he saw the sparkle in your eyes.

“It’s beautiful.” Your voice came out soft, almost a whisper.

Sirius felt his chest swell slightly, a satisfied pride washing over him. Of course it was. He was good at this. But hearing it from you, in that way, almost breathless and with a smile still tinged by the remnants of pain, made the words feel like a much more intimate compliment than they should have been.

He tilted his head, watching as you ran your fingers near the tattoo, not quite touching it.

There was something fascinating about how you still seemed vulnerable, your eyes a little watery, your body slightly trembling after enduring the pain in silence. But at the same time, you glowed. A delicious contrast between delicacy and resilience.

He leaned in a little closer, his eyes briefly wandering over your skin before returning to your face.

“Now it’s your responsibility to take good care of it.” He finally spoke, and there was a huskiness in his voice, as if breaking something between you. “It’s going to sting a bit for the next few days. I’ll give you some ointment to keep it hydrated. Avoid tight clothes and no hot water directly on the skin. No scratching, no picking at the scabs. Otherwise, it’ll ruin.”

You nodded, but Sirius noticed you were still looking at him—the same way he was looking at you.

He cleaned the workstation in silence, but before you got up, he reached into the pocket of his bag nearby and pulled out something small, handing it to you.

You blinked at the candy between his fingers.

“What’s this?”

“A reward.” Sirius tilted his head slightly, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You were strong.”

You laughed, taking the candy and twirling the wrapper between your fingers.

“So you give candy to all your clients?”

Sirius didn’t answer right away. He just smiled in that lazy, drawn-out way, letting a moment of silence stretch between you before murmuring:

“Only the ones I want to see come back.”

[ikkyfics]

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡

Todd Haynes x f!reader

Summary: You laugh. Not because he said something intentionally funny, but because Todd has this way of making even the most random things sound like an inside joke between the two of you. “Oh no, princess—don’t laugh, or I’ll turn your ha ha ha into ah ah ah.”

Warnings: pre relationship, no use of y/n, suggestive, based on a video so silly it's actually wonderful

A/N: My beloved @gingerteafairy, this one is for you, thank you for our conversations, they always make my days better <3333

The café has that comforting smell of freshly ground coffee, mixed with the sweet aroma of vanilla from the cookies just out of the oven. The yellowish light from the lamps hanging above the tables creates an almost intimate atmosphere, as if the world outside didn’t exist while the two of you are there. There’s soft music playing in the background, something calm, and you recognize the indie band Todd likes and insisted you listen to once. He always does that—introduces you to songs, movies, books, anything he thinks you might like. And you do.

It’s easy to like Todd.

Especially when he’s in front of you like this, all excited about some random quantum physics theory that, according to him, is fascinating. You lost track of his explanation about five minutes ago, but you keep paying attention because the way he explains things is too funny to ignore. He gestures a lot, his brown curls falling slightly over his forehead as he leans forward, his deep brown eyes shining with enthusiasm. There’s something about him that holds your attention, that makes every detail worth noticing—from the way his dimples appear when he smiles that confident smile, to the way his long fingers absentmindedly hold the coffee cup, spinning it between his hands.

You laugh.

Not because he said something intentionally funny, but because Todd has this way of making even the most random things sound like an inside joke between the two of you. And he notices, of course. He always notices.

That’s when it happens.

He smiles, that cocky, playful smile he always has, leans slightly over the table, and says, without any warning:

“Oh no, princess—don’t laugh, or I’ll turn your ha ha ha into ah ah ah.”

Time stops.

The laughter dies on your lips, but you still feel the echo of it vibrating in your chest, in your throat. The meaning of the sentence hits you like a shock, warm and unexpected, and for a moment, all you can do is blink, processing what just happened.

Todd notices instantly.

His confidence wavers, even if subtly. The smile doesn’t disappear, but it weakens for a second. Color rises up his neck to his cheeks, and he seems to realize, too late, that he said that out loud. That he gave you enough words to grab and use against him.

And you do.

“Oh, really?” Your voice comes out a little lower than you intended, laced with a playful tone that hides something deeper. Something you didn’t expect to feel so strongly. You lean forward, closing the distance between you over the table, your eyes locked on his. “And how exactly would you do that, Todd?”

He swallows dryly.

It’s not immediate, but you notice the short-circuit happening. Todd always has something to say—a joke, a sarcastic comment, some obscure reference that makes you roll your eyes. But now he’s there, speechless. His lips part slightly, but nothing comes out. The only thing that moves are his hands, gripping the coffee cup tightly enough to make his knuckles turn white. You almost feel sorry for the porcelain.

You’ve never seen Todd hesitate before.

And it stirs something in you, something strange, unexpected.

Your mind plays tricks on you, and before you can control it, images appear. Visions of what could happen if he actually did that. If he actually turned your laughter into something more. The warmth of his breath against your skin. The firm touch of the hands you’ve observed so many times. The way his eyes, so absurdly dark, would probably become even more intense in that context.

You feel a shiver run up your spine and have to wet your lips to push the thought away.

Todd notices.

He sees the way your breathing changes, the way your posture isn’t the same anymore. And, in a miracle that can only be attributed to luck, it makes him regain control.

His eyes shine again, but in a different way now.

The smile returns. Slow, cocky. The dimples appear.

He leans forward too, almost as if to prove he can play this game as well as you can. His fingers tap lightly against the table, a relaxed, casual rhythm. But his voice when he speaks—oh, his voice—comes out lower, almost husky.

“If I told you, it’d ruin the fun, princess.”

The sentence hangs between you, loaded with possibilities, with unspoken intentions that spread through the air like static electricity. You could pull back. You could laugh, make some clever comment to change the subject. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean a little closer to him, your face warm, your heart beating in a way you can feel in your throat, but your voice comes out steady when you reply:

“Then why don’t you show me?”

Todd freezes.

Just for a second.

It’s such a brief moment that someone else might not even notice, but you do. Because you know Todd Haynes. You know how his mind works. But now… now he wasn’t expecting that.

And maybe that’s why he takes it seriously.

His smile doesn’t disappear, but it changes. If it was a teasing smile before, now it’s a calculated one, as if he’s considering your words. As if he’s evaluating exactly what to do next.

And then, he moves.

With a calmness that shouldn’t be possible given the electric tension between you, Todd gets up from the stool he was sitting on and, without hurry, walks around the table to your side. The movement is natural, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, but you feel your body stiffen before you even realize you’re holding your breath.

He sits down beside you, and that’s when you realize you might have underestimated the situation.

Because up close—so close—Todd seems different.

The curls falling a little more over his forehead, his scent, a mix of something slightly citrusy and warm, the way he looks at you now. Not with playfulness, but with something more. Something heavier, more intentional.

And then, his hand lands on your leg.

You feel the warmth first. The firm palm against your thigh, the touch isn’t rushed, nor invasive, but he’s not joking. His fingers press lightly, and his thumb begins to trace slow circles, so subtle they almost seem accidental. But they’re not. You know they’re not.

The impact of the touch courses through your body like a short-circuit, and you realize, with a mix of surprise and a bit of desperation, that you can’t look away.

Todd sees that.

And he takes advantage.

He leans a little closer, his face tilted toward yours, his breath so close you can feel the warmth. His deep brown eyes lock onto yours, as if he’s waiting, testing how far he can go.

“Is this okay?” His voice comes out low, almost a whisper, his thumb still moving gently over your skin, creating an absurd, ridiculous anticipation.

You swallow dryly.

Is Todd really asking you that? As if you’re in any condition to answer?

But you don’t want to pull back.

So you nod, and that seems to be all he needs.

He leans in more, until the tip of his nose almost brushes yours, until his lips are close—close enough for you to imagine. For you to almost feel.

And then, the bastard speaks.

“If I were to show you…” He murmurs, and his voice is different now. A deeper, heavier tone. His lips curve slightly, but his eyes remain locked on yours, as if he’s holding you there. “I’d start slow. First here.”

His thumb slides lightly over your skin, moving up just a little, but the suggestion there makes your breath falter.

“And then, maybe…” His eyes drop to your lips, and you feel a shiver run down the back of your neck. “I’d trace every curve of yours with my lips. Just to see how you’d react.”

The air feels heavy. Your chest rises and falls a little faster than it should, and you don’t know if you want him to keep going or if you want him to shut up and just do it already.

Todd must notice that, because he smiles. And then, he moves.

Not what you expect.

Not what you want.

Instead of kissing your mouth, he leans to the side and presses a kiss to your face, just below the corner of your lips.

The frustration comes so quickly that you almost let out a sound of protest, but before you can, he pulls back, still smiling, still with that glint in his eyes.

“I think we should go to my place.” He says, casual, as if he hadn’t just brought you to the edge of something you can’t even name. “It’s closer. And there…” He raises an eyebrow, his hand slowly leaving your leg, as if giving you the chance to feel its absence.

He knows you feel it.

“There I can show you exactly what we can do.”

[ikkyfics]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

Tate Langdon x f!reader

Summary: “Tate…” you begin, but he already knows. He leans in again, his mouth brushing lightly against yours, like a ghost’s whisper. Like a secret. “Promise you’ll never leave me?”

Warnings: none, i think— it's tate, self explanatory

A/N: He was the reason I watched ahs and I've been thinking about writing about tate for sooooo long, it's kind of embarrassing that I only did it now

The house breathes.

You feel it every night, in the heavy silence that fills every corner of your room. Your room. But not just yours.

It once belonged to Tate.

The thought should bother you, but it doesn’t. On the contrary. The idea of sleeping in the same space that once was his, of occupying the place that once sheltered him, brings you a strange comfort. As if, somehow, you and Tate have always been connected.

“You’re thinking again.”

His voice cuts through the silence of the room. Low, rough, almost amused.

You turn your head, and he’s there—sitting on the edge of the bed, his blond curls falling over his forehead, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. As always, he arrived without a sound, as if he were just another fragment of the house, an extension of the shadows.

“Is it wrong?” you ask, your voice soft.

“Depends,” Tate tilts his head slightly. “Were you thinking about me?”

“Maybe.”

His smile widens a little. The dimples appear, deep, and you feel something tighten in your chest. Tate has this effect on you—a presence that’s cold, yet warm. Terrifying, yet comforting. You’re not quite sure where the fear begins and where the love ends.

He leans in, resting his hand beside your pillow. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you whisper.

“Liar.” Tate’s dark eyes scan your face as if they could see beyond your skin, beyond your bones, straight to everything that drowns you inside. “You have this thing... this sadness stuck in your eyes. I know it well.”

Of course he does.

Tate understands like no one else. He sees what others don’t, feels what others ignore.

“I can’t explain it,” you confess. “I just... feel it.”

He brings his hand to your face, his icy fingers tracing a delicate path across your cheek. You shiver, but you don’t pull away. With Tate, the cold is never enough to push you away.

“I like it when you talk,” he murmurs.

Your heart hammers inside your chest. “Why?”

“Because you’re mine,” Tate answers without hesitation. The conviction in his voice makes you hold your breath. “And I’m yours. That means I can save you.”

Save.

The word hangs between you, heavy with something you don’t fully understand but that scares you.

“I don’t need to be saved.”

Tate smiles. Slowly. Almost sadly. “Yes, you do.”

The silence stretches between you. Long enough for you to feel the house around you. Its weight, its presence, the whisper of the walls.

Then Tate closes the distance, his lips brushing yours in a light, almost hesitant kiss. You taste him, the scent of the house ingrained in his skin, and you wonder if your love was always destined to be like this: intense, insatiable, desperate.

When he pulls away, Tate holds your face between his hands and looks into your eyes. Enough to make you forget there’s anything else besides him.

“If you die,” he says, so softly it almost doesn’t sound like a threat, “I’ll bring you back.”

The air leaves your lungs.

“Tate…”

He hurries to silence your name on your lips, kissing you slowly, as if he wants to steal your breath for himself. His coldness mixes with the heat pulsing inside you, and the contrast makes you shiver.

“I hate it when you say my name like that,” Tate murmurs, his lips still brushing yours.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re afraid of me.”

You hold his face between your hands. His blond curls fall against your skin as he leans closer, pressing his chest against yours, as if he could absorb your warmth.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you lie.

Tate smiles slowly, almost sadly.

“Yes, you are.” He slides his hand to your wrist, his fingers resting over your racing pulse. “I can feel it from here.”

You swallow hard.

“But I like it,” he continues, his dark eyes holding you in place. “It’s beautiful. You’re here with me anyway.”

Yes. You are.

Even knowing the darkness inside him, the emptiness in his eyes, the raw obsession in the way he touches you. You know there’s something wrong with Tate, something twisted. But how do you run away from the one person who truly understands you?

Tate holds you tighter, burying his face in your neck as if he wants to hide inside you. His body weighs on yours, and for a moment, he’s just a boy lying in bed with the girl he loves.

“I need you,” he confesses, his voice muffled against your skin. “More than anything. More than air itself.”

You close your eyes and hold Tate against you.

He may not need air. But you know that, if he could, he’d hold his breath just to taste your last sigh.

He lifts himself slightly to look into your eyes, his fingers still lazily tracing your skin, almost as if he’s studying you, memorizing every detail.

“You could leave,” he murmurs. “You could run away from this house. From this thing between us.”

You don’t look away. “And do you think I want to?”

Tate presses his lips together, thoughtful.

“No,” he admits. “I think you need me as much as I need you.”

The confession hangs between you, the air almost electric. You feel Tate’s gaze burning against your skin. He watches you with that suffocating intensity, as if you’re the only thing keeping him there.

Because maybe you are.

“Tate…” you begin, but he already knows.

He leans in again, his mouth brushing lightly against yours, like a ghost’s whisper. Like a secret.

“Promise you’ll never leave me?”

The request comes out low, urgent, desperate.

You feel his fingers tighten around your wrist, as if the thought of losing you is enough to pull him back into the darkness he never truly left.

“Promise?” he repeats, and there’s something broken in his voice.

You should hesitate.

But you don’t.

“I promise.”

Tate closes his eyes and lets out a trembling sigh, as if that promise is the only thing keeping him whole.

And then he holds you again, his arms wrapped around your body with a desperate need.

You know Tate died a long time ago.

But somehow, he’s never felt more alive.

[ikkyfics]

₊˚⊹ᰔ 𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔫 𑁤.ᐟ

fluffy ʚଓ | angst ✦ | hurt & comfort ☘︎ | smut ୨ৎ | suggestive ☼

main masterlist

Promises ʚଓ ✦

[ikkyfics]

hihi, a lil new here, but i did come to say you lrl seem like such a lovely person, like omg i js know i'd wanna be friends, but i am #shy on here, so 😭 but js here to say i love your blog, it's so pretty and such a safe space, adore it and your fics sooo much <333 have a wonderful day, ikky !! <3

-☆

My good lord, you have no idea how much this message made my night better. I can't even measure how much this meant, thank you so much my love <3333 !!

I am so lucky because I have only met sweet and amazing people on tumblr, and yes, you are definitely included in that list!

And I am also shy, gosh, I am nothing but a shy and silly creature, a real disaster, there is no reason for your shyness. Seriously, feel free to send me a dm (no pressure <3), I will love being your friend 😭💖💖

I hope you have a day as wonderful as you, full of sweet things, you deserve only the best things in the world🩷🌷🫂✨

And my God, an I love you is not enough, eu te amo

[ikkyfics]

just in case anyone couldn't picture the doll

anatomy

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: “Dave, I can study on you.” He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “What?” “Your muscles,” you explained, already trailing your fingertips over his chest, feeling the subtle tension beneath the skin. “Every single one in the right place. Perfect.”

Warnings: est. relationship, college!dave, college!reader, nomenclature of some (many) muscles, reader is a health area student, suggestive, language, no use of y/n

A/N: a special thanks to my dear lovely @gingerteafairy who encouraged me to post this, i love you a million times <333

You never thought Batman could have such poorly placed muscles. Shit, it was a total disrespect to such an incredible character. If Christian Bale saw that—he wouldn’t care in the slightest, but you did. Who cares if the damn doll was cheap? It wouldn’t have cost much to at least put some muscles in the right place.

Look at this oblique, you thought in disgust. It was completely ridiculous.

At least the facial muscles didn’t require too much effort to pin down. Even if it took some—okay, a lot of—imagination to actually mark each one. For a cheap doll, the plastic was sturdy enough to leave your poor fingers sore.

“I hate this,” you muttered, dropping the doll and sighing dramatically before resting your face on the table, carefully avoiding the scattered pins.

Dave, sitting beside you, smiled. He was used to your little dramatics, and he liked seeing your pouty lips; he liked biting them even more. “What happened, lovie?” he asked sweetly, leaning in to take a look at the mess on the table.

He had come straight to your house after class—tuesday study sessions were sacred. Even if, most of the time, studying was the last thing you two did. He tried, he really did, to focus on the calculations he had to do, but before he knew it, you were already pressed against him. Soft and pliant, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t dedicate his full attention to you?

But today unfolded differently. You were completely immersed in the project one of your professors had assigned: label 100 muscles on a doll—a fun, interactive way to optimize learning. Dave had found you in your room muttering things like flexor hallucis longus, masseter, vastus while clutching a Batman doll, with countless pins scattered across your bed. To be honest, it was a little scary. Not as much as the demonic images from Netter’s spread open on your shelf, but still unsettling.

“The thing is,” you lifted the doll with evident disdain, “this doesn’t have a single muscle in the right place. How am I supposed to label the soleus if it’s in the wrong spot? It’s impossible, impossible.”

Dave frowned, studying the figure. He had no idea which tiny bump was supposed to be a soleus.

“And I really need the grade for this project,” you whined, covering your face with your hands and letting out a dramatic sigh. “I need this grade, Dave.”

“Hey,” he said, gently pulling your hands away. When you didn’t look at him, he held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your face. “Of course, you’re going to get this grade. You’re the smartest person I know.”

“Dave, don’t—”

“Listen to me,” he cut you off, his voice carrying that soft tone that always made your heart skip a beat.

Dave wasn’t the type to impose his words, but when he wanted to make sure you really listened, his voice carried a different weight. He wasn’t just saying pretty things—he meant them.

You felt his fingers slide behind your ear, tucking loose strands of hair away from your face. His thumb traced a brief path across your cheek before settling under your chin, keeping your gaze locked on his.

“You’re the smartest person I know,” he repeated, quieter now. “And I know Todd. Todd once explained String Theory to me while drinking a Pepsi.”

A short laugh escaped you, but the frustration still sat heavy in your stomach.

“Dave, this isn’t funny,” you sighed, letting your forehead drop against his chest.

“Not at all,” he agreed immediately, sliding a hand to your waist and squeezing gently. “But I also know you’re not going to lose this grade.”

You felt him lean down slightly, his nose brushing against the top of your head before his arms wrapped around you completely. A firm embrace, without hesitation. As if, just for that moment, he could carry the weight of the world for you.

And that was when your body finally relaxed for the first time in hours. You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, taking in every detail of him around you. Dave was warm—he always was—and his body was solid against yours, firm and safe. You adjusted yourself closer, arms slipping around him until your hands found his back.

And that’s when your brain short-circuited.

Because as your fingers traced over his shoulders, down his arms, you felt—

Muscles.

Trapezius. Rhomboid. Biceps. Brachialis. Anconeus.

With every new discovery, you whispered their names without even realizing it. Just feeling them, each one in the right place, perfectly aligned. Unlike the deformed, infuriating doll tossed on your desk.

Dave furrowed his brows. “Are you… whispering spells? Because I was just trying to help, but—”

Your hands were on his shirt before he could finish the sentence.

“Dave.”

“Yeah?”

“Take it off.”

He blinked, completely lost. “What?”

Your patience was already running thin.

“The shirt.”

Dave looked at you for a moment, as if trying to understand what exactly was happening, but, well, you were asking him to take his shirt off. And if there was one thing he wasn’t about to do, it was question miracles.

So, with one last curious glance, he obeyed.

And when the fabric hit the floor, you just stood there, staring. Lips slightly parted as your eyes trailed up and down his body.

“Jesus,” you breathed, running a hand down your face, as if scolding yourself for not thinking of this sooner.

“Is that good or bad?”

“This is the best thing that could have happened.”

Dave blinked a few times. “Wow. I didn’t even do anything.”

“Dave, I can study on you.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “What?”

“Your muscles,” you explained, already trailing your fingertips over his chest, feeling the subtle tension beneath the skin. “Every single one in the right place. Perfect.”

And that’s how you ended up on his lap.

Dave wasn’t entirely sure how it happened—but honestly, he wasn’t complaining. One moment you were fuming over a misshapen Batman, and the next, you were fully engrossed in your own private anatomy study, straddling him, fingers tracing slow, delicate paths down his arms.

He could feel the warmth of your skin against his, a delicious contrast to the cool night breeze slipping through the window. You had said you needed to focus, and he had promised to stay still. But damn, it was hard.

Very hard.

Because for Dave, there was nothing more attractive than seeing you like this—so immersed in it, lips slightly pursed, eyes focused. You murmured the names of muscles as you ran your fingertips over them, and he felt each one respond to your touch. It was almost comical how something as simple as you studying for your class could drive him this insanely affected.

He already knew you were brilliant. He knew you took college seriously and that when you were focused, the rest of the world disappeared. But he wasn’t prepared for how… hot that could be.

Dave felt the corner of his mouth tug into a distracted smile, but it was enough to make you stop.

“Dave,” you scolded, your voice low but firm.

He blinked at you. “What?”

“Stay still.”

“I am still.”

“You smiled.”

“That doesn’t count,” he argued, a grin playing on his lips.

You sighed, but he caught the way your eyes sparkled, and, well, that was when he knew you weren’t exactly immune to this either.

Slowly, your fingers trailed up to his face. You held his chin, your eyes studying every detail with an almost reverent patience.

“Here,” you began, your voice lower now, as if you were about to reveal a secret, a finger tracing a line beside his mouth, “is where the risorius muscle is.”

Before he could ask what the hell that meant, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss there, right at the corner of his mouth.

Dave felt his breath falter at the pressure of your lips against his skin.

And then you kept going.

“And here,” your lips brushed his cheek, right where his smile was still fighting to hold on, “is the zygomaticus major.”

He swallowed hard.

You pulled back just enough to look at him again, your fingers still holding his face.

“Hm?” he managed to murmur, because, honestly, his brain was already running on safety mode.

You smiled.

“The masseter,” you whispered, kissing his jawline, your lips sliding along its sharp edge.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a shiver run down his spine.

“Temporalis,” you continued, pushing his curls from his face before leaning in, your lips grazing his temple now.

Dave swore he had never been more interested in anatomy in his entire life.

He opened his eyes when you looked at him again, and for a moment, all he could do was admire you. Your eyes were darker under the soft glow of the lamp, your lips slightly flushed, and the expression on your face was somewhere between concentration and amusement.

“Are you learning anything, Lizewski?”

He smiled slowly.

“More than you think.”

You smiled back but didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, a touch that was both gentle and intentional. You could feel every tiny irregularity on Dave’s skin—the defined contour, the almost imperceptible roughness of the stubble beginning to grow, the subtle tension in his muscles as he watched you. His gaze was heavy now, an intense blue that gleamed under the dim light of the room, and his glasses had slipped down his nose slightly, as they always did when he was too distracted to bother adjusting them.

His hands, which had slipped under your shirt, moved slowly, fingertips gliding over your waist as if memorizing every inch of skin. The touch wasn’t rushed or hesitant—it was firm, as if he wanted you to feel exactly what he was doing. As if he wanted to burn it into your skin.

You didn’t stop him.

Instead, you leaned even closer into him, the warmth of your bodies mixing in the room’s thick air, and lifted Dave’s chin with two fingers, forcing him to tilt his head back. His breath came out heavy, warm, and you felt the way the muscle in his neck tensed under your touch.

Your fingers slid over it, pressing right where the skin was thin enough to feel the rapid pulse of his heart. It was better than any music.

“The sternocleidomastoid,” you murmured, your voice low, laced with something that made Dave swallow hard. “It tilts and rotates the head…” Your fingers pressed a little more, your nail lightly dragging against his skin. “…and it’s also the muscle responsible for stiff necks.”

His eyes were locked onto you now, half-lidded, and for a second, he didn’t say anything. He just breathed.

“This is supposed to be a lesson?” Dave asked, his voice slow, slightly hoarse.

“Maybe,” you whispered. “But there’s one more thing.”

Before he could respond, your lips touched his neck—a slow, warm kiss, just enough to make him hold his breath. But you didn’t stop there.

Your lips parted against his skin, and you sucked lightly, deliberately, feeling the way his body tensed beneath you. The hands that had merely been resting on your waist gripped tighter, his fingers pressing into your skin, and you heard a breathy sigh escape Dave’s lips—low, drawn-out, almost a moan he tried to hold back but failed.

You pulled away slowly, satisfied with the mark you had left there, clearly visible against his fair skin.

His eyes were dark now, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and when he tried to say something, you just smiled, running your fingers softly over the fresh mark, feeling the warmth still pulsing there.

"Did I mention it's also the perfect muscle for love bites?" you asked, your voice all innocent but your eyes saying something completely different.

Dave blinked, clearly still trying to process whatever had just happened.

“Definitely not,” he managed to say, his voice rougher than before.

Your fingers continued their almost involuntary path, slowly sliding down Dave’s exposed chest, tracing over his warm skin, feeling the texture, the tension beneath your fingertips. Your gaze was fixed on the path your hands were making, as if you were studying every small muscle contraction, every tiny involuntary movement happening beneath your palm.

His abdomen rose and fell in an uneven rhythm as your fingers traced the defined planes, the skin shifting subtly under your touch. You followed the natural lines of his muscles, outlining them with almost surgical precision—the well-defined rectus abdominis, the softly sculpted obliques. He was strong, not in an exaggerated way, but in a way that made sense, as if every muscle existed to fulfill its function perfectly.

And, damn, he was beautiful.

It wasn’t the first time you had seen him like this, exposed under your meticulous attention, but familiarity didn’t make it any less hypnotic. On the contrary. It was like revisiting a favorite book and always finding something new between the lines, a detail you had missed the last time.

But watching wasn’t enough.

Your body knew that before your mind could even fully form the thought. Your lips found his skin without hesitation, at first just a chaste kiss, the mere promise of a touch. But the promise shattered too quickly. You pressed your lips against the warmth of his chest, feeling the way his muscles reacted to your touch.

Dave let out a sigh, a low sound that reverberated beneath your mouth, and you felt every minute response of his body as if conducting a real-time experiment. The way his abdomen tensed when your tongue traced a lazy path over his skin. The way his fingers tightened around your hip when your warm breath spread over his collarbone.

You knew the name of every structure moving beneath your lips.

The pectoralis major, firm under your hand when you held him, subtly contracting as your lips followed the path of the muscle fibers. The serratus anterior, tensing involuntarily as your fingers ghosted over his sides. The rectus femoris, which you felt harden beneath your hips as he adjusted under you, pressing you more firmly onto his lap.

Your fingers traveled downward, tracing the contour of his obliques until they met a line that always made you hold your breath. The transversus abdominis. The deepest muscle, the one holding everything together, the pathway to paradise that defined his body in a way that was almost criminal. You felt Dave tense beneath you, a rougher sigh slipping past his lips.

“Shit…” he exhaled, his voice low, and you smiled against his skin, your lips brushing lightly before placing a kiss right there, where the muscle still pulsed under your touch.

“I like this one,” you confessed, completely shameless, and felt his hands tighten around your waist as an involuntary response.

“I noticed,” Dave retorted, trying to sound casual but failing miserably when you pressed another kiss there, just to watch him react again.

The power you had over him was intoxicating.

And maybe that’s why you leaned in, unhurried, your mouth wandering over his abdomen, each kiss a new form of teasing. Dave was no longer just an anatomical study under your hands; he was alive, pulsing, a mess of heavy sighs and contracted muscles.

“You know you’re killing me, right?” he murmured, his voice laced with breathless laughter.

You lifted your gaze, your fingers still tracing the path your mouth had traveled. “I’m just studying.”

Dave let out a low sound, almost a suppressed groan, and you felt it when he finally gave up pretending any kind of resistance. His hands traveled up your back, firm and warm against your skin, and before you could anticipate his next move, he pulled you up.

His lips found yours with almost desperate precision, and you felt your own body dissolve into the exact pressure of the kiss, the perfect fit between the two of you.

He pulled back just enough for you to feel the warm breath against your mouth, for his eyes to capture the sharp gleam in yours.

“My turn,” he murmured, his fingers gliding up your waist, deliberately slow. “If you get to study me, I think it’s only fair I do the same.”

You didn’t have time to respond before he flipped your positions, proving that those muscles weren’t just for show, his body firm against yours, his mouth leaving a heated trail down the side of your neck. His lips brushed over the delicate curve, and you felt his breath grow heavier against your skin as he smiled, his fingers teasing the hem of your shirt. A firm touch, unhurried.

He wanted to savor this.

The fabric lifted slowly, the tips of his fingers tracing every inch of newly exposed skin, as if he were memorizing the path. You felt your own body react, a shiver running up your spine.

And then, your shirt slid down your arms and was discarded.

"You know the Fibonacci sequence is present in everything?" he asked, his voice low, like he was sharing a secret. "In the universe, in art… in the human body."

The shiver came before you even fully processed his words, your brain struggling to keep up with both the way his hands were exploring your body and the fact that he was talking about the Fibonacci Sequence.

Dave noticed. Of course he did.

He lifted his gaze, barely concealing his satisfaction, and let his fingers trail from the curve of your hip to the center of your abdomen, the touch so light it made you hold your breath.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this, and yet, something in his eyes, in the way they slowly traveled down your body, betrayed how utterly stunned he was.

You found yourself unable to say anything. The silence between you was electric, thick with everything that didn’t need to be spoken.

He was the first to break it.

"The Fibonacci spiral can be found in the shape of the eyes, the length of the bones, even in the proportions of the lips…" His voice was barely a whisper, his mouth hovering over yours without kissing you, as if giving you time to absorb every word. "But honestly?" He traced the outline of your lips with his thumb. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything follow that pattern as perfectly as you."

The air caught in your throat.

The intensity in his gaze left you unable to think, to form any coherent response. You tried—really, you did. But then Dave leaned in and pressed his lips to yours again, this time with a purpose that made your entire body forget any anatomical concept that had ever existed.

"You have no idea how attractive you sound when you talk like that," you murmured, your voice lower than you intended.

The corner of his mouth curved, slow. Almost dangerous.

"Like what?"

You swallowed hard. "Like… you’re analyzing me and liking what you see."

Dave let out a low, husky laugh, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leaned in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

"I'm not analyzing," he corrected, his hands sliding up your back, fingers tracing the warmth of your skin as if trying to commit every curve to memory. "I'm appreciating."

You had a second to process that—to feel your skin prickle under his touch, to drown in the heat, the overwhelming closeness—before Dave claimed your mouth again.

The kiss was hungry, slow and deep, and you felt the last remnants of restraint dissolve completely. Every touch of his left a trail of fire on your skin. The world outside the room ceased to exist—there was only this, only sensation, only the press of hands and the heat curling between you like something inevitable.

When he finally pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his gaze met yours, and his smile was soft but full of intent.

"Is this still part of your study?"

You couldn’t hold back your laugh, your chest rising and falling in a shaky breath. Your fingers traced along his collarbone, down to his shoulder, exploring the muscles still tense beneath his skin.

"Actually," you murmured, your gaze flickering to his lips before meeting his eyes again, "I think the theoretical part is over."

Dave tilted his head, his fingers dipping deeper along the curve of your waist.

"Good," he said, voice low. "Because I was really looking forward to the practical part."

[ikkyfics]

Ikkyyyy, I am loving ur new aesthetic!!!!! 🫶☁️🩵🌙

aaaaaaaaaaa thank you very much, my dear lovely! although your new theme is the one that deserves my praise, it is really very very very beautiful!! <333333

[ikkyfics]

i'm dying with this reaction (embarrassed laugh) the greatest self insertion ever MUAHAHAHAHA i love you too, from here to the moon <333333

anatomy

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: “Dave, I can study on you.” He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “What?” “Your muscles,” you explained, already trailing your fingertips over his chest, feeling the subtle tension beneath the skin. “Every single one in the right place. Perfect.”

Warnings: est. relationship, college!dave, college!reader, nomenclature of some (many) muscles, reader is a health area student, suggestive, language, no use of y/n

A/N: a special thanks to my dear lovely @gingerteafairy who encouraged me to post this, i love you a million times <333

You never thought Batman could have such poorly placed muscles. Shit, it was a total disrespect to such an incredible character. If Christian Bale saw that—he wouldn’t care in the slightest, but you did. Who cares if the damn doll was cheap? It wouldn’t have cost much to at least put some muscles in the right place.

Look at this oblique, you thought in disgust. It was completely ridiculous.

At least the facial muscles didn’t require too much effort to pin down. Even if it took some—okay, a lot of—imagination to actually mark each one. For a cheap doll, the plastic was sturdy enough to leave your poor fingers sore.

“I hate this,” you muttered, dropping the doll and sighing dramatically before resting your face on the table, carefully avoiding the scattered pins.

Dave, sitting beside you, smiled. He was used to your little dramatics, and he liked seeing your pouty lips; he liked biting them even more. “What happened, lovie?” he asked sweetly, leaning in to take a look at the mess on the table.

He had come straight to your house after class—tuesday study sessions were sacred. Even if, most of the time, studying was the last thing you two did. He tried, he really did, to focus on the calculations he had to do, but before he knew it, you were already pressed against him. Soft and pliant, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t dedicate his full attention to you?

But today unfolded differently. You were completely immersed in the project one of your professors had assigned: label 100 muscles on a doll—a fun, interactive way to optimize learning. Dave had found you in your room muttering things like flexor hallucis longus, masseter, vastus while clutching a Batman doll, with countless pins scattered across your bed. To be honest, it was a little scary. Not as much as the demonic images from Netter’s spread open on your shelf, but still unsettling.

“The thing is,” you lifted the doll with evident disdain, “this doesn’t have a single muscle in the right place. How am I supposed to label the soleus if it’s in the wrong spot? It’s impossible, impossible.”

Dave frowned, studying the figure. He had no idea which tiny bump was supposed to be a soleus.

“And I really need the grade for this project,” you whined, covering your face with your hands and letting out a dramatic sigh. “I need this grade, Dave.”

“Hey,” he said, gently pulling your hands away. When you didn’t look at him, he held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your face. “Of course, you’re going to get this grade. You’re the smartest person I know.”

“Dave, don’t—”

“Listen to me,” he cut you off, his voice carrying that soft tone that always made your heart skip a beat.

Dave wasn’t the type to impose his words, but when he wanted to make sure you really listened, his voice carried a different weight. He wasn’t just saying pretty things—he meant them.

You felt his fingers slide behind your ear, tucking loose strands of hair away from your face. His thumb traced a brief path across your cheek before settling under your chin, keeping your gaze locked on his.

“You’re the smartest person I know,” he repeated, quieter now. “And I know Todd. Todd once explained String Theory to me while drinking a Pepsi.”

A short laugh escaped you, but the frustration still sat heavy in your stomach.

“Dave, this isn’t funny,” you sighed, letting your forehead drop against his chest.

“Not at all,” he agreed immediately, sliding a hand to your waist and squeezing gently. “But I also know you’re not going to lose this grade.”

You felt him lean down slightly, his nose brushing against the top of your head before his arms wrapped around you completely. A firm embrace, without hesitation. As if, just for that moment, he could carry the weight of the world for you.

And that was when your body finally relaxed for the first time in hours. You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, taking in every detail of him around you. Dave was warm—he always was—and his body was solid against yours, firm and safe. You adjusted yourself closer, arms slipping around him until your hands found his back.

And that’s when your brain short-circuited.

Because as your fingers traced over his shoulders, down his arms, you felt—

Muscles.

Trapezius. Rhomboid. Biceps. Brachialis. Anconeus.

With every new discovery, you whispered their names without even realizing it. Just feeling them, each one in the right place, perfectly aligned. Unlike the deformed, infuriating doll tossed on your desk.

Dave furrowed his brows. “Are you… whispering spells? Because I was just trying to help, but—”

Your hands were on his shirt before he could finish the sentence.

“Dave.”

“Yeah?”

“Take it off.”

He blinked, completely lost. “What?”

Your patience was already running thin.

“The shirt.”

Dave looked at you for a moment, as if trying to understand what exactly was happening, but, well, you were asking him to take his shirt off. And if there was one thing he wasn’t about to do, it was question miracles.

So, with one last curious glance, he obeyed.

And when the fabric hit the floor, you just stood there, staring. Lips slightly parted as your eyes trailed up and down his body.

“Jesus,” you breathed, running a hand down your face, as if scolding yourself for not thinking of this sooner.

“Is that good or bad?”

“This is the best thing that could have happened.”

Dave blinked a few times. “Wow. I didn’t even do anything.”

“Dave, I can study on you.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “What?”

“Your muscles,” you explained, already trailing your fingertips over his chest, feeling the subtle tension beneath the skin. “Every single one in the right place. Perfect.”

And that’s how you ended up on his lap.

Dave wasn’t entirely sure how it happened—but honestly, he wasn’t complaining. One moment you were fuming over a misshapen Batman, and the next, you were fully engrossed in your own private anatomy study, straddling him, fingers tracing slow, delicate paths down his arms.

He could feel the warmth of your skin against his, a delicious contrast to the cool night breeze slipping through the window. You had said you needed to focus, and he had promised to stay still. But damn, it was hard.

Very hard.

Because for Dave, there was nothing more attractive than seeing you like this—so immersed in it, lips slightly pursed, eyes focused. You murmured the names of muscles as you ran your fingertips over them, and he felt each one respond to your touch. It was almost comical how something as simple as you studying for your class could drive him this insanely affected.

He already knew you were brilliant. He knew you took college seriously and that when you were focused, the rest of the world disappeared. But he wasn’t prepared for how… hot that could be.

Dave felt the corner of his mouth tug into a distracted smile, but it was enough to make you stop.

“Dave,” you scolded, your voice low but firm.

He blinked at you. “What?”

“Stay still.”

“I am still.”

“You smiled.”

“That doesn’t count,” he argued, a grin playing on his lips.

You sighed, but he caught the way your eyes sparkled, and, well, that was when he knew you weren’t exactly immune to this either.

Slowly, your fingers trailed up to his face. You held his chin, your eyes studying every detail with an almost reverent patience.

“Here,” you began, your voice lower now, as if you were about to reveal a secret, a finger tracing a line beside his mouth, “is where the risorius muscle is.”

Before he could ask what the hell that meant, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss there, right at the corner of his mouth.

Dave felt his breath falter at the pressure of your lips against his skin.

And then you kept going.

“And here,” your lips brushed his cheek, right where his smile was still fighting to hold on, “is the zygomaticus major.”

He swallowed hard.

You pulled back just enough to look at him again, your fingers still holding his face.

“Hm?” he managed to murmur, because, honestly, his brain was already running on safety mode.

You smiled.

“The masseter,” you whispered, kissing his jawline, your lips sliding along its sharp edge.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a shiver run down his spine.

“Temporalis,” you continued, pushing his curls from his face before leaning in, your lips grazing his temple now.

Dave swore he had never been more interested in anatomy in his entire life.

He opened his eyes when you looked at him again, and for a moment, all he could do was admire you. Your eyes were darker under the soft glow of the lamp, your lips slightly flushed, and the expression on your face was somewhere between concentration and amusement.

“Are you learning anything, Lizewski?”

He smiled slowly.

“More than you think.”

You smiled back but didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, a touch that was both gentle and intentional. You could feel every tiny irregularity on Dave’s skin—the defined contour, the almost imperceptible roughness of the stubble beginning to grow, the subtle tension in his muscles as he watched you. His gaze was heavy now, an intense blue that gleamed under the dim light of the room, and his glasses had slipped down his nose slightly, as they always did when he was too distracted to bother adjusting them.

His hands, which had slipped under your shirt, moved slowly, fingertips gliding over your waist as if memorizing every inch of skin. The touch wasn’t rushed or hesitant—it was firm, as if he wanted you to feel exactly what he was doing. As if he wanted to burn it into your skin.

You didn’t stop him.

Instead, you leaned even closer into him, the warmth of your bodies mixing in the room’s thick air, and lifted Dave’s chin with two fingers, forcing him to tilt his head back. His breath came out heavy, warm, and you felt the way the muscle in his neck tensed under your touch.

Your fingers slid over it, pressing right where the skin was thin enough to feel the rapid pulse of his heart. It was better than any music.

“The sternocleidomastoid,” you murmured, your voice low, laced with something that made Dave swallow hard. “It tilts and rotates the head…” Your fingers pressed a little more, your nail lightly dragging against his skin. “…and it’s also the muscle responsible for stiff necks.”

His eyes were locked onto you now, half-lidded, and for a second, he didn’t say anything. He just breathed.

“This is supposed to be a lesson?” Dave asked, his voice slow, slightly hoarse.

“Maybe,” you whispered. “But there’s one more thing.”

Before he could respond, your lips touched his neck—a slow, warm kiss, just enough to make him hold his breath. But you didn’t stop there.

Your lips parted against his skin, and you sucked lightly, deliberately, feeling the way his body tensed beneath you. The hands that had merely been resting on your waist gripped tighter, his fingers pressing into your skin, and you heard a breathy sigh escape Dave’s lips—low, drawn-out, almost a moan he tried to hold back but failed.

You pulled away slowly, satisfied with the mark you had left there, clearly visible against his fair skin.

His eyes were dark now, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and when he tried to say something, you just smiled, running your fingers softly over the fresh mark, feeling the warmth still pulsing there.

“Did I mention it’s also the hickey muscle?” you asked, your voice all innocence, but your eyes saying something else entirely.

Dave blinked, clearly still trying to process whatever had just happened.

“Definitely not,” he managed to say, his voice rougher than before.

Your fingers continued their almost involuntary path, slowly sliding down Dave’s exposed chest, tracing over his warm skin, feeling the texture, the tension beneath your fingertips. Your gaze was fixed on the path your hands were making, as if you were studying every small muscle contraction, every tiny involuntary movement happening beneath your palm.

His abdomen rose and fell in an uneven rhythm as your fingers traced the defined planes, the skin shifting subtly under your touch. You followed the natural lines of his muscles, outlining them with almost surgical precision—the well-defined rectus abdominis, the softly sculpted obliques. He was strong, not in an exaggerated way, but in a way that made sense, as if every muscle existed to fulfill its function perfectly.

And, damn, he was beautiful.

It wasn’t the first time you had seen him like this, exposed under your meticulous attention, but familiarity didn’t make it any less hypnotic. On the contrary. It was like revisiting a favorite book and always finding something new between the lines, a detail you had missed the last time.

But watching wasn’t enough.

Your body knew that before your mind could even fully form the thought. Your lips found his skin without hesitation, at first just a chaste kiss, the mere promise of a touch. But the promise shattered too quickly. You pressed your lips against the warmth of his chest, feeling the way his muscles reacted to your touch.

Dave let out a sigh, a low sound that reverberated beneath your mouth, and you felt every minute response of his body as if conducting a real-time experiment. The way his abdomen tensed when your tongue traced a lazy path over his skin. The way his fingers tightened around your hip when your warm breath spread over his collarbone.

You knew the name of every structure moving beneath your lips.

The pectoralis major, firm under your hand when you held him, subtly contracting as your lips followed the path of the muscle fibers. The serratus anterior, tensing involuntarily as your fingers ghosted over his sides. The rectus femoris, which you felt harden beneath your hips as he adjusted under you, pressing you more firmly onto his lap.

Your fingers traveled downward, tracing the contour of his obliques until they met a line that always made you hold your breath. The transversus abdominis. The deepest muscle, the one holding everything together, the pathway to paradise that defined his body in a way that was almost criminal. You felt Dave tense beneath you, a rougher sigh slipping past his lips.

“Shit…” he exhaled, his voice low, and you smiled against his skin, your lips brushing lightly before placing a kiss right there, where the muscle still pulsed under your touch.

“I like this one,” you confessed, completely shameless, and felt his hands tighten around your waist as an involuntary response.

“I noticed,” Dave retorted, trying to sound casual but failing miserably when you pressed another kiss there, just to watch him react again.

The power you had over him was intoxicating.

And maybe that’s why you leaned in, unhurried, your mouth wandering over his abdomen, each kiss a new form of teasing. Dave was no longer just an anatomical study under your hands; he was alive, pulsing, a mess of heavy sighs and contracted muscles.

“You know you’re killing me, right?” he murmured, his voice laced with breathless laughter.

You lifted your gaze, your fingers still tracing the path your mouth had traveled. “I’m just studying.”

Dave let out a low sound, almost a suppressed groan, and you felt it when he finally gave up pretending any kind of resistance. His hands traveled up your back, firm and warm against your skin, and before you could anticipate his next move, he pulled you up.

His lips found yours with almost desperate precision, and you felt your own body dissolve into the exact pressure of the kiss, the perfect fit between the two of you.

He pulled back just enough for you to feel the warm breath against your mouth, for his eyes to capture the sharp gleam in yours.

“My turn,” he murmured, his fingers gliding up your waist, deliberately slow. “If you get to study me, I think it’s only fair I do the same.”

You didn’t have time to respond before he flipped your positions, proving that those muscles weren’t just for show, his body firm against yours, his mouth leaving a heated trail down the side of your neck. His lips brushed over the delicate curve, and you felt his breath grow heavier against your skin as he smiled, his fingers teasing the hem of your shirt. A firm touch, unhurried.

He wanted to savor this.

The fabric lifted slowly, the tips of his fingers tracing every inch of newly exposed skin, as if he were memorizing the path. You felt your own body react, a shiver running up your spine.

And then, your shirt slid down your arms and was discarded.

"You know the Fibonacci sequence is present in everything?" he asked, his voice low, like he was sharing a secret. "In the universe, in art… in the human body."

The shiver came before you even fully processed his words, your brain struggling to keep up with both the way his hands were exploring your body and the fact that he was talking about the Fibonacci Sequence.

Dave noticed. Of course he did.

He lifted his gaze, barely concealing his satisfaction, and let his fingers trail from the curve of your hip to the center of your abdomen, the touch so light it made you hold your breath.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this, and yet, something in his eyes, in the way they slowly traveled down your body, betrayed how utterly stunned he was.

You found yourself unable to say anything. The silence between you was electric, thick with everything that didn’t need to be spoken.

He was the first to break it.

"The Fibonacci spiral can be found in the shape of the eyes, the length of the bones, even in the proportions of the lips…" His voice was barely a whisper, his mouth hovering over yours without kissing you, as if giving you time to absorb every word. "But honestly?" He traced the outline of your lips with his thumb. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything follow that pattern as perfectly as you."

The air caught in your throat.

The intensity in his gaze left you unable to think, to form any coherent response. You tried—really, you did. But then Dave leaned in and pressed his lips to yours again, this time with a purpose that made your entire body forget any anatomical concept that had ever existed.

"You have no idea how attractive you sound when you talk like that," you murmured, your voice lower than you intended.

The corner of his mouth curved, slow. Almost dangerous.

"Like what?"

You swallowed hard. "Like… you’re analyzing me and liking what you see."

Dave let out a low, husky laugh, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leaned in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

"I'm not analyzing," he corrected, his hands sliding up your back, fingers tracing the warmth of your skin as if trying to commit every curve to memory. "I'm appreciating."

You had a second to process that—to feel your skin prickle under his touch, to drown in the heat, the overwhelming closeness—before Dave claimed your mouth again.

The kiss was hungry, slow and deep, and you felt the last remnants of restraint dissolve completely. Every touch of his left a trail of fire on your skin. The world outside the room ceased to exist—there was only this, only sensation, only the press of hands and the heat curling between you like something inevitable.

When he finally pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his gaze met yours, and his smile was soft but full of intent.

"Is this still part of your study?"

You couldn’t hold back your laugh, your chest rising and falling in a shaky breath. Your fingers traced along his collarbone, down to his shoulder, exploring the muscles still tense beneath his skin.

"Actually," you murmured, your gaze flickering to his lips before meeting his eyes again, "I think the theoretical part is over."

Dave tilted his head, his fingers dipping deeper along the curve of your waist.

"Good," he said, voice low. "Because I was really looking forward to the practical part."

[ikkyfics]

I'm the one who has to thank you for having such an incredible friend as you and Jesus, I LOVED this gift, I can't even put into words how much I love your work (and yes, I'm completely devastated because it deserved much more recognition) and this was no exception

“Mojito. Margarita. Negroni. Martini. Piña Colada. Cosmopolitan,” he pointed to each one, and at the end, he touched his own chest with a smile. “Alex.”

I want an alex ☝ please

English is not enough, my sincere CARALHO, COMO ISSO TÁ PERFEITO

𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓹𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

Love potions work and don't require magic. You just a charming bartender with a sugary smooth talk. tags n warnings: smut/mdni, bartender!alex x fem!reader, temperature play, licking, little dry humping as usual, drink kink, drunk sex. word count: 4.3k masterlist

@ikkyfics that video inspired the hell out of me, thank you for being my friend, this is for you. a little nasty, but it's a gift

It was your first time in a pub. Since your teenage years, you’d fantasized about it, maybe influenced by the romantic movies you watched. The space was small but cozy, with an almost secret charm, as if you had just discovered a cave filled with new sensations. The woody scent of the furniture blended with the perfume of alcohol and cologne, creating an inviting atmosphere.

You walked in, adjusting your outfit—perhaps a little too sophisticated for the occasion. You made your way to the bar, the sound of your heels softly echoing against the floor. The place wasn’t crowded, and you sighed in relief when you found an empty seat. You sat down, crossing your legs, the fabric of your clothes gliding over your skin.

Your gaze wandered around the bar, landing on one of the bartenders. He shook a cocktail shaker with skill, and the emerald liquid poured smoothly into the customer’s glass. It looked delicious; you found yourself making plans to try it later. The girl grabbed her drink and moved to a corner, leaving room for the curly-haired bartender to approach.

“Good evening,” he greeted you, his voice full of natural charisma. A charming smile played on his lips as he threw a towel over his shoulder. “What can I get for you tonight?”

“Good evening…” you replied, hesitating. The drinks you’d researched online vanished from your mind like locked characters in a game. You bit your lip before admitting, “Well… it’s my first time in a pub. I don’t know what to order.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “Lucky for you, it’s not crowded tonight.” With a corner smile, he quickly crouched down to grab something under the counter. “Here, this is the menu. If you want, I can make a few for you.”

“Would you do that?” you asked, your voice clearly full of expectation.

He shrugged, his response casual. “It’s fun. Look.”

Before you could answer, he was already in motion. You watched as he grabbed bottles and utensils, his movements precise and agile. There was something fascinating about the way he worked—like an alchemist mixing unknown potions, each ingredient transforming right before your eyes. The vibrant colors, the shine of the alcohol under the bar lights… it was almost hypnotic.

When he finished, he lined up six glasses in front of you, each with a unique color and composition.

“Mojito. Margarita. Negroni. Martini. Piña Colada. Cosmopolitan,” he pointed to each one, and at the end, he touched his own chest with a smile. “Alex.”

You laughed, surprised by the confidence with which he included himself on the “menu.”

“Are you on the menu?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, intrigued by the boldness and precision of his flirting.

“Does it bother you?” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes locked on yours as he dried his hands on the towel over his shoulder.

“No… just surprised.” You ran a hand through your hair in an automatic gesture, twirling a strand between your fingers.

“Years of practice in front of the mirror,” he joked, drawing an easy smile from you. There was something magnetic about him—an effortless charm that made everything around feel lighter.

“I recommend starting with the Piña Colada. It’s smooth, sweet, tropical.”

You stared at the decorated glass, the creamy tones looking inviting.

“Sounds interesting.”

“If you want something more refreshing, the Mojito is a good choice. Balanced, not too strong. Doesn’t hit you right away.” He chuckled, sliding two glasses toward you.

You made your choice and took a sip, your eyes widening at the burst of flavor. A satisfied sound escaped involuntarily from your throat, and Alex smiled with evident amusement. You wanted to drink it all at once, but he snapped his fingers in the air.

“Slow down, sweetheart. You don’t want to get a hangover on your first adventure.”

You laughed, setting the glass on the table, your tongue running over your lips to catch a remnant of the drink.

“Sorry, it’s just so good.” You grabbed a napkin to wipe the corner of your mouth, his gaze following your movements.

“Second round.” He leaned slightly forward, like a host about to reveal a prize. “Something stronger and more sophisticated. Margarita and Cosmopolitan. The best of tequila and vodka, with a fruity touch.”

“You make it sound so good,” you smiled, reaching for the next glass, ready for the next experience.

“It’s because I love Cosmopolitan. I know, it’s cliché. Sex and the City. But I put a double shot of vodka in mine.” He joked defensively, watching you sip the chosen liquid more gently this time, paying attention to every note.

“It’s strong,” you commented, lowering the glass and setting it on the table, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through your chest.

Alex raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You haven’t seen strong yet.” He picked up two glasses with darker colors and placed them in front of you. “Espresso Martini and Negroni. Dry, strong, citrusy.”

“Wow, you convinced me.” You laughed, impressed by his ability to make even a drink choice feel irresistible. Grabbing one of the glasses, you brought it to your lips more cautiously this time, allowing the liquid to burn slightly down your throat before swallowing.

"Yes. Just a second." He moved away casually, going to attend to a new customer—the woman who had just arrived at the bar.

You should just stick to your drink, but for some reason, it bothered you. There was no reason to feel a little pang in your chest, but you felt it anyway. A subtle bitterness, like an echo of that drink. Dry, strong, citrusy.

You shook your head, pushing away foolish thoughts. He was just doing his job. Deluded. Yes, definitely.

When Alex returned, his eyes scanned the glasses and landed on you, noticing that the level of your drink had dropped considerably.

"Someone really liked this drink," he joked, crossing his arms, the work towel still hanging on his shoulder.

You shrugged, feeling the warmth of the alcohol beginning to blur the line between rationality and impulse.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, watching you with a mix of amusement and caution.

"A little dizzy," you admitted, resting your elbow on the table to hide the slight instability.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head with a half-smile. "Too bad... I was hoping to have some fun with you."

The words escaped before you could filter them. "You still can."

Maybe it was the alcohol loosening your tongue, or maybe it was just the Alex effect on you.

He chuckled softly but shook his head. "I don’t like taking advantage of others." The smile he gave was polite, genuine. He grabbed your empty glasses and turned, walking to the back of the bar.

He was ethical, too. Men like Alex had been extinct, you were sure of it. But then, just before disappearing completely, he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"You know, you seem like a really cool person," he said, spinning the glass in his hands, thoughtful. "I have a solution for this."

"What?" You leaned slightly over the counter, intrigued.

"I’ll get like you," he said, grabbing an empty glass and mixing some drinks without even consulting a recipe. He brought it to his lips and downed it all at once. "My shift ends soon. By then, I should be starting to get a little tipsy."

You widened your eyes, letting out a surprised laugh. "Oh my God. You really are amazing."

Excited, you reached out to grab another drink, but he was quicker and moved the glasses out of your reach.

"That’s enough juice," he joked, swapping the drink for a pitcher of water and pouring you a glass. "Drink this. It’ll help."

"Fiiine…" you grumbled playfully before bringing the glass to your lips.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the magnetic effect of Alex, but you spent a long time smiling like a fool. You tried to hide it, covering part of your face with your hand whenever your gazes met. But it was useless. He noticed.

Every now and then, he’d take another small sip, just enough to keep him present at work, but noticeable enough that his energy started to shift. He laughed more, cracked more jokes. He became even more charming—if that was even possible.

When his shift finally ended, you felt a little more sober. He, on the other hand, was starting to look visibly cheerful, his posture relaxed and his smile more effortless.

"How’s it going?" He asked, circling the bar to meet you face-to-face.

You looked up, realizing just how tall he was.

And, up close, even more handsome.

"Wow, you’re gorgeous," Alex murmured, leaning in closer, his eyes scanning your face as if he wanted to memorize every detail.

The proximity lasted only an instant before he pulled back, letting out a nervous laugh and running his hand through his curly hair. "Oh my God, sorry. What am I doing?"

You laughed, the effect of the alcohol and his presence making everything easier, lighter. You grabbed his hands, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

"No. Come closer again."

Alex paused for a moment, as if processing your words, then smiled, interlacing his fingers with yours. Slowly, he brought your hand to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on your fingers. His soft laugh filled the space between you, and he tilted his head slightly, fascinated by the way a lock of your hair slid to the side with the movement.

"Come with me," he said, pulling you by the hand.

Without hesitation, you followed him, crossing a side door that led to a narrow staircase lit by dim yellow lights. He stumbled on the first few steps, laughing at his own slip, and you laughed too, holding his hand tightly until you reached the top.

Alex unlocked a door with a key, stepping inside first and glancing around before making space for you.

"Where are we?" you asked, surveying the cozy environment. It was small like the bar downstairs, but much more organized.

"My place," he smiled, spinning the key in the lock before tossing it into a bowl on a table.

"Above the bar?" You raised an eyebrow, surprised.

"Family business. I’m taking care of it while my parents are away." He stretched, his t-shirt riding up slightly, revealing a strip of pale skin and a provocative waist before he moved closer again. His hand found the small of your back, tracing a slow path to your waist.

"You’re full of surprises," you smiled, feeling a shiver where his fingers glided—firm, yet gentle.

He tilted his head, studying each expression of yours with that intense gaze. The flush on your cheeks gave away the warmth of the alcohol in your system, but there was something more there—something genuine.

"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?" he asked, his thumb giving a lazy massage to your waist.

"You did at the bar," you murmured, looking up and noticing how close your faces were. "But I still don’t know how to respond to that."

"Respond like this."

The whisper came before the touch. Alex closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours with the same softness as the Piña Colada you had tasted minutes earlier. But there was something more in his kiss—a mix of all the drinks in the world. A sweet, warm, slightly intoxicating touch.

And you wanted more.

The kiss slowly broke, neither of you wanting to leave that moment.

"Do you always kiss like that, or just when you’re drunk?" you joked, your face breaking into a smile that turned into a carefree laugh.

"I think getting drunk makes me a little desperate," he laughed, pressing another kiss against your lips. "I think I slobber a lot when I’m drunk. Is that bad for you?"

"You think you’re slobbering? Then I must be a fountain," you laughed, not hesitating to steal another kiss from him, using his arms as support to lean in.

“I like things a little wet.” He teased with a sideways smile and you knew exactly what he was talking about, judging by the hoarseness of his voice. “Have you ever had drunk sex?”

“No.” You said, feeling your heart race at Alex’s implicit suggestion. “Actually, I’ve never done what I’m doing now. Going up to the apartment of a bartender I just met.”

“Fuck.” He laughed, leaning his head against yours with more force than he planned, groaning in pain, smoothing his forehead. “My God, I must be really drunk. Sorry.”

“No plobrem. Pro. Prob. How do you say that word?” Your laughter became loud as you massaged your forehead. He took your hand away and kissed the spot, as an apology.

“I don’t invite a drunk to my apartment either.” He expressed, with an amused look through his brown eyes. “I enjoyed the experience with you. When I saw you I thought you were pretty, but in fact you’re ugly. No. Wait. It's the other way around. Beautiful. You. I thought you were beautiful. Holy shit. Forget everything I said now.”

Your bodies swayed with the sweet melody of laughter filling the room. Paying closer attention, it was noticeable that the bar still existed downstairs, small murmurs crackling beneath the floor and the firm chords of Glenn Miller sounding muffled from the speakers downstairs. You stifled your laughter. Alex did the same, trying to camouflage the smile that still insisted on marking his face.

“When I saw you arriving, I thought of offering you Love Potion.” He pondered, starting to sway his body to the light rhythm of Moonlight Serenade in a dance so eloquent to the melody of the song.

You inhaled deeply his perfume, the lingering scent of the extra shot of vodka in the special Cosmopolitan. “What made you think of that possibility?”

“Well… the first reason is because I love that drink. It’d be a perfect cliché to give you a love potion.” He beamed, lowering his hands to your hips to guide them closer to his pelvis, making you feel his aroused state discreetly. “Vodka. Peach liqueur. Cranberry juice and prosecco.”

“It looks delicious.” You hummed, your mouth opening slightly at the sensation of the light friction between the tissues. “And the second reason?”

“The drink is pink.” He smiled widely, laughing even before the answer that would follow was so comical and erogenous. “I would ask you nonchalantly: you know what else is pink? But I thought that would be sexual harassment.”

“You really think of everything, don’t you?” Your smile widened as you closed your eyes, waiting for Alex’s next kiss. His lips met yours with an almost lazy softness, as if he savored every second of the contact.

“I think about a lot of things.” He murmured against your mouth before pulling away just enough to watch your face. His thumb slid across your cheek, tracing a distracted path. “My mind never stops. I actually thought of something else for tonight while you were drinking.” 

His husky, casual tone sent a shiver down your spine. Alex placed one last peck on your lips before turning and starting to walk towards the kitchen. “Come here.” 

You followed him without hesitation, watching his every move as if trying to decipher his thoughts. He opened the refrigerator and began to take out some ingredients, his eyes focused on what he was doing. Rum. Strawberries. Lemon. Sugar. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, his hair messy, but still, he seemed to own every space around him. Washing his hands quickly, Alex grabbed a lemon and cut it in half with precision. Without a juicer, he improvised, holding the fruit over a glass and using the palm of his hand as a sieve to keep the seeds from falling out. The juice dripped slowly, the citrus aroma mixing with his already intoxicating smell.

The strawberries came next. He picked up a pestle, crushing the berries at the bottom of the glass with a controlled movement, his fingers firm around the wood. The sugar was added next, dissolving into the red mixture before he finally topped it all off with the amber rum.

You didn’t even realize you were biting your lip until Alex grabbed a few ice cubes and dropped them into the glass, the sound of the ice clinking against the glass. He looked up at you, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth when he noticed your expectant expression.

“Let’s head to my bedroom.”

His voice was low, almost an invitation, almost an order. Alex placed a hand on your waist, his touch warm even over the thin fabric of your clothes, and guided you to the bed without rushing, without letting go of you for a second.

When you reached the bedroom, he left the glass on the dresser, the ruby-colored liquid shining under the low light. Then, he turned to you, stopping for a few seconds to simply observe. His gaze traveled over every detail of you, as if he wanted to memorize your image.

He approached you again. This time, the kiss came slower, deeper. His mouth slid over yours with an almost torturous patience, his tongue tracing lazy paths, while one of his hands went up to the back of your neck, his fingers sliding through your hair. It was a kiss that felt like a long sip of something strong and addictive.

He pulled away briefly, his hands tugging at the hem of his own shirt before pulling it over his head in a carefree movement. The fabric slid easily, revealing skin warmed by the soft light of the room. Your eyes instinctively scanned his silhouette, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his skin as he tossed his shirt aside.

For some reason, that made you move too. Your fingers found the hem of your dress, and without thinking much, you pulled it up, feeling the fabric slide against your skin before falling onto the bed. Alex smirked at your gesture, but didn't say anything. He just picked up the glass from the dresser, bringing it to his lips for a slow sip. The clink of ice against the glass echoed through the room, and for a moment, your eyes fixed on the way he tasted the drink, the way his lips curved around the rim of the glass. 

Without looking away, he handed you the drink. The glass was now in your possession, the citrus and sweet aroma arriving before the liquid even touched your mouth. The fresh and slightly burning taste of rum slid across your tongue, the touch of the cold drink contrasting with the heat that your body was beginning to feel. 

A sudden need to settle down better took over you. As if the mattress was silently calling you, as if that moment demanded more surrender. Without hesitation, you lay down, feeling the weight of the bed adjust to your body. Alex just watched, his expression softening for a second, before leaning over you, his eyes filled with an intensity stronger than the rum itself.

“People do that at parties. It might be a little gross, but I’ve always wanted to try it.” He whispered against your mouth, his dark eyes fixed on yours as he pulled the dark jeans off your body. 

“What do they do?” You dared, biting your lip in anticipation, the excitement screaming inside your body. Alex bent down to kiss you quickly, smiling against your mouth before lifting a little and picking up the glass. 

He caught the ice in his mouth, keeping it in his cheek, returning with a lascivious look to your body. Leaning back down, you understood what that meant. The cold sensation spread to your neck. The ice locking an indescribable sensation in your collarbone. You couldn’t help but gasp, a shiver running down your spine as Alex began to slide the ice over your breasts, pulling your bra to the side. Taking the ice out of his mouth, he licked your nipple with his cold tongue, closing his eyes to memorize the sensation. There was no way to describe that feeling, you just allowed yourself to enjoy it, punishing Alex’s curls in your fingers.

“Was it bad?” He asked, standing up to glimpse his flushed, uneven face.

You bit your lip, wetting it before you started to speak. “No, it was… intense.” Your voice was thin as a moan, certain that Alex could see how wet you were and not just from the ice that was melting on your sternum.

“Wanna try?” He suggested, biting your shoulder.

“Yeah.” You purred, finding the strength to get up from the bed, sitting on your knees. You grabbed the glass and poured the sweet liquid down your throat, stopping for swallowing before savoring how it felt in Alex’s kiss.

You took the ice in your mouth and did the same step, sitting on Alex’s lap, his thick erection covered only by the thin fabric of his navy blue underwear. Placing the ice on your fingers, you slid your icy tongue down Alex’s flushed neck. He groaned, pulling your hips onto his lap, forcing them down.

Placing the ice back in your mouth, you went down to his chest, kissing the spot and sliding back down to his jaw. He grabbed your thighs in a stronger movement, not taking another second of teasing and kissing your mouth.

You broke the kiss quickly to remove the ice and kiss him hungrily, enjoying the hot and cold sensation. Alex pulled his cock out of his underwear impatiently, opening the drawer on the side of the bed and pulling out a condom, rapidly taking it.

Sliding the plastic around his cock, he pulled your panties to the side. You adjusted your position so he could stuff himself inside you. He pushed inside, groaning loudly when his entire length was inside your warm walls.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” ​​He whimpered, pulling his hips back and forth, his eyebrows knitted together as he looked at your sexes touching between the forgotten fabrics. “Your pussy is so damn good.”

He threw his head back, his fingers buried in the soft flesh of your bum. You leaned forward, humming as you felt the thickness touch your spot. Your eyes watering with overwhelming pleasure. Alex opened his eyes, grabbing the glass from the dresser again and pouring some of the drink on your neck, licking the sweet skin hungrily. You moaned louder, your hands going straight to his brown hair, pulling it with trembling hands. 

“Alex. God— This feels so good. I can feel it on my— Fuck.” You couldn’t finish a single sentence, your system only focusing on Alex’s cock abusing your needy pussy, swallowing the entire length without complaining. 

“Kiss me.” He pleaded and you nodded, chasing his sweet lips, sometimes breaking the kiss with uncontrollable moans and pants, his hands sliding and squeezing harshly between your neck and breast, incapable of controlling his body. 

“Alex— Alex…” The name escaped, like the only anchor at the moment, your eyes cloudy. Alex’s tongue circling yours, his hips starting to move against yours, the smacking sound of flesh echoing through the room. 

“That’s it. That’s it. Fuck, doll. If you keep talking like that, I’m going to—hmmmm—come too fast and not even enjoy your pussy.” He whined, the tip of his cock sensitive against your cervix, his balls starting to betray his approaching climax. “So perfect. Shit.”

“Yeah? Then come.” You begged kittenish, your hips uncontrollably moving against him, forward, sideways, backward, up, down. Your body screaming for orgasm you knew it’d be hard like any other you had before. “Alex—”

“Gonna cum, gonna cum.” He warned, embracing your shivering body, grounding his feet on the bed and starting to force his hips up and down harder. “I’m so fucking close.”

“Alex, please don’t stop. Shit, i’m cumming.” You whimpered, burying your face on his neck, loud moans tearing from your throat as he fucked your pussy without the slightest mercy, moaning nonsense in your ear, babbling brainless as he engorded your cunt. 

His thrusts became more uneven, out of rhythm. He shutted his eyes, your walls squeezing his cock making him roll his eyes and spill out the pleasure.

“Oh, Alex. No. Alex, it’s too much.” You protested, your thighs aching and shaking from the position. Alex kissed your disheveled face, prolonging the sensation even more.

“Shhh. Hold on—just a little longer, love. Hold on for me, go on.” He groaned, grabbing your hair, one last thrust being given as he felt the cum all released. You were still moaning when he was slowly stopping, feeling him soften inside you. “That’s it… That’s it, so good for me. You take me so well.”

He kissed your face, moving your messy hair to kiss you more intensely, a long, loving kiss. You reluctantly got off of him, feeling the emptiness return as he stood up and went to the bathroom to discard the stuffed condom. He came back to bed with a damp towel, drying the remaining liquid that was still on your neck and the sweat from your face.

“Better?” He asked, leaving the towel aside to lie down next to you.

“Yes. It couldn’t be better.” You smiled, settling into a caring hug in Alex's arms.

“Good. I guess the love potion worked.” He joked, pulling a sheet to cover your semi-naked bodies. “Although that wasn't a Love Potion. It was a Strawberry Daiquiri.”

“It worked. I loved it. Thanks for all the drinks.” You grinned, seeking Alex's contact closer, while he left gentle kisses on your forehead, turning to the side to hug you freely, letting the tiredness and the drink envelop you both in a deep and well-deserved sleep after so many experiences in the same day.