#A window table on the comings and goings.

[fireinmoonshot]

strawberry danishes | joaquin torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Joaquin Torres has a crush on the cute girl that comes to the coffee shop he frequents. Little does he know, you've been crushing on him too. He's never regretted eating a strawberry danish more than the day you finally come up to him and start a conversation. Warnings: TW for food/coffee etc. Word Count: 2.7k A/N: I saw Captain America: Brave New World last Friday and honestly I spent the entire time staring at Joaquin. I've loved him since TFATWS but I loved seeing more of him in this movie and I immediately wanted to write for him after but I was away for the weekend without my laptop, so literally as soon as I was home I knew I needed to start working on something for him. This was inspired by the song Coffee Cake by Benson Boone. I really hope you enjoy and please let me know if you guys want me to write more for Joaquin!

Joaquin Torres knew your coffee order before he even knew your name.

It wasn’t in a creepy way – he wasn’t stalking you or anything. The two of you just happened to frequent the same coffee shop. Whenever Joaquin was home, he had a routine of stopping by a local cafe by the park near his apartment for a coffee and a pastry after his morning run. The small cafe obviously had a place in your morning routine too.

The first time he saw you he couldn’t help but think about how gorgeous you were, and it wasn’t just the fact that the sun was shining through the window beside you, coating you in the warm, golden light. He was a fairly confident person but for some reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to approach you that day and talk to you.

He told himself that he’d do it the next time he saw you, but the next time you were in and out of the cafe so quickly he barely even saw you from his spot across the room, his mouth full of a bite of blueberry danish. 

Then, work called him away and he was gone for weeks. Any time he made himself a coffee over the next few weeks, he thought of you. He was fully aware that it was probably incredibly creepy of him to be doing so – he didn’t know the first thing about you, and you had no idea who he was – but he had a crush. He had to admit that to himself.

When he was back home, he looked forward to his morning coffee more than anything simply because of the chance that he might see you. Luck happened to be in his favour, too, as when he walked in and joined the line to order, you had lined up behind him. He had no idea, of course, until he’d ordered and stepped off to the side. The poor boy had almost choked on air itself when he turned to see you ordering after him. 

“Just an iced chocolate to-go, please,” you said.

It was the first time Joaquin had heard your voice and he was pretty certain that it was the actual sound of angels coming down from the heavens. He had to force himself to look away from you so he didn’t get caught staring. He was so stuck in his own head, focused on your beauty, that he didn’t even hear the barista calling his name and order out for collection. 

He felt a slight tap on his shoulder and looked down to see you looking up at him. 

“Hey,” Joaquin managed, his voice a little breathless. Oh, this was so embarrassing. The first thing he can think to say to you when you initiate a conversation with him and it’s hey? 

You pointed towards the counter. “I think that’s your order. The barista keeps looking at you when he’s calling out Joaquin.” 

Joaquin cleared his throat. “Oh, right. Thanks.” He chuckled awkwardly and moved to grab his coffee, planning to turn around afterwards and introduce himself properly. By the way, the name is Torres. Joaquin Torres. And what would your name be? Something beautiful, I’m sure. 

It was probably for the best that by the time he turned around – oblivious to the death stare the barista was giving him, irritated at having to shout his name out multiple times  – you had moved across the room to take a seat at a table by the window. Now it would just look weird if he was to walk all the way over to you and introduce himself. You’d excused yourself from the conversation. 

Disappointed, Joaquin took a sip of his coffee and forced himself out of the cafe, berating himself in his thoughts the whole way. It was only when he’d gotten back to his apartment that he realised he’d left behind the pastry that he’d ordered alongside his coffee. 

More time passed and Joaquin had been working so often he hadn’t had any time to get back to the cafe. He started to wonder if possibly this was all just nothing more than a silly crush on a passer-by. That maybe, you weren’t destined to say anything more than the words that you’d shared at the cafe that day a month ago. 

Joaquin wasn’t going to stop going by his favourite cafe though. If you spoke to him, of course he’d speak back to you. But he wasn’t going to go out of his way to talk to someone that clearly wasn’t as interested in him as he was in you, judging on your past interaction. 

He settled down at a table by the window, placing the plate containing his strawberry danish down in front of him. It wasn’t long before the staff brought over the coffee he’d ordered and he could dig into his danish without being interrupted. He’d missed these mornings while he’d been working. There wasn’t much else that filled him quite like the peace he had when he was in the cafe. 

He wasn’t watching the door when you walked into the cafe and went to order. He was too preoccupied with his danish, taking a rather large bite of it and almost moaning at the taste of it. There was nothing as good as a danish from this place, he was sure of it.

He was still too busy eating the danish to notice you walking over to his table, a plate of your own in your hands. It was only when he noticed someone stood beside the table that he looked up, swallowing the mouthful of danish – and luckily not choking on it as his eyes settled on you. He’d assumed it might have been another member of staff, maybe they’d given him the wrong coffee, but he had not expected you.

“You’re in my seat,” you said simply, looking down at the man and trying so hardly not to smile at the sight of him, sitting there looking up at you with wide eyes and sugar all around his mouth and even on the tip of his nose. 

Joaquin was lost for words and it took him a moment to find something to say. “You can sit here! I didn’t realise this was your seat. Do you want me to move? Hang on, let me just get this sugar off my hands and I’ll–”

“Hey, it’s fine. Really,” you smiled, pulling the chair out on the opposite side of the table and moving to sit down “You can stay here. Actually, I’ve kind of been waiting to have an excuse to talk to you, so thanks for sitting in my seat. Joaquin, right?”

He stared at you for a moment. “How do you know my name?” He didn’t even know your name, so how was it possible that you knew his? Unless you’d asked the barista about him… wait… you’d been waiting for an excuse to talk to him? Was his brain short circuiting? Was he dreaming? Surely he was dreaming. Under the table, he pinched the skin of his arm between his fingers… nope… not dreaming…

“Last time I saw you in here, you were spacing out and the barista was calling your name. I had to tell you that your order was being called,” you said, a little sheepishly. “I guess you don’t remember that.” Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all… he was cute, sure, but if he didn’t remember that, he clearly wasn’t as interested in you as you were in him.

Recognition sparked in Joaquin’s mind. “Oh, I do remember that! I wasn’t spacing out, I was just distracted by y– by something.” Admitting he was distracted by you was probably not the best way to start your first proper conversation. “But that makes sense now. I don’t know your name, though. I guess you listen more carefully when they call your order out.”

“I try my best,” you admitted, before introducing yourself to him properly. It was hard not to admit the fact that Joaquin was probably the cutest guy you’d ever seen, especially with the sugar on his face. “You, uh… you have some sugar on your face by the way. Here and here.” You motioned to the spots on your own face so he could tell where to wipe.

His eyes widened again as he grabbed for the napkin and started to wipe the sugar off.

“So, what were you distracted by that day?” You attempted to change the subject.

“Uhhhh…” Joaquin thought for a moment. “You know what? I actually can’t remember. It’s been a while, lots has happened between then and now, I guess.” He laughed a little. “Anyway, let’s not skip over what you said when you sat down – you’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to me? I’d like to know more about that, actually.”

He watched, intrigued and entirely enthralled by you, as you became slightly shy at his words. Like the ones you’d said had been spoken on accident and that you’d been hoping he wasn’t going to bring them up again. But if there was one thing you’d learn about Joaquin, it was that he was always going to bring up the things you thought you could forget.

“Okay, well… I’ve noticed you in the cafe a few times over the last few months and I figured we must both come here pretty often in the mornings for me to see you so often. And… well…” You trailed off, your eyes falling to the plate in front of you.

Joaquin leant forward. “You can’t just leave me on a cliffhanger.”

“I thought you were cute!” You admitted, probably a little louder than you should’ve. “I thought you were cute and I’ve been trying to get the courage to talk to you ever since I first saw you. But you haven’t been in here for a while and the last time I saw you, I chickened out of having an actual conversation with you and ran away.”

It took every part of your strength not to get up and leave the table straight away out of sheer embarrassment. Admitting to a total stranger that you thought they were cute was not the kind of thing that you usually did. But something kept drawing you to Joaquin and today you’d just been given the perfect opportunity to do something about it.

You couldn’t meet his eyes for a while, meaning you missed the look of shock on his face and the way his face gradually broke out into a smile of disbelief. You thought he was cute? He thought you were cute! Luck had somehow been on his side today.

“You think I’m cute?” Joaquin replied, a smirk on his lips and the confidence he’d been missing over the last few months whenever he was around you returning immediately. 

Your eyes flickered up to his, surprised to see that he actually seemed to be happy about it. “Well, yeah…” 

Joaquin couldn’t keep the stupid smile off his face. “I swear I’m not just saying this, but I’ve been trying to get the confidence to talk to you, too. I’m a confident guy but for some reason, every time I’ve seen you in here I suddenly become the least confident man on earth.” 

You didn’t doubt his words. They seemed completely truthful and you knew right away that Joaquin was not the kind of guy to lie to you. He was inherently honest. 

“I haven’t been in here for a while cause of work,” Joaquin continued. “I’m in the Air Force. Means I’m not home too often, so I make the most of it when I am.” He decided to leave out the part about him practically being an Avenger. That was something he could ease you into. He had a feeling that dropping the whole Oh yeah, by the way I’m also the new Falcon would scare you off more than intrigue you.

“Well, that explains why I haven’t seen you lately,” you nodded. “So, you just come here for breakfast when you’re in town?”

He nodded. “I have a bit of a routine of a coffee and a danish after my morning run. I’m pretty glad that I do now, especially since you came to talk to me today. Even if I had sugar all over my face and embarrassed the hell outta myself when you did.” 

Joaquin was pretty sure he was never going to live that down. It was certainly something that Sam Wilson was never going to hear about or he would tease him about it for the rest of his life, he was sure of that. 

You laughed. “Okay, but the sugar on your face was actually kind of cute, and if I knew you better I would have just wiped it off for you instead of embarrassing you by telling you so you had to do it yourself.”

“Why don’t we get to know each other better then?” Joaquin saw his chance and took it. “Let me take you out on a date, somewhere that isn’t this coffee shop and somewhere I won’t eat something that covers my face in sugar. What do you say?”

He was pretty confident that you were going to say yes, especially when he saw your lips curl into a smile. He could almost see the cogs turning in your mind as you tried to figure out what to say to answer him. 

“C’mon, let me take you out. I promise I’m not some kind of creep – and yes, I’m well aware that is exactly what someone who is a creep would say – but I’m really not,” he laughed. “All I am is a guy who’s been crushing on the cute girl who keeps coming into my coffee shop and trying to convince myself to talk to her.”

“Okay, okay – fine, I’ll go on a proper date with you,” you agreed, unable to keep it in any longer. Watching him try and convince you was so incredibly endearing but you couldn’t keep him waiting when he was clearly so eager to take you out.

Joaquin grinned. “So… can I pick you up at 7, then?”

“Tonight?” 

“You got other plans?”

You shook your head. “No, I just didn’t expect you to be so quick with it.”

“Well, with my job, I could be gone tomorrow and I feel like we’ve already wasted enough time, don’t you? I mean… we’ve both liked each other for months without knowing a single thing about each other apart from our coffee orders. I’d like to change that,” he admitted.

“All right,” you agreed with a nod. “You’ll pick me up at 7. But right now, I am going to eat this pastry that’s been sitting here in front of me the whole time and I’ll let you finish your danish cause after all, you did steal my seat and I did come here to eat some breakfast.”

Joaquin chuckled and picked up his danish again. “You promise to tell me if I get sugar all over my face again?”

“Maybe,” you grin. “Like I said, you looked pretty cute with sugar all over your face.”

He shook his head and took a bite of his danish. He’d thought he wasn’t going to live this down if Sam ever found out about it, but he hadn’t counted on you being one to keep reminding him about it. But… you found it cute, so Joaquin was pretty sure he could live with that… hearing you calling him cute. 

You smiled to yourself as you watched him bite into the danish and end up with sugar on his face again. It wasn’t everywhere like it had been before but it was on the corner of his mouth. 

He looked over at you. “I have sugar on my face again, don’t I?”

“You trying to get me to tell you that I think you’re cute again, Joaquin?” 

“Can you blame a guy for liking the fact that a pretty girl thinks he’s cute?”

Smiling, you reached over and swiped your finger over the corner of his mouth, removing the sugar from it. You almost laughed at the way Joaquin froze and the look of shock on his face. He was pretty sure he’d just died and gone to heaven, actually. 

“You just had a little bit of sugar there,” you hummed, picking your own danish up.

Joaquin let out a long, shaky breath. Who knew a strawberry danish could be so dangerous?

[azzibuckets]

All Fell Down ~Part 4~

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

*masterlist with @imaginespazzi

Paige pretends not to notice the looks her teammates exchange when she stumbles back to the group and tells them that Azzi is coming to pick her up. She swallows her embarrassment when they all quietly agree to take turns keeping an eye on her in the booth while she waits. She doesn’t know how she’s going to face her team again after her behavior tonight, but it’s a problem for tomorrow. All Paige can think about now is what she’s going to say when she sees Azzi again.

Time seems to tick backwards in the ten minutes that Paige waits, slumped over the table with her face buried in her arms. Half conscious and inebriated, she can’t remember if her conversation with Azzi over the phone had been real or a fragment of her imagination. She’s almost asleep when she hears shuffling feet followed by low murmurs.

All of a sudden, she can smell Azzi’s perfume, can hear the sound of her voice. Looking up, Paige blinks sleepily as Azzi’s face sharpens into her vision. The warmth of Azzi’s hands cupping her face makes her eyes flutter shut as she relishes the feeling of Azzi’s touch for the first time in weeks. Azzi gently swipes her thumb over her cheek before nodding to Olivia. “I got her.”

As soon as Olivia retreats, the air between them seems to thicken. They stare at each other for a half second, before Paige abruptly grabs her purse and gets up, stumbling in the process. Azzi’s hands shoot to her waist, intending to steady Paige but instead making her head spin with the feeling of the younger girl’s fingers tightening around her waist.

“You always get me right.” Paige whispers into Azzi’s hair, letting her mouth brush ever so slightly against the nape of her neck.

Paige almost sees Azzi shiver, but it’s indecipherable and Azzi recovers quickly. Shaking her head, her mouth pulls into a frown. “You’re drunk, Paige,” she says simply. “Let’s go.”

In the passenger seat, Paige crosses her arms over chest and rests her forehead against the window. “You’re disappointed in me.”

Azzi inhales slowly. “I never said that.”

“I can see it in your eyes.”

The muscle in her jaw tightens. “What does that even mean?”

“I’m your best friend. I can read you like a book.”

“Best friend, huh?”

Paige’s voice falters. “What?”

“Best friend, my ass. Someone wouldn’t ignore their best friend for two fucking weeks.”

“That’s not fair.”

Azzi brakes a little harder than she needs to. “Do you want me to apologize?”

“Apologize?” Paige’s voice is scratchy in the way that it is when she’s trying not to cry. “For what?”

“Hell if I know.” Azzi slams her hands against the wheel. She takes a second to catch her breath, composing herself before she says something she regrets. “Look, whatever I did, I’m sorry, okay?” Azzi inhales sharply, as if she’s suffocating and fighting for her last breath of air. “I don’t know what I did to make you so angry at me, but whatever it is, I’m sorry.” She turns her face away, swiping angrily at her eyes. “You think I haven’t noticed that you can’t even stand to be in the same room with me anymore? Every time I enter, your face fucking falls like you can’t even stand to be in the same conversation as me. And it fucking hurts, Paige, because you’re my best friend.” Her voice catches. “You’re my best friend and I love you and I don’t know why we’re falling apart.”

It feels like a sucker punch to Paige’s gut. “Azzi, stop the car.”

“What?”

“Az, please pull over.”

Azzi pulls over to the curb, her fingers tapping anxiously on the wheel. Paige steps out, goes over to the driver side and flings open the door, and in a flurry, Azzi’s stepped out of the car and is pressed against the door. Paige hovers over the younger girl, mouth centimeters from hers.

For a moment, they stay still, holding their breaths, both of them afraid to shatter the moment between them, shatter the remnants of their friendship. But Azzi, with her slightly mussed hair and her soft eyes, her full lips and the stress line in her eyebrow, is utterly intoxicating, and Paige can’t help but press her mouth to Azzi’s, her teeth biting at the softness of her bottom lip. She moves gently at first, but when Azzi lets out a breathy moan, it turns something in Paige feral, and she slides her hand around the waistband of her low-hanging sweats, thumbs pressing into the dip of her bare hipbones.

Paige is touching Azzi and tasting Azzi and oh my god is this what it feels like to be alive? Because Paige has been living for 20 years but if this is what being alive is like then maybe kissing Azzi is what it feels like to take her first breath.

Azzi’s hand curls around Paige’s neck, the other cupping her jawline, bringing her impossibly closer before her rationale gets the best of her and she forces herself to step away. “Paige.”

The blonde groans as Azzi takes her hands and removes them from her waist. The dark haired girl stuffs her own hands into her pockets, as if she needs to physically restrain herself from touching Paige. “You fucked me and you left me alone in my bed the next morning. Then for weeks you ignore me, only to call me when you’re drunk off your ass to kiss me and fuck with my feelings again.”

“It wasn’t fucking. Please don’t call it that.” Paige can barely even think, her heart careening out of control. She’s high off the feeling of Azzi’s bare skin on hers, overwhelmingly nervous with anxiety over the future of their relationship. Yet she can’t bring herself to regret a single thing she did in the last few minutes, because now that she knows what it feels like having Azzi’s mouth move against hers, softly panting into her ear, she knows she has to experience it again.

“Then what was it? Because the way you left like it meant nothing made me feel like another one of your one night stands. I’ve put up with you being with other girls, but I’m not going to let you treat me like one. I deserve more than that.”

“I’m sorry,” Paige says, and as soon as the apology comes out of her mouth she knows it’s not enough, and it’s not what Azzi wants to hear.

Azzi looks away, and she looks so astonishingly beautiful in the moonlight that Paige’s heart hurts. “You only ever touch me like this when you’re drunk. I’m not an idiot, Paige.”

Paige’s eyes close. “I keep hurting you.” Her voice is throaty. “I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

Azzi smiles wryly. “Then maybe stop stringing me along.”

“I’m not-,” Paige cuts herself off. She doesn’t know what to do with this new epiphany, that she’s not good enough for kind, lovely, sweet Azzi, and she never will be. Azzi deserves the world, and Paige can’t give her any of it. “I can’t do this for you. I can’t be this for you.” She stumbles over her words, her breath strangled as if her lungs are collapsing on themselves.

“Paige.” Azzi’s eyes soften, and she brushes her hand over the older girl’s shoulder, her movements hesitant as she realizes how close Paige is to losing all control. “It’s okay. You’re drunk. You need to sleep. Let me take you back to your apartment.”

“I don’t wanna go back there,” Paige is crying now. “I wanna be with you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Azzi’s hands are on her cheeks again, her touch feather light. Paige tilts her head against her palm, leaning into her warmth, and Azzi smiles sadly before tiptoeing to press a kiss to her temple. “We’re gonna be okay,” she says, but it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than Paige.

[honeyncherry]

we never tell - joe burrow

summary who could blame you? the night before thanksgiving was never meant to be innocent — especially not when the boy you’ve known forever looks at you like he’s already decided to ruin you

content 18+, smut, language, alcohol

prev

The bar is loud. Too loud. Voices crash over each other, music shaking the walls, laughter splintering through the chaos. The air swirls with spilled beer, sweat, and cheap perfume. A cocktail of regret already in the making. It all clings to you, settling within your skin. 

The heat inside is nearly unbearable, a sharp contrast to the biting Ohio cold just beyond the fogged-up windows.

You push through the crowd, brushing past bodies pressed too close together, faces blurring under the neon glow. Familiar ones. Unfamiliar ones. Ones you hoped you’d never see again.

Same bar, same people, same exhausting routine playing out like clockwork.

You don’t usually look forward to this night — this annual reunion of your hometown’s finest washed-up athletes, ex-prom queens, and guys who still bring up their glory days at state championships like they happened yesterday.

But it’s tradition.

And tradition says you show up, smile when people ask about the semester thus far, dodge questions about your major, sip overpriced drinks, and pretend you care about who got engaged or knocked up this year.

This is only your second Blackout Wednesday.

Sophomore year means you’re not a newbie anymore, but you’re not a regular either. You know the drill now. The way the bartenders barely glance at the fake IDs slid across the counter, even though they grew up with half the people using them.

You’ve watched guys you went to elementary school with order rounds of shots like they didn’t once throw up grape juice in the cafeteria. Girls who used to sneer at you in the hallways now drunkenly grabbing your hand in the bathroom, slurring about how much they "missed you soooo much."

It’s all fake. A well-rehearsed play where everyone pretends they aren’t counting down the minutes until they can escape this town again.

Still, you’re here.

Because what else is there to do?

You’re halfway through your first drink when you see Joe.

It shouldn’t be surprising, Thanksgiving means everyone comes home. 

Home from his first year at LSU, taller and broader, shoulders filling out the long-sleeved black shirt stretched over his frame. He looks different, but not in a way that makes you stare, more in a way that makes you double-take.

You remember when he was deciding where to go after graduating OSU. The transfer talk had stretched through the beginnings of the year, the same names cycling through every conversation your brother and his friends had at the house. North Carolina? Nebraska? Alabama?

And then it happened:

Cincinnati.

Your head had perked up. Just slightly. Just enough for you to feel stupid about it later.

It wasn’t like it would’ve meant anything. It wasn’t like you would’ve seen him, not really. The University of Cincinnati was huge and you were wrapping up your freshman year. You weren’t sure why it even mattered. Why, for a brief second, the idea of your worlds overlapping for the first time beyond family ties, felt like something worth entertaining.

But then, suddenly, it wasn’t a thought at all.

Because LSU happened.

And when his family held that small going-away gathering, there was no red and black in sight. No UC decorations, no Bearcat colors bleeding into the napkins or tablecloths. Just purple and gold. Bold, glaring, almost mocking.

You remember standing in front of the dessert table, staring at royal frosting of all things like it had personally insulted you.

Some nights, when the dorm was too quiet and your phone screen was the only light in the room, you’d find yourself typing his name into Google. Just once. Just to check.

Never interest. Never anything more.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

It wasn’t hard to keep up. LSU was making noise, and so was he. His name started popping up in articles, on Twitter, tucked into game recaps with words like poised and potential thrown around like confetti. You’d skim them, half-engaged, never needing to look too hard because if you didn’t see his name online, you’d hear it from your mom.

"Robin says Joe’s adjusting well down there…" she’d mention casually, somewhere between asking if you needed more laundry detergent and updating you on which neighbors had finally sold their house.

Sometimes, she’d go on. He really likes Baton Rouge… Jimmy says the coaches are impressed… Robin says they miss having him around.

But sometimes, she wouldn’t.

And when enough time passed without a mention, without hearing his name tucked neatly into conversation like it had always been, you’d find yourself searching again.

Just to know.

And then you’d close the tab, lock your phone, roll over in bed, and never think about it again.

Until now.

Because now, he’s here, standing in the middle of your hometown bar like he isn’t creeping into conversations, like his name isn’t slipping into headlines, like he isn’t the reason some guy at the other end of the counter is repping purple and gold instead of Bengals orange.

He’s different. Or maybe it’s just that, for the first time, you’re seeing him as something other than the annoying older boy who was always there, easy to roll your eyes at and even easier to ignore.

You look away.

It doesn’t matter.

Or at least, it shouldn’t.

But something lingers. The kind of awareness that prickles along your skin, that makes your fingers tense around your drink, that keeps your shoulders squared even as you force yourself to focus on something else.

He’s not looking at you.

Not that you can tell.

But you can feel him.

Somewhere past the crush of people near the bar, past the bodies leaning against sticky tabletops, past the haze of smoke and too-loud music and bad decisions waiting to happen: he’s there.

And maybe it’s just in your head, it could be nothing. Maybe it’s that he’s familiar, but not in the way he used to be.

Because you know the set of his shoulders, the way he pushes his hand through his hair when he’s thinking, the way his jaw tenses when he’s listening but not speaking.

You know him without knowing him.

And yet, the weight of his presence is pressing into you like a hand at the small of your back.

You huff and try to shake it off.

"Bathroom?" one of your friends says beside you, looping her arm through yours before you can respond.

You let her pull you along, weaving through the throng of people, past someone attempting to order another round, past a couple making out against the wall like they’ve forgotten they’re in public.

The bathroom is a war zone, as expected.

Girls pressed together in front of the mirrors, smudging eyeliner with unsteady hands, fixing lipstick that’s already faded from stolen kisses and mixed drinks. Strangers throwing compliments like candy: oh my god, your hair looks amazing and I love your dress, where’d you get it? whispered between girls who wouldn’t acknowledge each other outside of tonight.

You slip into a stall, locking the door, leaning against it for just a second.

The bass vibrates through the walls. The distant hum of voices, the occasional burst of laughter. You inhale deeply, steadying yourself.

It’s fine. 

You’re fine.

And if you say it enough times, maybe you’ll believe it.

By the time you wash your hands and step back into the crowd, your drink is gone, condensation leaving a damp circle on the table where you left it. Your friends have drifted toward the dance floor, the blur of movement and music swallowing them whole.

You decide on another drink, pushing your way toward the bar and waiting your turn only for someone to shove past at the last second, slamming a twenty onto the counter and barking out their order over the noise.

Your eyes narrow. Brandon Wilkes.

Of course it’s him. Always cutting ahead, always acting like he was owed something. You roll your eyes and shoot him a glare, resisting the urge to call him out. Some things never change.

"Didn’t think I’d see you here."

The words slip through the noise — smooth like they belong there.

Your breath catches. A pause, just long enough for recognition to crawl up your spine.

Joe.

Closer than before, the sharp angles of his face softened by dim lighting, his eyes flickering with something unreadable as they settle on yours.

You swallow, tilting your chin slightly. "Didn’t think I’d see you either."

His lips twitch. Not quite a smile, but something close. "Guess we’re all bound to make a few questionable decisions tonight."

You nod, shifting your weight onto your other foot. "Wouldn’t be Blackout Wednesday without a little regret."

Joe huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Regret, huh?"

"Regret," you confirm.

His eyes flicker down to your empty hand, then back up, considering. "What are you drinking?"

It’s not a question, more like a next move.

You hesitate for a second before giving him the answer.

Before you can even think about ordering yourself, Joe lifts a hand, barely even a motion, and the bartender is there in an instant. Of course.

You bite back a scoff as she leans in, all too eager, but Joe doesn’t so much as glance at her. Just gives your order, smooth and easy, like it was never up for debate.

And just like that, the bartender slides a fresh drink across the counter, and Joe beats you to it, picking it up before you can reach for it.

Your fingers brush when he hands it to you.

And it’s nothing.

But it’s also not.

You take a sip, watching him over the rim of your glass. "Trying to get me drunk, Burrow?"

His smirk deepens. His tongue flicks over his bottom lip, quick, unconscious. He leans in just slightly, just enough to see if you’ll move. "Don’t think you need my help with that."

Your stomach flips and you hate that it does. You hate the way your body reacts before your mind can catch up. The way the bar suddenly feels too warm, the noise fading into something distant, like nothing else matters except the inches of space between you.

It’s reckless. It’s stupid.

It’s inevitable.

One drink turns into two.

Two turn into stolen glances, subtle but unmistakable. A slow, unraveling pull that neither of you acknowledge out loud.

The brush of his arm against yours, the warmth of his skin radiating through the fabric of your sleeves. The way your conversations slip into something easier than they should be, like you’ve done this before, like you’ve always known how to hold a conversation between each other.

And then a touch.

A simple thing, really.

It’s subtle at first, fingers grazing the fabric of your shirt like a passing thought, something fleeting and unintentional. But then he doesn’t move away. Instead, his hand sticks, settling against your waist, his thumb brushing over your side in a way that feels effortless but also like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away.

He leans in, voice low, threading through the noise of the bar like it belongs there. His breath is warm against your skin, steady, even, completely at ease. The conversation around you dissolves into background static, something distant and irrelevant, because suddenly, this is the only thing you can focus on. 

Your breath catches, you glance up, and that’s the moment everything shifts.

Because when you meet his gaze, when you catch the flicker of something dark, something hungry in his expression, you know.

And so does he.

All you can hear is the low thud of the bass and the shallow breath you take in when Joe shifts closer, when the heat of him presses into your side. His palm flexes just slightly, enough for you to feel it, enough to make your stomach tighten.

And then he leans in.

Slow. Unhurried. Like he’s savoring the moment before it happens.

His breath is warm against your skin when he speaks, just for you. "You gonna stop me?"

You should.

You know you should.

You should think about what happens after this, about how easy it would be to fall into something that was never meant to be.

But you don’t.

Your body betrays you first, tilting toward him, your fingers brushing his forearm where it rests against the bar. His jaw tenses at the contact, his fingers curling tighter against you, his head tipping down just slightly, just enough for his lips to hover above yours. 

His eyes flicker, searching yours, asking a question without saying a word.

And you answer by not moving away.

It would be so easy.

So easy to close the gap. So easy to give in, to let this spiral into something neither of you can take back.

But then—

A sharp burst of laughter, too close, too jarring, snaps you back into reality. A body stumbles into Joe’s back, jostling both of you just enough to break the moment. The spell fractures, and you blink, breath catching in your throat as the bar crashes back into focus. It’s loud and crowded. Filled with too many people, too many eyes.

Joe’s gaze flicks past you, scanning the room. His fingers squeeze once more against your skin before he pulls back. "Come on," he murmurs, barely audible over the noise. 

Your pulse pounds as he nods toward the door. You hesitate for less than a second before following behind him, glancing over your shoulder and realizing everyone is too busy to notice the two of you leaving together.

The air outside is crisp, sharp against your flushed skin, but it does nothing to cool you down. Joe walks ahead, his pace slow and measured like he’s thinking. Like he’s trying not to think. 

The parking lot is mostly empty, just a few cars left. You recognize his truck instantly, parked toward the back under a flickering street lamp and distant from the other cars.

He stops beside the driver’s side, one hand gripping the handle, the other resting against his side. He exhales, his breath visible in the air and his head tips back slightly before he looks at you.

It’s different out here.

No music to drown out your thoughts. No crowd to get lost in. Just the sound of the wind, the distant hum of traffic, the weight of his stare. The space between you feels bigger now, stretched thin by the cold and the quiet. More time to think. More time to overthink.

His gaze locks onto you like he’s seeing something he can’t turn away from and that makes his jaw shift, fingers twitching at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to move, to close the last bit of space between you.

But then he does.

A step forward. Then another.

His hand lifts, fingertips grazing your wrist first, barely there, before slowly sliding up the length of your arm. His palm finds your waist, the same way it had inside, only now there’s nothing stopping him.

His lips part like he’s about to say something, but instead he dips his head, his nose brushing along your temple before his mouth finds your jaw. The first drag of his lips is barely a kiss, more of a test, a question traced against your skin to make sure this is real.

Like he needs you to know that this is happening.

"Tell me you want this."

The words come out against the soft skin beneath your ear. His lips linger, moving slowly, tracing a path down your jaw, stopping just at the corner of your mouth.

Your body answers before you do. Your fingers tighten into the fabric of his shirt, your breath hitching and head tilting slightly, giving him more. Giving into him.

"Tell me." His pulse hammers beneath your touch, a steady, thrumming beat against your palm as your hands slide higher, over his shoulders, curling around the back of his neck. Joe exhales sharply, the sound making it seem like he’s barely holding himself together.

You don’t answer him with words.

You tilt your chin up, closing the space between you, pressing into him until there’s nothing left but heat. Your lips part, hovering just close enough that you can feel his breath mix with yours, can feel the way he’s waiting, hanging onto the moment like he needs it just as badly as you do.

And then, he gives in.

His mouth crashes against yours, a searing pull that steals the breath from your lungs. His fingers tighten at your waist, flexing like he’s making sure you don’t slip away, like letting go isn’t an option. 

The kiss starts slow, but it doesn’t stay that way. Not when your nails scrape lightly against the nape of his neck. Not when he groans against your lips, the sound low and raw, before his grip tightens, his other hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you into him.

He pulls you closer and closer until there’s nothing left between you but heat and the undeniable weight of whatever this is. His tongue slips past your lips, deepening the kiss, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes you, the sound swallowed by his mouth. 

His hands are everywhere; on your waist, your back, your hips — all like he can’t decide where to touch you first, like he’s trying to memorize every curve of your body.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling with each labored breath. His eyes search yours, "get in the truck." 

You don’t hesitate. You climb into the backseat, the leather cold against your hands, but you barely notice. Joe follows, his movements quick and borderline impatient as he shuts the door behind him. The space is intimate, the windows already fogging up from the heat of your bodies.

Joe’s hands are on you again, laying you down gently while his fingers sliding underneath the hem of your top. His lips find yours once more, his kiss harder this time, more demanding. You can feel the need in him, the way he’s holding back, the way he’s trying to keep control. 

But when your hands slide down his chest, feeling the hard lines of his body through the fabric of his shirt, he groans against your lips, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. "You’re driving me fucking crazy.” His hands slither up your thighs, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans.

"Do something about it," you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears it. His eyes darken, his jaw tightening. Before you can say anything else, he’s pulling your jeans down, his hands rough but careful, like he’s afraid of breaking you.

A flicker of self-consciousness washes over you, but it disappears as quickly as the heat of his body sinks into you, settling himself between your legs. His hands caress your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. "Couldn’t stop looking at you all night,” he mutters, almost to himself.

You can feel the hardness of him pressing against you, the sensation stealing the air from your lungs. You lift up to capture his lips, nipping at him, unable to stop the way your hips instinctively arch to meet him. Your body moves on its own, desperate for more.

Joe’s breath hitches, his lips trailing a path of fire as they move lower, scattering kisses across your collarbone. His hands, calloused yet gentle, slide up your sides, pushing the fabric of your top higher until your skin is exposed to the chill of the truck’s interior. But you can’t feel the cold, not when his touch burns hotter than anything else.

“So soft,” he murmurs, his voice almost reverent as his fingers trace the curve of your waist. His touch is slower now, as though he’s savoring every inch of you. His lips follow, kissing a line down your sternum, his breath warm against your skin.

You shiver, your hands tangling in his hair and urging him closer. His name escapes your lips in a whisper, a sound that seems to ignite something deep within him. He groans, the vibration of it sending a jolt through you.

His eyes flick up to yours, and for a moment he just watches. His chest rises and falls with the same urgency that’s coursing through your veins, and then, without a word, he lowers his head again, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your panties.

Your back arches, a soft gasp escaping you as his hands move up your thighs, his fingers hooking into the lace and sliding them down. His touch is teasing as if he’s testing your limits.

When his lips finally meet the heat between your legs, you nearly cry out. His mouth is warm, his tongue sliding against you in a slow, skilled motion that has your fingers tightening in his hair. He’s relentless, his movements measured yet unwavering as though he’s determined to unravel you completely.

“Jesus—” he chokes out your name, his voice muffled against you. “Taste so good,” the vibrations of his words send a shiver up your spine. His hands grip your hips and hold you in place as his tongue circles that one sensitive spot, driving you closer to the brink with every flick, every stroke.

You can feel the tension building, coiling tight in your core, but Joe doesn’t let up. His pace quickens, his tongue moving faster, more urgently, until you’re gasping for air, your hips bucking against him.

“Joe, I—I can’t—” you stammer, your voice breaking as the pleasure crests, threatening to overwhelm you.

But he doesn’t stop. His hand trails up, fingertips skimming over your stomach, teasing, exploring, until he reaches the lace of your bra. There’s no hesitation, just an easy push of the cup, baring you to him. His thumb grazes over your nipple before he pinches, rolling it between his fingers, his grip firm, possessive.

The sensation sends a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your belly as the sharp edge of pleasure tightens, unraveling the last threads of restraint. Your body tenses, a cry slipping from your lips as the wave builds, crests, and crashes over you, leaving you trembling beneath him.

Joe doesn’t stop — not yet. His mouth still moves against you, coaxing out every last shudder, every last breathless moan. His hands hold you steady, his grip firm, grounding, as if he’s keeping you tethered to him while you fall apart.

When he finally pulls back, his lips glisten and he watches you — really watches you. For a split second, something flickers in his eyes. Guilt? Hesitation? Regret?

But then it’s gone.

His gaze darkens, hands sliding up to frame your face, thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles over your cheeks. Like he needs you to feel it, to feel him. To know he’s here.

And then he moves.

His body presses flush against yours, the heat of him searing through the layers still between you, his length hard and insistent against your thigh. The thought, the uncertainty, dissolves beneath the weight of him, beneath the way his mouth finds yours in another kiss, deeper this time, hungrier.

You taste yourself on his tongue, and the sound that leaves you is nothing short of desperate. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, gripping, pulling, needing more.

Joe groans, the sound reverberating between you as his hips roll forward, grinding against you, the friction sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through you. His breath shudders against your lips, his hands tightening where they hold you, like he’s just as lost in this as you are.

“Please,” you beg, your voice trembling with need.

Joe hesitates, his eyes locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering in their depths. His jaw tenses, his breath uneven, and then he nods, his fingers curling around the waistband of his jeans. The sound of his zipper is deafening in the quiet of the truck, each metallic click sending another pulse of anticipation through you.

And then he’s there, guiding himself to you, his breath catching as he pushes inside.

A sharp gasp escapes you, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in as he stretches you, inch by excruciating inch. He goes slow, like he’s savoring every second, his forehead pressing against yours when he finally sinks all the way in. His body shudders against you, “you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his voice rough, almost pained.

Your fingers twitch against his skin, needing more, needing to feel him. You reach for his shirt, bunching the fabric, pushing it up just enough to reveal the solid warmth of his stomach, the defined ridges of his abdomen. Your palms slide over him, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips, the way his muscles tense under your touch.

He grunts at the contact, his body responding instantly. His hips shift, just slightly, but the movement is enough to have you whimpering, your legs tightening around his waist, pulling him deeper.

That’s all the encouragement he needs.

His grip on your hips tightens as he starts to move, slow at first, dragging every thrust out like he wants to commit this to memory. But it doesn’t last, his control frays too quickly and soon, he’s driving into you with a force that steals the air from your lungs.

The sounds between you; his breath, ragged and uneven, the wet slap of skin against skin, the soft creak of leather beneath you, fill the small space, drowning out the world beyond the truck.

Every thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you, every noise he makes only fuels the fire burning inside you. His hands roam, gripping, teasing, pushing you closer to the edge until it’s too much, until the pleasure coils so tight you feel like you might snap.

“Joe, I’m—” The words are barely out before he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that has your vision blurring, your body bowing into him, every thought dissolving into pure sensation.

He groans, his pace quickening, his thrusts turning rougher, more desperate, his breath hot against your skin. “C’mon,” he rasps, voice thick with need. “Let me feel it.”

And you do.

Your body tightens, your back arching as pleasure overtakes you, crashing through you in waves, leaving you breathless, trembling beneath him. The sound that escapes you is involuntary, raw, and it sets something off in him. Joe follows a second later, his hips stuttering, his movements turning jerky as he buries himself deep, a ragged groan ripping from his throat as he comes.

For a moment, the only thing that exists is the sound of your heavy breathing, tangled together, filling the confined space of the truck. His forehead presses against yours, his body still trembling with the aftershocks, and for just a second, everything else fades.

But then his grip on you loosens. The heat of his hands disappears, replaced by the cool air settling in the space between you. Reality creeps back in, slow but certain.

Joe exhales, shifting back against the seat, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of uneven breaths. He moves sluggishly, almost like he’s reluctant, lifting his hips just enough to drag his boxers and jeans back up. His fingers fumble with the button before securing it, and then he rakes a hand through his damp hair.

And just like that, the shift is instant.

The momentary haze shatters, and cold clarity rushes in.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, your skin still tingling where his hands had been, but the weight of what just happened slams into you all at once.

You move fast, scrambling to pull your pants up, to fix your shirt, to smooth down the mess of your hair — to piece yourself back together before it all slips too far out of reach. Your fingers shake as you fumble with the fabric, your breath still uneven, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

You need to leave.

Just for a second, your eyes lock with his. Joe doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t try to stop you. He just watches with an unreadable expression and parted lips, like he might speak. 

But he doesn’t. 

You don’t wait for him to. Your fingers wrap around the door handle and you push it open, stepping out into the night. The air is sobering, biting against your skin, but it does nothing to take away the feel of him.

You don’t look back, because no amount of distance can undo what’s already been done.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Hello… I have an angsty request, you can obviously ignore it because it can be a sensitive subject, but you would write it in such a cute and respectful way💝

Any Logan you picture with a reader who was sexually abused, she is kind of sensitive to physical touch, but also needs it, she needs comfort. Even more when it comes to intimacy, Logan and her never had sex because it triggers her, but one day, she decides she wants to, it’s hard and awkward and sentimental, but Logan is a sweetheart.

Again, ignore this if you want to, you’re an amazing writer

xxxx

I'm Here

Logan Howlett X F! Reader

You want to take the next step in your relationship, and Logan supports you through it

A/N: Nonny, thank you so much for this request. I hope this came out the way you imagined <3 I left it open so you could imagine any Logan!

Warning: Sex, MDNI, descriptions of sex, implied PiV, mentions of past abuse (but not descriptive), communication, reader get nervous and anxious, handjob, soft Logan, Logan is nervous too!

Warm sunbeams kissed your face. 

You sat curled up on the window bench, your arms wrapped around your knees as you watched the skies become blue, the darkness that hid the sun and brought on torrential downpours slowly fading away. 

Birds flew to the wet grass, pecking the ground and searching for bugs to feast on. Slowly you watch the world come out from its hidden niche, basking in the new sunlight and fresh air. You observed all the little details from your 3rd-floor nook.

The small wind blew through the trees, shaking the leaves gently, The squirrel ran across the pavement and grass, both pausing in the open- a shiver of its tail as it observed its surroundings. The slow steady drip from the leaky gutter above your window. 

“Here you go love,” Logan's voice drew you out of your daydream, as you turned to look at him. He held out a mug, one that was shaped like the head of the Pokemon Slowpoke, the newest in your ridiculously large collection of mugs. Steam comes off the tan liquid inside and dissipates into the air. You adjusted your position, crossing your legs as you reached out with both hands to grab the mug. “Careful, it’s hot.” He warns. 

You nod, grabbing the handle and gently bringing it up to your lips, blowing air over the hot liquids, and then carefully sipping it. A slight bitterness to the tea, the flavor masked with the slices of lemon Logan had added. “Mm… good, thank you.” You hummed. 

He gives you a soft smile, before joining you on the window bench seat and sitting across from you. His leg folded and resting on the cushion of the bench, his other foot braced on the floor. He leaned against the wall, a beer in hand resting on his thigh. He looked out the window, his expression relaxed.

Your eyes trailed over him discreetly, as you sipped your tea. You observed his hazel eyes - how they seemed gentle, compared to his usual expression. Down to his lips, soft, set in a something position. 

You trailed down to the way his shirt - just a normal, plain black shirt, fit over him. The sleeves were a bit stretched over his biceps - he’s always wearing shirts that fit just a little too tight over him. You’d tease him about it, and he’d wink at you for it. 

You moved down to the denim he was sporting. The way he sat with his legs spread, relaxed yet confident. Your eyes lingered a bit longer on his lap than you cared to admit. Swallowing, as you felt a warm feeling grow inside you, you turned yourself away to look back outside to the peaceful Earth. 

You both sat in content silence together. The world seemed slow, unmoving. You felt the quiet urge to be closer to him.

You looked at him again, moving to carefully set your tea on a small table next to you, you began to climb over to him.  He looked at you, sensing what you wanted, adjusting himself so you could comfortably sit in his lap. 

Your legs draped over his, and you curled your body into him. His arms slowly, protectively settling around you, as you nuzzled yourself into his neck. The scent of him, cigars and leather, sent a wave of safety through you, as you relaxed. 

You heard a deep sigh of contentment escape him, his chin resting over your head. 

It’s taken a long time to get to this point. 

You and Logan have been together for some time now. About a year, give or take. 

You started as friends first, growing into something more romantic. It had been a slow steady process, with the both of you earning each other's trust. 

The night both your growing feelings came to light. Logan cupped your cheek gently with his hand and asked to kiss you. 

The feelings you felt from it were hard to decipher. 

Happiness, want, and a need for that intimacy. You’ve looked at his lips more times than you can remember.

Then a sick feeling that twisted in your gut, your skin crawling. The two clawed at each other, an inner battle inside you that left you overwhelmed.

Logan, sensing your hesitancy, removed his hand from you. You didn’t have to tell him anything, have to explain your feelings. He understood, deep inside. His own battle raging inside him to allow himself to even touch you, to allow himself to open up. Fear of hurting everything he touches.

“It’s okay love. We can take it slow.” 

Thus started the beginning of your budding romance. Logan was a true gentleman. He always asked for permission and learned your cues to what made you comfortable and uncomfortable. He respected any boundaries you asked for. He never made it seem like he was afraid to touch you, while simultaneously respecting your space. 

It never felt like a waiting game with him. 

You both enjoyed each other. You spent time together, knowing each other with no rush to go anywhere or do anything. 

Quiet dates at little cafes and parks. Movie nights with friends. Slow mornings making breakfast. 

Over time you felt safe to open up to him. About your past abuse. The history that makes you sensitive to touch, to avoid that intimacy that you also craved at the same time. 

He held you while you cried. 

Never once did he make you feel rushed, forced, or any sort of shame or guilt because you wanted to take it slow, before or after learning of your past. 

The topic of sex had been brought up more than once. He always told you that he wasn’t here for your body, and while he certainly found you attractive. That physical intimacy was something that didn’t need to be rushed. When and if you are ever ready, he’ll be there. For now though,

“I love you, that’s all there is to it.” 

You took another deep breath, grounding yourself where you were with him. His hand slowly brushing up and down your arm. It sent chills through you, and you had to remind yourself,

It’s him. 

The warm feeling inside you lingered. A mix of apprehension, anxiety, desire, and need. You weren’t sure how to approach this.

“Lo?” 

He moved his head back to look at you. You leaned forward, slowly capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. You could feel his surprise for a moment, the way his lips pulled back for a moment, hesitating before returning the kiss, eager, but affectionate. 

You parted from him, pulling back gently as you looked up at him. His eyes half-lidded, as he regarded you with softness. 

“What was that for love?” He asks gently. 

You looked up at him, looking at his lips again, your eyes trailing down to his neck. You leaned in, pressing delicate kisses along his jawline, down to his pulse point. You heard his breath hitch, and you looked up at him. 

A sweet, goofy smile across his face as he met your eyes. “Lo…I want to try to…” You purse your lips together, a heat blooming in your face. “To have sex.” 

A bit of surprise on his face, his arm around you squeezing you gently. “Really?” He asks. You nodded. You saw his Adams apple bob in his throat as he swallowed - a sign of nervousness, but he masks it. He leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. “You don’t have to do anything-”

“I know. I want to do this.” You say. “Just, try. Even if we don’t go all the way.” 

He nods. “Now or…?”

You giggled, and he grinned. A nod of your head, “Now sounds good. Unless you got plans?” You ask teasingly. He chuckled, his arms moving around you to lift you like a bride, as he stood up with you in his arms with ease. 

“Who you think you’re talking to bub?” 

Adrenaline began to hum in your veins. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers slowly climbing into the curls of his hair as he carried you to your bedroom. He moved to sit on the bed, with you still sitting across his lap. 

He turned to look at you with a sweet smile, leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours. “We don’t gotta do anything you don’t want. If it becomes too much-”

“We’ll stop.” You nod confirming. 

“We’ll go slow.” He says gently - a small firmness in his tone. You nodded again in agreement, smiling in his concern for you. You sat up, moving to straddle his lap. 

Your heart began to race as you looked at him. His hands slowly resting on your hips. He looked at you with care. “You okay?” He asks, and you feel embarrassed- remembering he could hear the fluttering of your heart. You nodded. 

“Nervous.” You smile. You leaned forward, shaky hands cupping his jaw, as you pressed your lips to his. 

Your kiss started gentle, barely there, light and airy. It wasn’t the first time you’ve kissed, nor even the first time you slowly made out. Your nerves made your hands weak though, the idea that the kiss is going to lead to something more.

You wanted it, you did. You loved Logan. His respect, his love for you, has made you feel safer than you have in a long time. You craved the feeling of intimacy, of touch - and knowing you were going to be safe with it.

You pressed further, your arms wrapping around his neck, as you sat further up his lap, pulling him closer. The feeling of him close - his sturdy frame holding you. 

It was a slow process. Carefully removing each other's clothes. You lifted his shirt off and allowed him to undress you. His touch sent shivers through you, but there was a warmth to it. The kind of warmth that made you crave more. He always asked you for permission. 

“You’re so lovely, baby.” He’d whisper against your lips, after he slowly lifted your shirt over your head. 

He gently discarded your shirt, adding to the small pile of clothes on the floor.

You both moved further up on the bed. His back against the headboard of the bed with you straddling him. The mattress creaked from your weight, as your comforted became disturbed from the shifting.

The sunlight beamed through the cracks of the curtains, as you felt warm light floating over your body. Logan's face highlighted from the lighting, the glow in his eyes as he looked up at up at you in reverie

Both of you were down to your underwear, and anxiety and excitement stirred low in your belly.

You reached down to his boxers, your fingers grabbing the hem of the briefs, and slowly pulling them down his thighs. His hard member popped out, you watching it bounce against his stomach and you bit your lip as heat spread over your face. 

You stifled a laugh, leaning forward to put your forehead on his shoulder, your hands pressed to his chest. Logan chuckled. 

“What’s up pretty girl?” He asked, his hands running over your thighs soothingly. 

“Nothing I-” You laughed again. It wasn’t the first time you’ve seen him naked, just from various times of him changing around you, getting out of the shower with a towel. It always sent a syrupy warmth through you, your eyes watching his muscular form as he dried himself off. 

This time though, it was a little different. The knowledge of doing something so…

“Too much?” He asks with a hint of humor in his tone. You giggle again shaking your head. 

“It’s just nerves.” You say looking at him. He tilted his head, a sympathetic look on his face, he brought his hand up to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheekbone. 

“We can slow it down.” 

“No, no I’m fine.” You shook your head, leaning forward to peck his lips. Your hands pressed to his stomach, moved downwards, and you gently took him. Fisting around his member, you slowly stroked him, as you looked back into his eyes. He was taking deep breaths, even with your strokes. “This okay?” You asked. He smiled and nodded. 

You moved a little faster, and he let out a shaky breath, tipping his head back as you noticed his stomach clenched. The feeling was different- but not unpleasant. You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss - and he let out a small moan. A small shock went up your spine at the sound, as you let out a breathy noise. 

“You’re doing great love.” He says, leaning forward to kiss the tip of your nose, before nuzzling into your cheek. “Do you want to keep going?” 

You bit your lip, slowing your rhythm over him, and nodded. 

His hands, resting on your thighs, moved up to your panties. “Is it okay if I touch you?” He asks softly. You nodded, and his hand came over to cup your mound. It felt warm and comforting- his touch, as he brushed his fingers softly over your panties, which had become increasingly wet during your time together. “You’re so beautiful.” He says softly. 

You looked up at him, his eyes filled with adoration as he looked into your eyes, and suddenly it felt as if your nerves eased. He saw you, not just your body, or the sex. “I’m a lucky guy baby.” 

“I think I’m the lucky one..” You say softly. He chuckled, 

“No no, you’re not going to win this one baby.” He grinned at you. His hand came up to cup your cheek. “Sweet girl you are, as pretty as a picture. Putting up with my bullshit every day. There ain’t a thing I’ve done to deserve you.” 

Your eyes softened, as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him for a searing kiss.

Slowly, awkwardly - but full of love and communication, you both worked through it together. He took care of you with a tenderness you hadn’t felt before, always checking on you throughout the session.

Your noses would bump against each other, your hands slipping over each other, and you would nearly lose your balance on top of him, making you both laugh as he’d press a kiss to your forehead, reassuring you to take it slow.

In some moments you would need to stop, almost too overwhelmed by the feelings and sensations you were experiencing- they felt good, but you needed to breathe. He would quickly ask you what you needed, but you only just needed him to be there. 

And he was. 

Eventually, you finally reached a point where your nerves were fading, as you felt more pleasure envelope you. Pressed against his firm chest, your face buried into the crook of his neck, the scent of him, the feeling of him breathing- it brought you down into a zone that was reassuring, that felt like home. It was soft, careful, and everything you needed from him. 

He talked you through an overwhelming finish.

“I’m right here baby.” He whispered into your ear. “You’re okay, you’re doing amazing.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, as your muscles relaxed, and you fell over him, your cheek against his chest- listening to his heart, pounding nearly as fast as yours. His hand soothingly petted your hair, as you came back to yourself. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” You speak up. You carefully climbed off of him, moving into his side, your cheek pressed into his pec. “That was….nice.” 

“Sure was.” He says, pulling a blanket over you both. “You want anything?... Some water or.. a snack or sumn’?”

“No, I’m okay.” You smiled into his chest. “I just want to be here with you.” 

“Mm.” He let out a small grunt. His thumb rubbed soothing circles into your arm. 

“Did…You enjoy it?” You speak up, with a small anxiety that maybe you didn’t perform well. You heard him hum. 

“Baby, I had to keep myself from making a mess right then and there when you touched me.” 

You started giggling. “Really?”

“That funny?”

“A lil bit.” You teased. He quirked a brow glancing at you, and you looked up at him. A warm chuckle came from his chest. 

“Yeah, alright.” He squeezed you closer. 

“I know one thing though…”

“What?”

“I think…I definitely want to do that again.”

You heard a small breath of relief escaped him. He turned to kiss the top of your head. “Whatever you want baby. I’m here.”

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Like Us

Where Y/N and Harry thought they had lost each other, fate gives them a second chance.

Word Count: 7,222

Content Warning: Cursing, alcohol, mentions of Zayn leaving.

Y/N had been with Harry through it all. Through the late-night calls filled with exhaustion, the frantic texts that barely scratched the surface of what he was feeling, the moments of silence where he didn’t have the words to explain what was breaking inside him. She had been there before Zayn left, and she was still there now, following him on tour like a quiet anchor in the chaos.

The energy backstage wasn’t the same anymore. Ever since Zayn had left, there was a palpable shift—like a table missing a leg, still standing but wobbling with every move. The crowds were still loud, the shows still electric, but behind the scenes, it was different. Unease lingered in the air like a storm waiting to break.

On his days off, they escaped together. Away from the arenas, the cameras, the questions. They did the kind of touristy things that made Harry feel like himself again—exploring tiny coffee shops tucked into side streets, wandering through museums with their hands intertwined, laughing at the ridiculous souvenirs in gift shops. She took pictures of him when he wasn’t looking, the city lights reflecting in his green eyes, the weight on his shoulders momentarily lighter.

But even in those moments, she could see it. The exhaustion. The restlessness. The way his mind was always somewhere else, thinking about something he wasn’t saying.

It was late, the city glowing beneath them as they sat on the small balcony of their hotel room. Paris had been a dream—long walks along the Seine, stolen kisses in quiet cafés, pretending for just a little while that the world outside didn’t exist. But now, reality was creeping back in, threading itself between them like an unwelcome guest.

Y/N glanced at Harry beside her, his gaze distant as he traced patterns on the rim of his wine glass. He had been quiet all day, his usual spark dulled by something he wasn’t saying. She knew him well enough to wait, to let him come to her when he was ready.

Eventually, he sighed, leaning back against his chair. “The band’s ending soon.”

The words weren’t surprising, but hearing them aloud still made her chest tighten. “You don’t know that.”

Harry let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “I do. Even if we don’t say it outright, even if we call it a hiatus, we all know what it really means.” He looked over at her, his green eyes filled with something heavy. “It’s not gonna be the same after this.”

Y/N studied him, searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or hope—but all she found was exhaustion. “Is that what you want?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his curls. “I don’t know. I just know I need… something to change. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s all I’ve ever known.” He turned his gaze to the city below, watching the headlights blur together in streaks of gold and red. “And if it ends… I don’t know who I am outside of it.”

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his, grounding him the way she always had. “You’re still you, Harry. Band or no band.”

He squeezed her hand, but the look in his eyes told her something she wasn’t ready to hear.

“I think,” he said slowly, carefully, like he was testing the words as he spoke them, “there’s gonna be a break.”

The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken things. Y/N felt the weight of it settling in her bones, but she didn’t let go. Not yet.

And Harry was right.

A few months later, the band officially announced their hiatus. At first, it was meant to be temporary. Just a few months to rest, to breathe, to figure things out. But as time passed, the months stretched longer than expected.

One night the rain tapped lightly against the windows of Y/N’s apartment, the soft hum of an old record playing in the background. Harry sat on the couch, one leg bent beneath him, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the ring on his index finger. He had been quiet all night, lost in thought, his gaze distant even when she spoke.

Y/N curled up beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. “You’re thinking,” she murmured, her voice soft.

He let out a small breath of laughter, tilting his head toward hers. “Always am.”

She pulled back slightly to look at him, her fingers brushing over his arm. “What is it?”

Harry hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip like he was trying to find the right words. Finally, he exhaled. “I think I wanna do something on my own for a bit.”

Y/N’s brows lifted, but she didn’t look surprised—just curious. “Music?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean, I love the band, always will, but… I wanna see what I can do by myself, y’know? Find out what my sound is. And—” He hesitated again, his fingers still fidgeting with his ring. “I think I wanna try acting, too. I’ve always wanted to, and now feels like the right time.”

Y/N watched him for a moment, taking in the way he spoke—cautious, hopeful, nervous. She reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I think that’s amazing, Harry.”

He glanced at her, his lips parting slightly. “You do?”

She smiled. “Of course I do. You’ve always talked about wanting to try acting, and your own music? That’s exciting.”

He nodded, exhaling like he’d been holding it in. The rain kept falling, the record kept spinning, and for now, they sat there together, wrapped in the quiet of what came next.

Harry was quiet for a long moment, his fingers lightly tracing circles on the back of Y/N’s hand. The rain outside filled the silence between them, steady and rhythmic, but inside, everything felt still—like the moment before something irreversible happened.

He finally looked up at her, his green eyes filled with something heavy. “I’m gonna be busy a lot,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “With the music, with acting… with figuring out who I am outside of all this.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, a sinking feeling creeping in. “I know,” she said softly, watching him carefully.

Harry swallowed, his grip on her hand tightening for just a second before loosening. “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And because I love you… because I respect you… I don’t think I can be in a relationship right now. Not while I’m trying to figure myself out.”

The words felt like a slow, unraveling thread, pulling apart everything they had built. Y/N held onto his gaze, searching for something—maybe a way to change his mind, maybe a way to understand. But deep down, she already knew.

She nodded once, her throat tight. 

Everything shifted.

Y/N felt her breath hitch, her fingers trembling slightly in his grasp. “Harry…” she started, but she didn’t know how to finish.

His face twisted in pain, like he hated every word coming out of his own mouth. “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I don’t want to do this, love. God, I don’t. But I need to.”

Her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes. “Why?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Why do you think we can’t figure it out together?”

Harry inhaled sharply, his hand cupping hers, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her skin. “Because I don’t know who I am right now. And I can’t drag you into that mess. I can’t ask you to sit around waiting while I run off chasing things I don’t even fully understand yet.” He let out a shaky breath. “You deserve someone who is sure, someone who can be there for you in every way. And I—I don’t know if I can be that person right now.”

Tears slipped down Y/N’s cheeks, and she quickly wiped them away, hating how fragile she felt. “But you love me.” It wasn’t a question; it was a desperate grasp for something solid, something real.

Harry’s eyes softened, filling with sorrow and something deeper—something that hurt just as much as it loved. “With everything in me,” he said. “I love you so much that it physically hurts to say this.” He let out a broken laugh, running a hand through his curls before gripping the back of his neck. “I hate this, Y/N. I hate myself for saying it. But if we’re meant to be, we’ll find our way back.”

Her chin trembled as she tried to process it all. “And what if we don’t?”

Harry’s breath hitched. He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to keep his own tears from falling. “Then I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay strong, but her heart was shattering. “I don’t know how to be without you.”

He let out a soft, broken sound, his forehead falling to rest against hers. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he whispered. “Just promise me something.”

She swallowed hard. “What?”

“When the time comes—if we ever get another chance—promise me you’ll let me fight for you.”

A sob escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes, feeling his warmth, memorizing the way he smelled, the way he held her like she was something precious. She didn’t know how to promise him that. She didn’t know if she could.

But in that moment, with her heart breaking in his hands, she whispered the only word she could.

“Okay.”

And just like that, it was over.

They laid together for a long time, neither speaking, neither moving—just breathing in the same space, clinging to the last moments before everything changed. Y/N listened to the steady rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat beneath her cheek, memorizing the way it sounded, the way it felt against her skin.

His hand ran absentmindedly up and down her arm, slow and soothing, like he was trying to calm them both, like he wanted to keep this moment suspended in time. But time didn’t stop. It never did.

Eventually, he stirred, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head before shifting beneath her. She knew what was coming before he even said it, but hearing the words still made her stomach twist.

“I should go home,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Y/N didn’t move, didn’t lift her head from his chest. If she did, it would make this real. And she wasn’t ready.

Harry exhaled shakily and brought his fingers beneath her chin, gently tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at him. His green eyes were glossy, his expression torn, his lips parted like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he leaned in, pressing the softest, most devastating kiss to her lips—slow, full of love, full of sorrow, full of everything they still were but couldn’t be anymore.

When he pulled away, he lingered for just a second, his forehead against hers, his breath warm on her skin. Then, without another word, he stood.

She didn’t watch him leave. She couldn’t.

That night, she laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin. She waited for sleep, but it never came—not that night, not the next, not for a long, long time.

And even when exhaustion finally won, she woke up empty. Every single time.

Five Years Later

The late afternoon sun streamed through Y/N’s apartment windows as she flipped through the stack of mail she had just pulled from the box. Bills, a few random flyers, and then—her fingers paused as she caught sight of an envelope with elegant gold script.

Her heart lifted immediately.

Tearing it open, she pulled out a beautifully embossed wedding invitation, the words practically sparkling off the page: Mallory & Ethan—Join us as we celebrate our love!

A grin spread across Y/N’s face. She barely took a moment to admire the details before grabbing her phone and dialing.

It rang twice before a familiar voice answered. “If this isn’t Y/N calling to say she got my invitation, I will be thoroughly disappointed.”

Y/N laughed. “Guess you won’t be disappointed, then.”

Mal squealed on the other end. “You got it!”

“Of course I did. And obviously, I’ll be there. Like I’d miss my best friend’s wedding.”

“Ugh, I’m so excited! It’s getting so real now. I was just finalizing the seating chart and—wait.” Mal gasped dramatically. “Are you bringing a date? Tell me you’re finally letting some poor soul take you out.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling as she walked into her kitchen and leaned against the counter. “No, Mal. I’m not into dating right now.”

Mal groaned. “It has been years, Y/N.”

“I know.”

“And you’re telling me no one has caught your interest? Not a single, ridiculously attractive, emotionally stable man?”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “Nope. No one’s been worth the effort.”

Mal sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine. You can be my honorary date instead.”

Y/N grinned. “Gladly.”

The girls dissolved into laughter, the excitement buzzing between them. It was going to be a beautiful day, a celebration of love.

The following months passed in a blur of wedding excitement—not hers, but Mal’s. Still, as Y/N shopped for a dress, something about it felt personal in a way she hadn’t expected.

She stood in front of the fitting room mirror, smoothing her hands over the fabric of yet another gown. It wasn’t even white, just a simple, elegant dress for a bridesmaid. But every time she looked at herself, every time she turned to see how it moved, her mind wandered to a place she tried so hard to ignore.

What would Harry think if he saw me in this?

And then the thoughts spiraled.

What would I look like standing next to him at a wedding? What if it were our wedding?

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to shake the thoughts away, but they always came back.

Harry had always been the one. Even when he wasn’t.

They used to talk about it—getting married. Not in a serious, let’s-plan-this-right-now way, but in the way that two people who love each other deeply do when they think forever is inevitable.

She could still picture it—late nights in bed, her head resting on his bare chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns over his tattooed skin.

“What would your dream wedding be like?” he had asked once, his voice thick with sleep.

Y/N had smiled, shifting so she could look up at him. “Small,” she had said. “Somewhere beautiful. Maybe Italy or the English countryside. I want twinkly lights everywhere, candles, good food, and dancing until our feet hurt.”

Harry had hummed, running a hand through her hair. “Sounds perfect.”

She had smirked. “What about you? Or do you just plan on showing up in a suit and letting me do all the work?”

He chuckled, his dimples deepening as he turned onto his side, facing her. “I wanna write my vows the night before. Just me, a glass of whiskey, and all my thoughts about you spilling out onto paper.”

Y/N had rolled her eyes. “You’d procrastinate on our wedding vows?”

Harry grinned, brushing his lips over hers. “You’d love ‘em anyway.”

And he was right. She would have.

She would have loved anything, as long as it was with him.

But now, standing in a dressing room, staring at herself in a dress that wasn’t even a wedding gown, it hit her. 

Still, every dress she tried on, she imagined what it would look like if Harry was standing beside her. If she was choosing a dress for him, for them.

And God, she hated that even after all these years, part of her still wanted that life with him.

The airport was bustling with the usual chaos—rolling suitcases, hurried announcements over the intercom, the hum of travelers moving toward their destinations. Y/N clutched her boarding pass, shifting her carry-on higher on her shoulder as she navigated through the crowd.

She had traveled alone before, but this time felt different. There was an unshakable feeling in her chest, something stirring beneath the surface. Maybe it was just wedding nerves, maybe it was seeing Mal walk down the aisle, maybe it was the inevitable string of questions about when she would settle down.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

The flight was smooth, and she spent most of it staring out the window, watching the clouds shift below her. Her mind wandered, drifting through old memories, old conversations, old pieces of herself that she thought she had let go of. But that was the thing about love—about Harry. It never really left.

After landing, she gathered her luggage and stepped out into the crisp air. The venue for Mal’s wedding was a dreamy countryside estate, nestled just far enough away from the city to feel like a secluded fairytale.

The car ride from the airport was quiet, scenic views rolling past the window as she watched the world blur by. When the car finally pulled up to the venue, her breath caught.

The estate was stunning—classic architecture with ivy climbing up the stone, fairy lights already twinkling along the pathways. It was exactly the kind of place she and Harry used to talk about for their own wedding.

She sighed, pushing the thought away as she stepped out of the car.

Before she could grab her bags, an excited squeal filled the air.

“You’re here!”

Y/N turned just in time to see Mal rushing toward her in a sundress and bare feet, arms outstretched.

She barely had time to drop her bag before Mal threw herself into her arms, squeezing her tight. Y/N laughed, hugging her back. “I told you I was coming.”

“I know, but now you’re actually here!” Mal pulled back, her eyes sparkling. “Come on, I need to show you everything! The venue, the flowers, my dress—I have so much to tell you.”

Y/N grinned, letting Mal drag her toward the estate, momentarily allowing herself to get lost in the excitement.

For now, she focused on the wedding, on Mal’s happiness.

What she didn’t know was that somewhere inside this very venue, Harry Styles had also just arrived.

Y/N followed Mal through the estate, taking in the stunning surroundings—the sprawling gardens, the delicate string lights woven through the trees, the elegant reception area where tables were already being set up with crisp linens and gold accents. It was breathtaking, the kind of wedding Mal had always dreamed of.

“I know it’s a little over the top,” Mal said, grinning as she led Y/N toward the main hall. “But Ethan wanted something classic and romantic, and honestly, who was I to argue? I’m marrying the love of my life—I’d say I’m winning here.”

Y/N laughed. “It’s perfect, Mal. Seriously. It’s like something out of a movie.”

Mal gave her an approving nod before looping her arm through Y/N’s. “Speaking of perfect—are you sure you don’t want me to set you up with someone at the wedding? Ethan has some very attractive friends.”

Y/N groaned. “Mal—”

“Okay, okay! Just saying. No pressure.” Mal smirked. “But I do expect you to have at least one fun, flirty dance with someone. It’s a wedding, Y/N. You deserve a little romance.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll think about it.”

They stepped inside the main hall, where final touches were still being put together—florists arranging centerpieces, staff preparing tables. It was a flurry of beautiful chaos.

And then, just as Y/N turned to say something to Mal, she heard his voice.

“Mal?”

The world around her froze.

That voice. That voice.

Slowly, she turned her head, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes landed on him.

Harry.

He stood just a few feet away, looking exactly like she remembered and somehow entirely different all at once. His hair was shorter than it had been back then, but still slightly tousled, his sharp jawline even more defined. He was dressed casually in a white button-down, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking through. But it was his eyes—those familiar, heartbreakingly green eyes—that sent a shock through her system.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.

Mal, oblivious to the sudden tension, grinned and rushed toward him. “There you are! I was wondering when you’d get here.”

Harry tore his gaze away from Y/N, hugging Mal briefly. “Yeah, just got in. Thought I’d check in before the rehearsal.”

Mal beamed, then gestured between them. “You remember Y/N, right?”

Harry’s gaze flickered back to her, something unreadable flashing across his face. His lips parted, and for the first time in five years, he spoke her name.

“Y/N.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t casual. It was heavy with everything unsaid.

Y/N forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat, to keep herself steady.

“Harry.”

The air between them was thick, the past pressing in on them like a ghost.

Mal, still completely unaware, clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is perfect! You two already know each other! Harry is one of Ethan’s best mates, and I was just about to tell Y/N she should have a dance with someone at the wedding.”

Y/N nearly choked.

Harry’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk playing there, but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

Mal grinned between them. “Okay, I have a million things to do, but you two should catch up! I’ll find you later, Y/N.”

Before Y/N could protest, Mal was gone, leaving her standing there with him.

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Harry cleared his throat, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Y/N let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah. Same.”

And just like that, the past wasn’t so far away anymore.

The silence between them stretched for a moment, thick with years of unsaid words and lingering memories. Y/N could feel her pulse in her ears, her heart slamming against her ribcage as she tried to figure out what the hell she was supposed to say to the man who had once been her whole world.

Then, Harry’s lips parted, and his voice was softer than she expected. “You look beautiful.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t just polite small talk, it was genuine. His gaze lingered on her like he was memorizing every detail, like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

Y/N swallowed, shifting her weight slightly. “Thanks,” she said, her voice coming out quieter than she intended. She forced herself to shake off the nerves, tilting her head as she took him in. “You cut your hair.”

Harry let out a small chuckle, running a hand through the shorter strands. “Yeah. Needed a change, I guess.”

She nodded, her eyes flickering over him, the tattoos on his arms more defined, his shoulders broader, his presence somehow even more commanding than it had been back then. But beyond all that, there was something else—something settled in his expression, in the way he carried himself. He had changed.

“Looks good,” she admitted.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah? Thought you liked it long.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a familiar warmth creeping up her spine. “I did. But you pull this off, too.”

Harry laughed, a sound that sent a flicker of something dangerous through her chest. “High praise, then.”

She exhaled, crossing her arms over her chest as she studied him. “You’ve been busy,” she said, her voice even. “The albums, the movies… you’ve done everything you said you would.”

Harry’s expression softened, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess I have.”

Y/N nodded, a small, bittersweet smile pulling at her lips. “I’m happy for you, Harry. Really.”

He held her gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Thanks, love.” The old term of endearment slipped out effortlessly, like it had never left his vocabulary, like five years hadn’t passed.

Y/N’s breath caught for just a second, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she offered a small smile and looked away, focusing on the wedding preparations happening around them.

“So,” Harry said after a moment, rocking back on his heels. “What about you?”

Y/N turned back to him, raising a brow. “What about me?”

His gaze was steady. “How’ve you been?”

There was something in the way he asked—something deeper, something careful.

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Good. Life’s been… steady. Work, friends, the usual.”

Harry’s lips pressed together like he wanted to ask more, but before he could, a voice called his name from across the room.

Ethan, the groom.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, giving a small nod in acknowledgment before turning back to her. “I should probably—”

Y/N nodded quickly, stepping back. “Yeah, of course.”

He hesitated, then gave her a small, lingering smile. “It’s really good to see you, Y/N.”

She swallowed, her heart doing something stupid in her chest. “You too, Harry.”

And just like that, he was gone, walking toward Ethan, blending into the crowd like he hadn’t just turned her world upside down all over again.

Y/N wanted to scream.

Scream in anger for the way he had just waltzed back into her life like five years hadn’t passed, like he hadn’t left her lying awake at night, wondering if she would ever stop missing him.

Scream in joy because—God help her—she had missed him. Seeing him again had ignited something in her chest. 

But instead, she took a shaky breath, pulled out her phone, and opened her messages.

Y/N: Naomi. Emergency.

A few seconds later, the typing bubbles appeared.

Naomi: Omg what happened?? Did someone spill wine on Mal’s dress? Did you trip in heels?

Y/N: Harry. Is. Here.

A long pause. Then:

Naomi: I’m sorry. WHAT.

Y/N: HE IS HERE. AS IN, PHYSICALLY PRESENT. IN THE SAME ROOM AS ME.

Naomi: WHAT THE HELL. HOW. WHY. ARE YOU BREATHING.

Y/N: BARELY.

She could practically hear Naomi screaming through the phone screen.

Naomi: Start from the beginning. How did it happen??

Y/N exhaled sharply, moving to a quieter corner of the venue as she leaned against a column, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Y/N: I was with Mal, she was showing me around, and then I heard his voice. I turned around and there he was. Just standing there like he wasn’t about to send me into cardiac arrest.

Naomi: Holy. Shit.

Y/N: He told me I looked beautiful.

Naomi: YOU’RE KIDDING ME.

Y/N: I WISH I WAS.

Naomi: What else did he say??

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip before typing:

Y/N: We talked a little. He asked about me. I told him I was happy for him. It was… weird. Like no time had passed, but also like a lifetime had.

Naomi: Oh my god. Are you okay? Like, genuinely?

Y/N let out a breath, staring at the screen for a long moment before responding.

Y/N: I don’t know.

Naomi didn’t respond right away, and for once, Y/N was grateful. Because she really didn’t know.

Naomi finally responded after a long pause.

Naomi: Do you need me to fly out there? Because I will.

Y/N smiled slightly, shaking her head even though Naomi couldn’t see her.

Y/N: No, you’re off the hook. I’ll survive.

Naomi: Will you?

That was the real question, wasn’t it? Would she survive this? Would she survive seeing Harry, being near him, pretending that it didn’t shake her to her core?

Before she could respond, Mal’s voice rang through the hall.

“There you are!” Mal rushed up to Y/N, her eyes bright. “I need you to come to the rehearsal dinner in like, twenty minutes. Bridesmaid duties. You’re sitting at the head table, by the way.”

Y/N blinked, still slightly disoriented from everything that had just happened. “Wait—what?”

Mal rolled her eyes. “You’re basically my sister, of course you’re sitting with me. Ethan’s groomsmen will be there too, obviously.” She paused, her expression turning smug. “Including Harry.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop. “Mal.”

Mal grinned innocently. “What? You two used to know each other. Might as well catch up.”

Y/N groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. She quickly looked at her phone. 

Naomi: Why do I feel like something is about to go down?

Y/N sighed, typing back.

Y/N: Because it probably is.

She locked her phone and exhaled deeply.her.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, gripping Mal’s arm before she could walk off. “Mal.”

Mal turned, eyebrows raised. “What?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart pounding. “Harry… he’s the ex.”

Mal blinked, not catching on immediately. “What do you mean ‘the ex’?”

Y/N stared at her, her throat tightening. “The ex, Mal. The one I never got over.”

Mal’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Wait. Harry is that Harry?”

Y/N just nodded, feeling her stomach twist.

Mal’s eyes widened in horror. “Y/N! Why didn’t you tell me?! I just—oh my God—I just forced you into sitting at a table with him! I basically told you to flirt with your ex-boyfriend!”

Y/N let out a weak laugh, rubbing her temples. “Yeah. You did.”

Mal looked genuinely panicked, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “Okay, do you want me to change the seating? I can put you somewhere else. I can banish him to the other side of the room if you want.”

Y/N hesitated, her heart a mess of emotions. Every logical part of her was screaming yes, but deep down, there was something else. A tiny part of her—one she wanted to ignore—knew she wasn’t ready to run from this.

She swallowed hard. “No… don’t change anything.”

Mal searched her face. “Are you sure?”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “No. If I’ve spent the last five years surviving without him, I can survive one dinner.”

Mal groaned, shaking her head. “I cannot believe I was the one to unknowingly throw you into this situation.”

Y/N gave her a small smile. “It’s not your fault. I never really talk about him.”

Mal frowned. “That should’ve been my first clue.”

They stood there for a moment before Mal squeezed her hands. “Okay. If at any point you need an out, just say the word, and I’ll stage an emergency.”

Y/N smiled despite the nerves in her chest. “Thanks, Mal.”

Mal smirked. “And for what it’s worth… the way he looked at you earlier? Yeah. That man is not over you either.”

Y/N’s breath caught, but before she could respond, Mal looped her arm through hers and started leading her toward the dining hall.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Y/N walked into the rehearsal dinner with Mal, her stomach twisting into knots. The dining hall was breathtaking—soft candlelight flickered across the elegantly decorated tables, and laughter filled the room as guests mingled. It should have felt warm, exciting, celebratory. Instead, it felt like she was walking straight into the eye of a storm.

Her eyes scanned the head table, and sure enough, there he was.

Harry sat near Ethan, laughing at something one of the other groomsmen said. He looked relaxed, at ease, but the second his gaze flickered up and landed on her, something shifted. His smile faltered—just for a second—before he quickly masked it. But Y/N caught it.

And it made her chest tighten.

“Breathe,” Mal whispered in her ear.

Y/N inhaled deeply, forcing a polite smile as Mal pulled her toward her seat.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats!” Ethan’s voice rang out, and people began settling in.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she approached her spot at the table. As fate would have it, she was seated directly across from Harry.

Of course she was.

Mal slid into her chair beside her, oblivious to the internal battle raging inside Y/N’s head. Or maybe she wasn’t—because when Y/N hesitated for half a second too long, Mal gave her a subtle nudge.

Y/N had no choice but to sit.

As soon as she did, the table conversation picked up, and for a few moments, she thought maybe she could get through this dinner unscathed. But then—

“You look nice.”

The deep, familiar voice sent a shiver down her spine.

She looked up, and there he was. Harry. Looking right at her.

For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

She cleared her throat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks,” she murmured. “You do too.”

He gave a small smile, but there was something behind his eyes—something hesitant, something unsure.

Ethan, oblivious to the tension, clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Mate, did you know Y/N used to date a musician?”

Y/N nearly choked on her drink.

Harry’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering across his face. “Oh?”

Ethan grinned. “Yeah! I don’t think she ever got over him, asshole broke up with her to go fuck around.”

Mal visibly cringed. “Ethan—”

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

Harry’s gaze was steady, his lips twitching like he was fighting back a smirk. He looked at her, his voice smooth as ever.

“Yeah?” he mused. “Wonder what happened to him.”

Y/N shot him a glare across the table, her face burning, while Mal reached for Ethan’s hand and squeezed it in warning.

Ethan frowned, confused for a second before realization dawned on his face. His eyes darted between Harry and Y/N, his mouth dropping open. “Wait—no way.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face. Mal let out a nervous laugh, while Harry just sat back, looking far too amused.

Ethan whistled low. “Wow. Okay. This just got interesting.”

Y/N peeked up at Harry, who was still watching her with that unreadable look in his eyes.

Ethan finally shut up after a pointed glare from Mal, and conversation around the table shifted away from Y/N’s romantic history—or rather, her history with Harry Styles. But the damage had already been done.

Y/N felt the weight of Harry’s gaze every so often, his eyes flickering toward her between conversations, his expression unreadable. She did everything in her power to ignore it, to focus on the food, on Mal’s wedding plans, on anything but the fact that Harry was sitting across from her, looking like a damn dream, completely unbothered by the chaos he had just walked into.

Eventually, the dinner plates were cleared, and drinks were passed around. Mal and Ethan stood to give a short thank-you speech, and while everyone was clapping and toasting, Y/N took the opportunity to slip outside for some air.

She stepped onto the balcony, the cool evening breeze brushing against her skin. She exhaled slowly, gripping the railing, trying to steady herself.

The air was crisp outside, a welcome contrast to the warmth and noise of the rehearsal dinner. Y/N gripped the railing, inhaling deeply, trying to calm the storm brewing in her chest.

She heard the door creak open behind her, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps.

“Running away already?”

She closed her eyes briefly before turning her head. Harry stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her with that same unreadable expression.

“Not running,” she murmured. “Just… breathing.”

He hummed in response, stepping closer until he was beside her, leaning against the railing. Their shoulders barely touched, but the proximity sent a ripple through her.

Silence settled between them, the weight of five years pressing down on both of them.

Harry exhaled, his fingers tapping lightly against the wood. “I tried.”

Y/N frowned slightly, turning to look at him. “Tried what?”

His jaw tightened for a brief moment before he met her gaze. His voice was steady, quiet. “To find something that felt like this.”

Her breath caught.

“Like us.”

The words settled between them, thick and heavy, cutting through the cool night air like a blade.

Y/N swallowed, her fingers tightening around the railing. She should say something—anything—but her mind was blank, her heart betraying her with how hard it was pounding in her chest.

Instead, she forced herself to look away, staring out at the dark horizon. “Did you?”

A beat of silence. Then, just as softly—

“No.”

The quiet stretched between them, filled with everything they weren’t saying.

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose. “Harry…”

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I know.”

But he didn’t move.

And neither did she.

The weight of his words sat between them, thick and unmoving. Y/N stared out at the night sky, her grip on the railing tightening.

She had waited.

For months. For years.

She had waited for the moment when he would come back, when the universe would prove him right—that if they were meant to be, they’d find their way back to each other.

But he never came.

And so, she had forced herself to move on, to let go of the idea of him and the promises they had made.

Except now, here he was. Standing beside her, his presence as overwhelming as ever.

She turned to him then, her voice quieter, but firm. “You told me if we were meant to be, we’d find our way back.”

Harry inhaled sharply, his gaze locking onto hers. “I remember.”

Her throat tightened. “I waited, Harry.”

A shadow crossed his face, pain flickering in his eyes. “I know.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She shook her head slightly. “I told myself I wouldn’t. That I couldn’t. But I did anyway.” She swallowed, the emotions she had buried for so long threatening to surface. “And the thing is… I didn’t have to let you fight for me.” She met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Because you were always the one.”

Harry’s breath hitched, his hands curling into fists at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for her.

She didn’t look away.

“I was yours, Harry,” she whispered. “Always.”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He looked like he wanted to say something—needed to—but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, he did what he had always done.

He looked at her like she was his entire world.

The space between them was thick with tension, a storm neither of them could outrun. Y/N’s heart pounded, her breath coming in uneven waves as she tried to steady herself.

Harry looked wrecked, his hands twitching at his sides like he was holding himself back, like the only thing keeping him from reaching for her was the fear that she’d pull away.

“I thought about coming back a million times,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But every time I convinced myself it was too late. That you’d moved on, that I’d lost my chance.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I waited for you, Harry.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care. “You said if we were meant to be, we’d find our way back. And I believed you.” She swallowed hard. 

His jaw tensed, pain flashing in his eyes. “I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That you deserved better than someone who left you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, like he hated himself for even saying it. “Scared that if I came back, I’d ruin you all over again.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her emotions bubbling too close to the surface. “And what about me?” she whispered. “Did you ever think about what it did to me when you didn’t come back?”

Harry flinched like she had physically struck him. He took a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair before looking at her again, his green eyes burning into hers. “I never stopped thinking about you, Y/N. Not for a single day.”

She sucked in a breath, her hands trembling at her sides. “Why now, Harry?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Because I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t stand in the same room as you and act like I don’t still love you.”

Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs. “You—”

“I love you.” His voice was steady, sure. “I never stopped.”

A strangled breath escaped her lips. Every wall she had built over the years, every defense she had tried to put up—it all crumbled in an instant.

Because she loved him, too.

She always had.

And maybe she always would.

Before she could stop herself, before she could think about the consequences, she surged forward, her hands gripping his face as she crashed her lips against his.

Harry let out a soft, surprised sound before sinking into her, his hands flying to her waist, pulling her closer, like he had been starving for her.

The kiss was desperate, aching, filled with everything they had lost, everything they had missed, everything that still burned between them.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and shaken, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his hands still firm on her waist.

“Tell me it’s not too late,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together.

Y/N’s hands trembled as she cupped his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek.

“It was never too late,” she whispered back.

Harry let out a shaky breath, his forehead still resting against hers. His grip on her waist tightened, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.

Y/N felt the warmth of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell in sync with hers, and for the first time in years, she felt like she could breathe.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her fingers still cradling his face. His green eyes were glassy, searching hers for something—reassurance, hope, maybe even forgiveness.

“I can’t do this again if you’re not sure, Harry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I barely survived losing you once.”

Harry shook his head instantly, his hands cupping the small of her back, holding her like he never wanted to let go. “I’m sure,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. “You say that now.”

“I say that because I know what it’s like without you.” He swallowed hard, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I’ve spent five years trying to figure out who I am, trying to find something that felt even remotely close to what we had. And I couldn’t.”

Her breath hitched, and she let her hands drop from his face to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

“So what now?” she murmured.

Harry gave her a small, almost nervous smile. “Now I prove to you that I mean it.”

Y/N felt something crack open inside her, something she had kept locked away since the day he left.

Before she could second-guess herself, before doubt could creep in, she nodded. “Okay.”

Harry’s face softened, and he let out a breath of relief. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A slow, almost disbelieving grin spread across his face before he leaned in again, pressing the gentlest, most reverent kiss against her lips—like he was sealing a promise.

Y/N melted into him, her fingers curling into his shirt, anchoring herself to him, to this.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy.

But it was them.

[starconstruction]

Lighthearted Bullies.

Bully Chaewon and Heejin x Male Reader (Smut)

Went on a big longer than intended to, another one of my famous wheel spins. 3rd Chaewon fic in a row luck be damned.

join us next time for our 3rd wheel spin, gowon and ??

smut tags: soft fdom, creampie, throatpie, face riding, virginity claiming.

Word Count 1834, not proof read

Being a loser had no benefits, you sat alone at lunch, group projects were solo affairs and everyone would give you strange looks. Not that you did much to get into this position, but sometimes somebody has to roll a bad dice roll.

Well there was two people who would pay you mind, two of the popular girls. Chaewon and Heejin, it wasn't a positive relationship of course. Each day came with triple the workload that every normal student has, head burrowed in the projects they asked you to do. They made it very clear you'd live to regret it if you didn't comply.

It was 3am, 7 red bulls sat on your defiled desk while you typed away on your keyboard. Drinking the 3rd red bull of the night, you were wearing pajamas with the full intent of sleeping much earlier ago. But their assignments were so big and you were only told about them three days before they were due.

The soft angelic hum of ARTMS played from your headphones, breaking up the crushing monotony with texting whoever would listen on discord. Heejin's assignment only had another 5 pages, if you are lucky you may get at least 45 minutes of sleep.

You didn't.

-

The slams of lockers felt louder, sharper. Lights were uncomfortably bright and blurry, tears painted the corners of your eyes as they struggled to remain open. The people in front of you moved out of your way with disgusted looks. God you feel like shit.

You sat uncomfortably in the blue plastic chair, fiddling with your hands as you tried to ignore the throbbing headache that pounded against your skull. You got here earlier than the rest, situated in the back of the room. It was going to be a long day.

The class was soon about to start, students funneled into the room which included your two bullies. You paid them little mind as they walked in, taking the two chairs surrounding you. Their strong perfume felt even more pungent, filling your nose with the cheap scent of lavender. "Wow, Y/N you look like shit dude." Heejin mocked, playfully tapping you on the back. Chaewon snickered as her hand rummaged in her handbag.

"Y-yeah, your assignments took me forever." Your voice was meek and quiet, they did not appreciate you raising your voice. The time you did was met with a swift shove into a locker, tooth still loose from the contact.

"Atleast you did it, thank you Y/N" Chaewon said. Thank you, she never said thank you. Your face warmed up turning a beet red, they almost certainly noticed it. All the tiredness hit you at once, a tsunami of exhaustion crushing you. Their faces appeared at the corners of your eyes, a face of pity or maybe they thought you were pathetic.

"We'll be nice this once, just sleep. We will give you the notes." Heejin commanded, you knew better than to take advantage of any kindness they offered. Head pressing against the table, it didn't take long for you to pass out.

-

A soft hand slapped you awake, Chaewon looked at you saying something incomprehensible. Her hand dragged you up and started pulling you somewhere, feet struggling to keep up with the short tempered woman. The wind hit you with a strong gust, waking you up slightly. "Get in." Chaewon said, throwing you into her dingy black 2007 Cadillac. The scent of cheap cherry as she got in the other side.

"where are we going chaewon?" You asked, voice thick with tiredness as her hand grabbed the wheel. "You are coming with me, Heejin is already there." She didn't elaborate, she drove quickly. Probably too quickly. Window open slightly while playing the radio way too loud, body bouncing as she sung whatever came on.

You two drove for awhile, Chaewon beamed as you laid against the seat. Her energy was contagious, slightly moving your body to the music as you two pulled into her driveway.

She loved to drag you around, pulling you into her house. The entrance screamed Chaewon, several pair of same size shoes laid on the ground. The walls a comforting white, but she had no interest in doing a house tour. Discarding her shoes as she dragged you into her bedroom.

The bedroom was even more her, filled with various strange items. Statues of various anime characters on shelves, posters of weeekly, linkin park and some random local bands you've only heard mentioned in passing. Her bed laid pushed up in the corner, midnight black sheets laid hastily thrown on with pillows scattered around. The main thing of note was Heejin, sat there in her ripped jeans and band shirt. "You brought him!" She yelled.

Chaewon wasn't apparently done man handling you, shoving you face first into Heejin. Her arms wrapped around you, suffocating the life essence as she squeezed. "Of course I did. He doesn't know why though." You were so confused, comfortably perched on Heejin's lap.

"Oh joy! May I have the honours?" Heejin said, Chaewon nodded as Heejin's hand turned your head to face her. "We just wanted to say thanks for your effort and we have just the thing for it." You didn't have time to respond, Heejin's lips pressed against yours, eyes widened in shock as you tried to kiss back. You've never done this before, struggling to guess the actions as your lips moved against hers. " Awe he's so responsive." Chaewon fawned.

Suddenly she was behind you, back pressing against you as her hand brushed against your cock, fingers making faint contact with the tip. You've never been so erect, evidently Heejin's strawberry flavored lip gloss had an effect on you. Heejin pulled away "Not a bad kisser for a virgin." She commented, Your head found the bed as she ended up by your crotch. "Not for much longer, you'll enjoy this."

You shuddered as her lips pressed against your clothed cock, her mouth smiling as a tongue trailed up the fabric. "So hard.." Heejin admired in awe, Chaewon refused to remain idle. Her weight shifting the bed as her body appeared near your head, "You wanna be good for me, for us. Right?" Your head nodded on its own accord, "Good boy." Heejin's hand found it's way to your zip, tugging it down. The fabric ripped off in one fell swoop, you felt so aroused. Heejin's hand found your cock as it wrapped around "Wow, I've barely touched you and your leaking." She said, stroking up and down as she started her hand job off dry.

"Spit on it for me Chae." Heejin requested, smiling as Chaewon's mouth contorted to produce warm saliva. It dripped from her mouth, landing on your needy cock. Heejin immediately got to work, lubricating you with her hand. "Throbbing already.. Don't blow your load too early." She demanded, growling as she took you in her mouth. You had nothing to compare with but she felt experienced, tongue trailing around your length.

Chaewon pulled down her shirt revealing her purple bra, nipples as hard as diamond while they poked out. "Be good for us, suck for me." You complied, mouth finding solace in Chaewon's massive breasts. Sucking the hardened flesh as Chaewon looked down at you.

Heejin sped up, testing your ability to restrain yourself as her mouth bobbed. She slurped on your cock making sinful sounds, Chaewon stroked your hair, enjoying the feeling of tugging on your strands. "That's it, let the stress melt away.. You are safe here." She spoke softly, a contrast to the action happening against your crotch right now.

You were getting close, unable to speak as Chaewon's breasts silenced your words. Heejin realized, pressing her nose to your pubes as your hips thrusted inwards. Moaning against Chaewon's nipple as you came, shooting shot after shot into Heejin's throat which it gracefully accepted. She stayed there for a few long moments as you rode the high of your first orgasm not caused by you.

Your mouth was made empty as she pulled away, they swapped positions. Heejin now sat next to you, "Did I do well?" She asked, no way she was actually conscious about her throat game. Just wanting a ego stroke which you happily obligated, nodding.

Chaewon turned away, shimmying out of her jeans. Putting on the show of a lifetime as her meaty ass shed it's clothing, a thin red thong covered her holes as she faced you again. "Like what you see?" She teased as you tried to speak, only a small whine coming out. "Look at you, drooling. You are such a mess for us." she continued.

Chaewon pulled the soiled fabric down her endlessly long legs, throwing it at your face as you pressed her panties into your nose, breathing in her scent as she straddled you. "W-wait!" You called out, "Shouldn't we use a condom?"

She laughed, "No." Her body sunk down on you, wrapping around every inch it consumed. Squeezing the life out of you as your shaft throbbed in her warmth, you were embarrassed at how close you were already. You were so distracted by Chaewon you didn't realize Heejin had stripped, "Be a good boy and let me ride that pretty face." You nodded, tongue sticking out as Heejin found her seat on her throne.

The dual riding was one hell of a first time, overwhelmed by the sensation of the two bullies. Chaewon worked her magic on your dick, taking you beyond heaven as she bounced up and down. Heejin leaked arousal all over your tongue while you struggled to keep up, your muscle licked her soft slit indiscriminately.

"You are being such a good boy for us!" Chaewon barked, holding onto your chest as she slammed against your crotch. You were surprised by how long you lasted, but it wasn't possible to go any longer. You wouldn't call them moans, but some form of sound left your mouth into Heejin's pussy, shooting cum into Chaewon's awaiting body. Filling her with your cream, she kept going for a second. But she had plans.

Chaewon got off your spent shaft, sitting on your chest as she leaked your load back onto you. Her tongue helped you with Heejin's neediness, everytime she came backwards Chaewon would lick her cunt. The dual tonguing made her moan even louder, Heejin's legs fully tightened around your skull as she rained down her squirt into your mouth.

Heejin fell back into Chaewon's arms, your mouth still inches from her lips as you three caught your breath. Basking in the pleasure that took place, the only sound that could be heard was the shared panting of pleasure.

Chaewon broke the suspenseful silence, "Congrats on losing your virginity loser! Two women at the same time aswell." Heejin carried on, like this was a planned bit. "You are ours now, not that you have anyone else. We are doing this more often."

Maybe there was one perk to being a loser.

[candycandy00]

Once Upon a Time - A Toji x Reader Fanfic Part 2

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is Snow White featuring Toji! You live in a snowy village and have a crush on your handsome neighbor Toji, unaware that he’s been hired by the queen to kill you.

Part 1 | Part 2

Read Choso x Rapunzel Here!

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty Here!

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Reader as Snow White. Age gap (Reader is early 20’s, Toji is mid 30’s). Rough sex. Slight size difference kink. Death of side characters.

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear!

You awake the next morning to the sound of a fire crackling. For a moment, you wonder how your father managed to tend the fire without your help, then you remember you’re not at home.

Rising up from the rug on the floor, you first notice Toji’s coat falling from your shoulders. Then you notice that you’re naked beneath it. Oh. So that really happened. It wasn’t just another of your dreams. 

You find your dress a few feet away and begin pulling it over your head and tying the laces at the front. A sound comes from behind you, and you turn to see Toji in the kitchen area, standing over the small stove. There’s a kettle being heated. 

“Thought I’d make us some coffee,” he says.

You nod numbly, still processing the night before as you look around. The cabin looks different in the light of day spilling in through the two main windows. What seemed warm and cozy last night looks gray and dull today. 

Looking out a window, you see that the storm is over. There’s no snow, no wind, only the silence that follows a blizzard as the woods are buried under a blanket of heavy white. Trudging through that snow will be difficult, but you feel certain you and Toji can do it. 

You join him at the small table, taking a warm cup and letting it heat your hands for a moment before taking a sip. 

Toji takes a drink of his own, then sits his cup on the table. “We need to talk.”

You look up in alarm. His tone is serious enough to make you worry. Is this going to be the part where he ultimately rejects you? Tells you last night was fun but it can never happen again? 

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and say, “Okay. What do we need to talk about?”

The next words out of his mouth are the last ones you expected. 

“What’s your connection to the queen?”

You blink. “The queen? I’ve never met her.”

He leans slightly over the table, toward you. “Are you sure? Think really hard. Maybe you met her when you were a kid.”

You find yourself drawing back a little from the table, unsure of where he’s going with these questions. “If I ever met her, I don’t remember it,” you say. “Why would you think I have a connection to the queen?”

“Because she hired me to kill you.”

You freeze. What did he just say? Surely you heard him wrong. “Huh?”

His eyes are focused on yours, trapping you in his steely gaze. “The queen hired me to kill you. She told me to make it messy, so it seems personal.”

Your heart begins racing, a spike of fear shooting through you as the warm mug in your hand begins to tremble. You sit it down on the table, nearly spilling it, then look toward the door of the cabin. Could you make it out? 

“Relax,” he tells you. “If I was gonna go through with it, you never would’ve woken up this morning.”

Your eyes return to his face. In a small, shaky voice, you ask, “Why didn’t you?”

His serious expression relaxes a little. “I just decided I like you better alive than dead.”

Hearing him say that calms your nerves a bit. It’s true that it would have been incredibly easy to kill you while you slept, so if Toji was going to murder you, he would have done it then. 

“But why would she want me dead?” you ask. 

Toji leans back against his chair. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. At first I thought it was because you’re prettier than her, but-“

“I am?”

He almost smiles at you. “According to her weird magic mirror anyway.”

Now you’re even more confused. “She has a magic mirror?”

“Yeah. Every day she asks it to show the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. A couple days ago it showed you.”

You feel yourself blushing. Are you that beautiful? You’ve never seen yourself that way, and you don’t recall getting any extra attention in the village. You wonder if Toji agrees with the mirror, but you’re too shy to ask. 

Apparently he can take a hint. 

“I don’t know about the whole kingdom, but you’re definitely a lot more beautiful than the queen,” he says. 

The comment makes your heart skip a beat, but you don’t have time to focus on that. You look up as Toji continues what he was going to say. 

“It’s not just the mirror,” he tells you. “She called you a threat to her rule, then referred to you as a loose end. There’s some connection there.”

Your mind is racing. You’ve never met the queen, unless it was before you were old enough to remember. But why would you have ever met her? “I should ask my father,” you say. “He might know something.”

Toji shakes his head. “It’s a bad idea for you to go back to the village. The queen will have people watching.”

“But I can’t just hide here! My father is ill. He can’t make it on his own. Please, take me back to the village just for a little while, so I can check on him and ask someone to look after him while I’m gone.”

Toji looks at you, at your determined, worried expression, then sighs. “Fine. I’ll take you back, but you can’t stay long. If you wanna live, you’re gonna have to hide out for a while.”

You stand up from the table and move over to hug Toji, who doesn’t hug you back but doesn’t pull away. “Thank you.”

After pulling on your cloak, gloves, boots, and scarf, you join Toji outside the cabin, who is looking out over the forest. “I don’t think anyone followed us here,” he says. “The weather was probably too bad.”

You nod, taking his word for it. The snow is much thicker than the night before, all traces of your footprints long gone. Trudging through this to get back to the village won’t be easy, but you have to do it. You have to check on your father, and ask if he knows about some connection to the queen. 

The trek back is a quiet one. Toji doesn’t talk much, and you feel a bit awkward. Last night you felt so close to him, but today he seems so distant. Did he lure you to the cabin to kill you? If so, what made him change his mind? Was it your love confession? Or the sex? So many questions haunt your mind as you move through the woods. 

When you reach the village, it looks mundane compared to the wild revelations you’ve had this morning. Most villagers are inside, probably huddling around their fireplaces. A few of the men are working to make walking paths through the thick blanket of snow, a couple are hauling firewood into their homes, and a group of children are playing by tossing snowballs at each other. 

It’s all so very normal, you feel perfectly at ease as you open the door to your house and shake the snow from your cloak. You pull off your gloves as you walk through the living area, noting that the fire is going strong. The neighbor must have added more wood last night before leaving. You hear Toji step inside behind you and close the door, but he doesn’t follow you as you make your way to your father’s room. 

Until you scream. 

Because your father is lying in his bed, a sword standing straight up, impaled through his stomach and pinning him to the straw mattress. Blood has soaked the covers and now drips from the bed, making a small pool on the floor. 

Toji rushes into the room, then immediately pulls you into his arms. “Don’t look,” he says, one strong hand rubbing your back. 

After a few seconds, he pulls away and says, “Let me go see what happened.”

You nod, keeping your face turned away as he goes over to examine the scene. Tears are flooding your eyes, no matter how much you wipe them away with your hands. “Who could do this?!” you cry. “He was just a sick old man! He never hurt a soul!”

You hear Toji’s voice from across the room. “This is a standard issue sword for royal guards. The queen must have ordered-“

His voice cuts off, and before you can question it, you hear his footsteps approaching quickly. Then all at once he’s standing right in front of you, his hands firm on your shoulders. 

“Listen very carefully,” he says, looking at you intently. “Your father is still breathing. He looks like he wants to see you. But he is dying. There’s nothing we can do to stop that.”

Your eyes shift over to the grisly scent once again. You nod weakly to Toji, but you can’t stop the hope blooming in your heart. He’s not dead yet! Maybe… maybe you can do something to help him! 

Carefully, with Toji by your side, you step over to the bed. Your father is staring up at you, and his eyes tear up. “My darling…” he whispers, reaching one trembling hand toward your face. 

You grab his hand and hold it tightly, kneeling down to hear him better. “I’m here, father!”

“I have to tell you… who you are…”

“It’s okay! Don’t strain yourself, please!”

His eyes focus in on you, and he seems to gain a bit of strength in his determination to speak to you. “You were born… to the former king and queen… my closest friends…”

You freeze. “What?”

“Your mother died in childbirth… that was true. Your father… wanted a mother for you… so he married the current queen. He died… only two months later.”

Tears are overflowing from your eyes. “You’re my father!”

He smiles, but squeezes your hand and goes on. “The new queen ordered your death… but I begged her… to spare you. She agreed, if I would take you to a remote village… and never tell anyone the truth. You were barely taking your first steps… so I resigned as royal advisor… and raised you as my own.”

Your father pauses and coughs, blood speckling the collar of his shirt. “She broke the agreement,” he says desperately, his grip on your hand tightening. “She fears you will claim… your rightful place as queen! She will come for you!”

Suddenly he lifts his free hand and points toward the dresser on the other side of the bed. “There… in the bottom drawer!”

You press your lips to his forehead. “I understand! I heard you! I’ll be careful and I won’t let the queen kill me!”

A look of relief passes over his pained face. “I was… so proud… to be your father.”

You smile through your tears. “I and I have felt so fortunate to be your daughter!”

A second later, his grip goes slack, his hand sliding from yours and dropping at his side. His eyes are closed now, and you know they will never open again. 

You let out a sob, collapsing across his bed, just above the sword, not caring that blood is staining your dress. 

Minutes pass with no sound in the room but your cries, until you hear Toji’s voice again. You almost forgot he was here. 

“I’m sorry, but we have to go. If you want to keep your promise and not get killed, I need to get you back to the cabin.”

You rise up and look at your father’s face, then toward the dresser. “Wait,” you say, wiping your face again, “he said something about the bottom drawer.”

Toji steps over and yanks the drawer out, his hands rifling through the contents. He holds up an envelope with your name on it, scrawled in your father’s handwriting. “This must be it. You can open it later, but we need to go. The queen no doubt has someone watching your house, and once they report that you’re here, she’ll send a whole company of soldiers.”

“What? Why so many?!”

“Because by now she knows I didn’t do the job, and I’m with you,” Toji says. “She knows she’ll need a fuck ton of soldiers to deal with me.”

You wonder about that, about how Toji knows the queen so well. He was just a Huntsman, right? But you don’t have time for questions now. You rush to your room and shove some clothing into a bag, then meet Toji at the front door. You glance back a toward your father’s room. “What about his burial?”

Toji is opening the door and ushering you toward it. “A neighbor will find him and take care of it. He’d much rather you get away safely than make sure he gets a proper burial. Trust me.”

You wonder if that’s his opinion as a father, but remain silent as you step outside. Just as you do, you hear a strange sound, like something moving quickly through the air. You turn to your right, where you see a thin blade stabbing straight toward you. 

Toji sees the attacker before she even turns. He reaches forward and catches the blade between his thumb and fingers, then wrenches it free of the soldier’s grasp. Before the soldier can even react, Toji has slammed an elbow into his face, shattering his nose and knocking him to the ground. 

The soldier clasps one hand over his bloody face, staring up at Toji with wide eyes. 

Toji holds the blade up, quickly examining it. “Wonder why you’re using your side dagger and not your sword,” he says, meeting the soldier’s indignant gaze. “You’re the one who killed the old man, aren’t you?”

The soldier removes his hand and yells in a broken voice, “I did what my queen asked of me! Unlike you, you traitorous dog!”

Toji’s eyes slide over to his lovely neighbor, curious what sort of reaction she has to this conversation. Will she be horrified? Sad? No. When Toji sees her face, there’s only rage there. Hell, if she had a weapon she’d probably kill this guy herself. 

That’s surprising.

But they don’t have time to indulge her. Toji flips the dagger around to point the blade downward, then rams it into the soldier’s throat. Blood bubbles up from the man’s mouth, his body jerking as he dies. 

Toji grabs her hand and pulls her along with him, taking her back into the woods where they can disappear. The queen probably has at least one more agent in the area to keep watch, but there’s no way they’re half as familiar with these woods as Toji is. 

An hour later, the two of them are back in the cabin. It should be safe for now. Only local hunters know about the cabin, and it’s located deep in the woods. 

Toji isn’t sure what to say to the crying young woman who quickly went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. He’s never been great at consoling people. When his wife died, he didn’t want anyone to speak to him. Even hearing someone breathe nearby made him angry. But he moved on, eventually. He never stopped thinking of his wife, never stopped missing her, but it got easier as the years went by.

Over the next few days, Toji doesn’t see much of his “housemate”. She comes out of the bedroom occasionally to eat the food Toji hunts and cooks or to use the bathroom. She doesn’t talk much, except to thank Toji for his help and say she has a lot to think about. 

For his part, Toji is uncertain how he feels about her, how much time and energy he wants to put into protecting her. She’s the true heir to the throne, and he’d love nothing more than to see the queen lose her crown, but this heir is so sweet, so naive, he doubts she’ll decide to pursue it. 

And if she doesn’t… well, he likes her but he’s not going to risk his life for someone content to hide for the rest of her life. 

After five days have passed, she emerges from the bedroom and stands in front of Toji in the kitchen, the envelope he found in the drawer clutched in her hand. 

“It’s a letter from my father,” she says, “explaining what he told me in more detail. He thought the queen had the king - I mean my birth father - killed, but could never find proof.”

Toji sighs. “Sounds like something the queen would do.”

She holds out a silver necklace. “He also left me this. I think it’s supposed to be important.”

Toji takes the necklace and looks closely at the pendant. He recognizes it instantly. It’s in the shape of a cross that ends in an anchor, with golden vines wrapped around it. “This is the royal family’s crest,” he tells her. “Every kid born to the royal family is given one of these. It’s basically proof you’re the heir.””

He hands the necklace back to her and she stares at it numbly. All of this must seem surreal to her. A week ago she was just a normal young woman living in a small village. Today she’s the rightful queen of the land. 

She looks up at him, meeting his gaze. “Toji, can you please help me?”

Here it comes. She’s going to ask him to protect her, to help her hide or perhaps escape to a neighboring kingdom. She’s such a pure, sweet woman, but he’ll turn her down. 

“Help you do what?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

“Kill the queen.”

Toji blinks. Did he hear her right? 

She goes on, unbothered by his confusion. “She killed both my fathers, and wants to kill me. I can’t forgive that, and I can’t just walk away. I don’t even know if I want to be a ruler, but I know I can’t tolerate her sitting on the throne.”

Toji can’t stop a grin from spreading over his face. “Tell you what, if you pay off my gambling debts once you get access to the royal treasury, I’ll kill anyone you want.”

She steps closer, putting one hand on his arm. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without your help. You’ve saved me twice now. I knew I was right when I said you’re a good man.”

There’s a spark of something kinetic between them, and Toji thinks she’s much more attractive now than she was a few days ago. The fiery resolve in her eyes is intoxicating. But he laughs as he says, “A good man who just agreed to kill someone for money.”

“Someone who deserves it,” she says back, her body inching closer to his. 

Toji’s arms wrap around her, pulling her up against him. “I like this new side of you,” he says.

She looks away almost shyly, but seems to relax in his arms. “I don’t think it’s new. Something just had to drag this side of me out.”

He leans down and kisses her, lightly grinding his hips into her. “I can drag something out of you alright, but only if I can ram it back in.”

Her eyes flick up to his face again. In a small voice, she says, “You can do whatever you want to me. Because I love you.”

Toji suddenly pushes you against the nearest wall, your back scraping the wood of the cabin. His hands are tearing your dress open and jerking it down off your shoulders. His movements are hurried, as if he can’t wait to get you undressed. It’s so very different from the way he touched you before. There’s an urgency this time. 

Maybe last time he was just indulging a love struck young woman. Now it seems like his passion has truly been ignited. 

You pull at his shirt, eager to see that perfectly sculpted body again. He obliges you, ripping the fabric open so fast that the buttons are sent scattering across the floor. Your hands glide over his chest, feeling the muscles there, feeling his heartbeat. 

He pulls your dress the rest of the way down, letting it pool at your feet, then down go your panties. You step out of the pile of clothes and kick them out of the way, then wrap your arms around Toji’s neck as he pick you up. Your legs move around his waist as he settles you in the right position against him. 

When his throbbing cock plunges into your drenched pussy, you cry out, then bury your face in his shoulder. He fucks you against the wall, your body sandwiched tightly between it and Toji’s firm body. With each thrust, your back hits the wood again. You know you’ll have bruises tomorrow, but right now you don’t care. 

You just want to forget. In these moments of mindless pleasure, you want to forget your father dying before your eyes, your burdensome lineage, the fact that your life has been turned upside down. You only want to feel Toji inside you, filling the emptiness you’ve felt the past few days. 

His hands are on your thighs, his fingers leaving imprints in your skin, his mouth finding yours and devouring your lips. His thrusts become harder, rougher, leaving you whimpering his name and begging for more. You want him to claim your body, make it his, reduce you to a crying mess so that you won’t have to think about anything else. 

His skin is so hot against yours, his muscled abdomen rubbing exactly the right spots to send you over the edge. When you cum, he’s kissing you, eyes open and staring at your face, his grip on your thighs tightening almost painfully. He doesn’t stop fucking you, his hips continuing to buck into you as you go limp against his chest. 

Before he cums, Toji pulls out of you, splashing the wall with his seed before easing you back onto your feet. You fall into blissful oblivion as he places your exhausted body on the couch. 

It’s late in the morning the next day when Toji tells you he’s leaving the cabin for a few hours. “I know a few former guards who hate the queen as much as we do,” he says. “They might be willing to help us.”

You nod as you pour yourself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Any help at all would be very welcome. Even if it’s just someone to distract the guards while you and Toji sneak into the castle. 

Toji gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head before stepping out, and you settle into the couch to read a book you grabbed from home. The first couple of hours pass uneventfully, the only sounds in the cabin being the crackling of the fire and the pages of your book being turned.

But in the afternoon, there comes a knock at the cabin door. You freeze, wondering who it might be. Toji wouldn’t knock. Is it a hunter from the village? Or, the more frightening possibility, a royal guard or soldier who spotted Toji in town and knows you’re alone? 

You quietly get up from the couch and creep over to the door, hoping to hear some clue that could help you determine who is on the other side. There’s a knocking again, and it strikes you that it’s not a very hard knock. Then you hear a voice. 

“Hello? Is anyone here?” 

It sounds like an old woman. It’s a weak, frail voice. Still, you can’t be too careful in this situation, so you don’t answer. 

“Please, if anyone’s here, could you help me?” the voice pleads. “My legs gave out. I just need somewhere warm to sit and rest for a bit before walking back home. I saw the smoke from the chimney.”

You move to the nearest window and peek out, toward the door. You don’t see anyone. No soldiers, no hunters. You don’t have a direct line of sight to the woman, but if there was anyone with her, you’d probably see them. 

After a few more moments, you hear soft footsteps crunching snow, and a small old lady steps into view as she limps away from the door. She looks so pitiful, so weak, you find yourself running to the door and opening it. 

The woman turns around and looks at you, then smiles. “Oh, bless you, dear!”

You hurry over and take a basket from her hand, noting it’s unusual heft, as you help her inside. 

“What are you doing out in the woods alone?” you ask her as she eases herself onto the couch with a groan. 

“I was crossing through from town back to the village,” she says. 

You fix her a cup of warm tea and sit down beside her. “That’s an awfully heavy basket you’ve got.”

She laughs and pulls the basket into her lap. “I’m a fruit seller,” she says, opening the basket and revealing several red, shiny apples. “Would you like one?”

“Oh, that’s alright!” you tell her.

She pulls one apple out and reaches it to you. “Consider it a gift for letting me warm up in your cabin.”

You hesitantly take the apple and sit it on a small table beside the couch. “Thank you. It looks delicious.”

The old woman smiles kindly. For the next half hour, she sits and chats with you, telling you about her husband who died two years ago and her no good son who refuses to help her sell fruit. Then, she slowly gets to her feet and bids you farewell. 

After watching her disappear into the forest, you close the door to the cabin and return to the couch, picking up the apple as you go. 

Toji is in town, waiting to meet up with a former guard he was friendly with, when a hunter he recognizes from the village approaches him. 

“Hey, Toji. Are you still using that old hunting cabin in the woods?” he asks. 

Toji’s eyes automatically narrow. “Not recently,” he lies. “Why?”

“There was an old fruit seller asking if anyone lived out in the woods. I told her about the cabin but stressed that no one’s usually there. I think she went anyway.”

“A fruit seller?” Toji asks, feeling a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

The Hunter nods. “An old woman. She had a basket full of apples.”

Toji frowns. “Apples in the dead of winter?”

The man shrugs. “I guess she had a late harvest.”

Toji leaves. He wastes no time with small talk or goodbyes. He simply runs as fast as he can back to the woods, because he remembers something the queen told him years ago. Something he’d dismissed as delusional fantasy at the time. 

She said that if she utters a specific incantation in front of the magic mirror, it can change her appearance to look like anyone she wants. 

If that was true, then the old woman could have been…

He stops thinking, only focusing on running. He tears through the woods at inhuman speed, and in record time he arrives at the cabin. He throws the door open and runs inside. 

There he finds her, his young lover, sprawled on the floor in front of the couch, a half eaten apple lying a few inches from her outstretched hand. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)

Note: Friday at last and my house guest is away for a couple days.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky plants his feet as the bike comes to a stop. You look up at the duplex and your insides get all swirly. You're home and still giddy. You've made up your mind. It's now or never.

He shuts off the engine and waits for you to get off first. You hang onto his shoulder for balance as you hop down. He gets off without much effort and heaves a dark sigh. He hesitates and you do too.

"That was awesome, Bucky," you shimmy. 

"Mm," he drones and flinches, moving toward the saddle bag. He unbuckles it and takes out the cookies. "Don't forget these."

You take them reluctantly and he hauls out his bag of groceries. He wraps one arm around it and lets the flap fall open. He faces you as you clutch the box to your chest. Don't let him do it. He can't send you away now.

"Hey, you want... want to try some? I could make us some tea."

His eyes dart to the side then he looks down at the bag. He fidgets and shifts on his feet. He looks at you and his forehead lines. He deflates just a little as you watch him with rounded, hopeful eyes.

"Sure, I should get the yogurt in the fridge though so why don't you come in?" He relents.

You could fist pump and jump in glee. You don't. You're not that lame. You bounce and smile.

"Oh, yay," you grin, "so you got everything set up?"

"Hm, not much. Still got a few things to grab," he grits.

You walk up the steps beside him and stand aside, waiting for him to unlock the door. He keeps the screen door open with his elbow then pauses before he pushes open the inner one. He sniffs.

"Go on, girl," he waves inside.

Huh, what happened to doll?

You enter as if you've discovered some ancient crypt full of treasures meant for the after world. There's a couch and a coffee table, a floor lamp behind the former. The area rug is the only piece of decor to give it any warmth. You try not to be too obvious as you take account of the barren space.

"I might got some tea," he says as he gentle touches your back and slips by. You savour the tingle along your spine.

You take off your boots before you break the threshold of the front room. You tiptoe in as you hear him in the kitchen. He sighs as cupboards open and close.

"It doesn't have to be tea," you call to him. You near the table and examine the motorcycle magazine, a sheet of paper tucked under the cover.

"Good, all I got is beer," he says. 

"Mmm," you turn as he comes close with the bottles.

"Coasters," he says.

"Oh, uh, right," you set the box next to the magazine and take two of the cork coasters from the stack. You place them down and he swiftly clanks the bottles into place.

"I know it's not much but uh, get comfortable," he says.

You pluck up a bottle and sit on the couch. You taste the malty beer. It's not bad. He paces around and nears the window. You watch his back.

You lean forward to set down the bottle and tear the seal on the box. You flip the top and pick out two cookies. You get up and approach him. You stop beside him.

"Try one," you offer.

He exhales and accepts it with a thanks. You nibble and he crunches into his. It's a bit dry by sweet.

You're nervous. You've never been this close in your life. Now you have the prime opportunity. You're in his space. You finish the cookie and smack your lips.

"Dry," you chuckle, "need to wash it down."

"Me too," he says.

He follows you as you go to grab your beer. You drink and sit. He does the same, stiffly, as he takes his beer and swigs. Your eyes stick to him. You watch his throat and the way his chest stretches the fabric of his shirt. You set the beer back on the cork and sidle closer. You're fuzzy all over.

You put your hand on his knee. He flinches and lowers the bottle. He looks at your hand and reaches to set down the beer. His other hand covers yours and he peels it off.

"Look, doll," he squeezes and clears his throat, gently laying your hand in your own lap. "There's things you don't know about me. I think you better just finish and go."

"Bucky, I... it's okay. Whatever it is."

"I'm too old for ya," he puffs. "You're young. Don't do this."

His eyes bore into yours. You pout.

"I might be young but I can make my own choices. So why don't you tell me so I can?"

His cheek twitches, "girl--"

"Please. Don't I deserve to know?"

"I don't know what you're thinking, girl. Alright? Look at us. I'm... I gotta twice your age. And you're... you're too sweet for your own good."

"Tell me," you reach for him again, petting the denim on his thigh. "I won't go until you do. Or you can drag me out."

His eyes flicker and he looks at the window behind you. His jaw squares and he shakes his head. He slaps his hand over yours again but doesn't move it away.

"I'm a criminal. I just got out and I'm tryna rebuild, but I'm not changed. Alright? You understand me," he snarls. "I'm a bad man. I hurt people. Too late for me to change that."

You search his face, "but... you haven't hurt me. And you did your time."

"Girl, don't be foolish."

"No, Bucky, you told me and I don't care. I don't care what you are. I know that you feel this too," you move closer. "Don't you?"

He turns his head and stares at the wall. You squeeze his thigh and get up on your knees. You trail your touch up to his belt and he grunts, stopping you with his thick fingers around your wrist.

"Bucky, please," you beg. "It's just us. Nothing else."

"Girl--" he pleads.

"You're not too old, you're not too bad," you slip free of his grasp and tickle up his shirt, "you're perfect for me, baby."

You bring your hand to his jaw and flutter your fingers along his beard. He shudders and you raise yourself on your knees. You lean in and press your lips to his. He grabs your upper arm but doesn't push you away. He growls as you open your mouth and slide your tongue along his lips.

His hand slides away from your arm and to your back, crawling to the back of your neck. You brace his shoulder and swing your leg across him, straddling his lap as you deepen the kiss. He groans as you hook an arm around his neck and snare him. You rock him slightly as you breathe into him, tilting your pelvis against him. 

He grips your hip with his other hand and parts from your mouth. His eyes are cloudy as he gazes up at you. The tension is his cheek pulses.

"Doll," he shakes his head, "one last chance..."

"I got condoms," you say as you sit back and reach to your cross body bag, still resting against your side.

He shivers and slackens against the couch. "You're too much."

"I know what I want," you assure him.

He stares at you and his lashes flick, He grabs the strap of your cross body bag and unhooks it from around you. He puts it on the cushion and gulps. He frames your face with his hands, his thumbs rubbing your cheekbones. He sighs. 

You reach up to curl your fingers under the straps of your tanks top and drag them down your arms. You feel him beneath you. He's hard already. You're soaking through your panties, not that there's much to them.

You push down the sheath of your top to your waist. He inhales sharply and you reach back, your chest bulging as you tug at the band of your bra. You unhook it and quickly drop it down to your wrists. Your tits pop free and jiggle as you toss your bra.

He blinks at your chest. He just sits there, paralysed. You giggle and grab his hands, putting them on your tits, making him squeeze them. He purrs and rolls his hips.

"Doll, you're... you're..." He gropes you then slips his hands down to lift your tits. He leans forward and nuzzles your flesh, pushing your chest around his face as he snarls. You got him. There's no going back.

You arch your back and cling to his head, urging him on. He nips and teethes at you, tracing your nipple with his thumb before popping it between his lips. He hums and swirls his tongue around the hard bud. It must have been a while for him, having been in jail. That sends another thrill through you.

You twine your fingers into his hair and grazes his scalp with your nails. He snarls as he continues to bounce your tits, squeezing and pawing. You never cared much for the extra weight, but now that he's drowning in them, you can't complain.

You lip your hand down between your bodies and feel along the front of his jeans. He groans and wriggles against your touch. He's rock-hard. He hisses as he pulls away and drops back against the couch heavily.

"Doll," he tenses up.

You giggle and tug at the bottom of his shirt. You push it up his stomach and over his broad chest. You mess his hair as you swoop it past his head and drop it over the back of the couch.

Now it's your turn. You flatten your hands across his pecs and moan. He growls and you drag your nails lightly down his skin, the soft hair contrasting against hard muscle. His stomach is cushier but not in a bad way.

"Baby, you got me struggling," he groans and rubs your thighs, his pelvis tilting desperately.

"Me too," you breathe.

You linger at the top of his jeans then back off of him carefully. His eyes widen. You see fear in him. You grin and turn to wiggle your ass as him. You hook your fingers inside your leggings and bend as you push them down. Your thong rides up between your cheeks. He hums as the couch springs whine beneath him.

You shiver as your nerves flurry in your chest. This is it. So close. You're throbbing. You can see the slickness in your leggings as you step out of them.

"How... why do you want me, doll? You're... you're gorgeous," he rasps.

You stand and face him again. You shake your chest at him and he brings his fist up to bite his knuckle. You feel powerful.

You slink closer to him and touch the front of your bejeweled thong, a little heart on black. "Can I keep these on?"

"Yes," he croaks and clears his throat, "yes, doll."

You grin and grab your bag. You unzip the front pocket and slide free the strip of condoms. It unfurls and you laugh. "Oops... think we'll need them all?"

He startles you as he swipes up the end and tears one off, "we'll see."

You drop the rest beside your bag and blink at him. You sense something different. He tears open his pants and raises himself off the cushion as he shoves the denim down. His dick bobs above the elastic of his briefs, the head swollen and weeping. You get even wetter as you see the veins bulging under the skin.

He rips the wrapper with his teeth. He trembles as he presses the rubber to his tip and you near him, wavering as you weigh the moment. This is your last day a virgin. You take a silent breath and lean forward to grab his shoulders. He quakes and moans as he slides the condom down his length.

You bring yourself over his lap, hovering above him as he grips himself. He frames your hip and hisses, "doll, please, please, I need you on me. I need--"

You reach down and wrap your fingers above his. He lets go and gasps. You angle his tip along your cunt and push your panties aside. You stare down at him. Your eyes cling to his and you bite your lip.

You dip down carefully. As you open around him, you grunt. You sink your nails into his trap and your eyes speckle with tears. Oh, it hurts more than you expect.

He taps your hip, "stop," he snarls.

You bat your lashes but obey, "I can take it--"

"Come on," he feels along your side. He loops his arm around you and in an instant, he has your back to the cushion. He slips out of you. 

He fishes out your bag from beneath you and sweeps it onto the floor. He knees on the other end of the couch and urges you further up. You drag yourself until your head is against the armrest. 

He bends between your knees and kneads your thighs, his eyes on your cunt. He licks his lips before he plunges in. You yipe in surprise as he laps at you, his beard tickling your lips as he pushes your legs wider.

He flicks his tongue around and across your clit. You spasm and clasp onto his hair as the sensations stir within like flames. Your thighs clench and your spine stiffen. You pout and gulp loudly as he toys with you, suckling and swiping as you squirm.

He growls into you and traces a finger along your ass up to your entrance. He spreads the wetness there before he delves inside. He pushes his finger in bit by bit then draws it back out. He adds another and urges inside even deeper.

His tongue teases you to the edge as he pushes in and out of your cunt. He hums and drinks you up, spreading his tongue as wide as he can to taste all over you. He seals his lips once more around your clit and the pressure pinpoints, pulsing faster and faster until your muscles release.

There's a sudden surge and a hot flow coursing from you, dripping down his fingers. You convulse and whimper as you wash away with your orgasm.

He kisses your cunt before he sits up. You watch him, bleary-eyed, and he wipes the glisten from his beard with a hum. He inhales so his chest puffs out and he cracks his neck.

"If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right," he growls.

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 25

Jason woke up and sat up on his bed, feeling something was off. He started scanning his room, squinting to better see in the darkness, his window was closed, he could tell it hadn't been opened, the firecracker hanging from the lock was still in place, he turned to look towards his bedroom door, only to come face-to-face with two glowing green eyes.

Jason: [Screak of terror]

Danny: Good morning father, I require substance.

Jason (after seeing his life flash before his eyes): We have food in the fridge and the pantry; make yourself some scrambled eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, or whatever you like, just make it a hot meal, breakfast it important, no junk food.

Danny: Please dad, I like the way you cook.

Jason (happy to be called dad): Fine, what do you want?

Danny: Everything you just said.

Jason: Scrambled eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns?

Danny: Yes!

Jason: Meh, sure why not?

Jason got up and started making breakfast for the two of them, Danny set the table, Jason served the food, and the two started eating.

Danny: Can we buy a waffle maker?

Jason: Excuse me?

Danny: Can we get a waffle maker? I'd like some.

Jason: Listen here young man, in this house we only belief in pancakes, so drop this waffle nonsense.

Danny: Father, waffles are clearly superior.

Jason: No son of mine is going to prefer waffles over pancakes!

Danny: Then I guess I'm not your son!

The two of them glared at each other.

Danny: How about we compromise and get a waffle and pancake maker?

Jason: I suppose that's a fair compromise.

Danny (smiling): Thanks dad, I love you.

Jason: Love you too bud.

(Master Post)

[cryptidvaquero]

wip wednesday? don't mind if i do

here's an excerpt from a park ranger/bear shifter! john price/waitress! reader fic im writing

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You liked the evening shifts for a few reasons. Usually, the crankier older residents retired at 7 pm when the sun had barely started to set; thank God for that. Things were quieter, more laid back. You didn’t get paid shit, but at least no one would wish death upon you and your lineage for bringing them a plate with eggs over easy instead of garnished with liquid-fucking-gold.

And your final, favorite reason? You hear the jingle of the bell, and here he is.

“Hey John. Rough night?”

Your manager greets the rugged-looking man who walks through the door. Six-foot-something, brown hair and beard, built like a brick shithouse, and dressed like a damned lumberjack. Like clockwork, local park ranger John Price blesses your godforsaken job at 11:00 pm and leaves within the hour.

It’s the best 30-45 minutes of your shift.

John gives a rough grunt, nodding his head in greeting toward your manager before making a beeline to his favorite corner booth. Rough night indeed.

“He’s in your section, hon. Don’t forget he likes his t-”

“-Likes his tea unsweet. Yes, I know.”

He gets the same thing each time. Unsweetened iced tea, two waffles, a batch of scrambled eggs, three pieces of bacon. The guy eats like he’s starving, yet he’s built like he climbs trees and catches fish with his bare hands. Hell, he’s a park ranger, he probably does.

You disappear into the back, pouring an unsweet tea before ushering it out to John’s table.

“Hey! How are you tonight?” Same song and dance, same fake smile. The life of a food service worker. John glances up at you, drowsy blue eyes sitting under thick eyebrows. The corner of his lips tilts up in a similarly forced smile, and he gives you a nod.

“S’Alright,” he grumbles. His voice is deep and growly - it’s like he’s perpetually stuck in a post-cigarette bedroom voice. Which, of course, you don’t mind in the slightest. He could read off a ransom note and you’d probably swoon. You place the unsweet tea in front of him and he eyes it like water in the middle of a scorching desert.

“Same as usual? Two waffles, scrambled eggs, three-”

“Ah- uhm. No, actually. A bit different tonight.”

Your eye twitches, an instinctual response to being interrupted by a customer. John doesn’t notice, he’s too busy looking out the diner windows toward the treeline. You’d think he’d leave work at work, but apparently, old pines are interesting enough to warrant his lack of conversational engagement. He’s a grown man, you tell yourself, it’s kind of how they are.

You tear off the ticket you were already writing down, stuffing the crumpled yellow sheet in an apron pocket before placing the tip of your pen on the new sheet. “Alright,” you huff. “What’s it gonna be tonight?”

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“Jesus fucking Christ, kid.”

The cook in the back looks at the ticket, his eyes growing as wide as saucers. An hour before closing, and he’s practically cooking a Thanksgiving feast.

“This is John’s order? John Price? The same guy we see almost nightly?”

You throw your hands up in exasperation.

“That’s what I was thinking, Phil! I wrote down his usual and everything, and he interrupts me and proceeds to order half the goddamn menu!”

  Phil hangs up the ticket in front of him, and you can see the chicken scratch you quickly applied to the paper, almost completely covering it. John had ordered… and kept ordering. It’s not like you’ve never dealt with large orders before, but from park ranger John Price? This was completely out of his norm.

The back door opens and shuts, and a younger line cook walks in smelling like cigarettes.

“Hey, Alex, come look at this!” Alex shuffles in, looking over Phil’s shoulder. You watch as his eyes go from indifferent to indignant. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s an hour till closing and

you’re serving a party? Tell them to go the hell ho-”

“No no no- this is John, man. Mr. Price. Can you even believe it?”

Alex looks from the ticket and to you. You watch as his lips move under his mustache, like he’s trying to get some sort of response out. Phil just pats him roughly on the back before hanging the ticket on the line.

“Let’s get started, bud. Mr. Shepherd’ll have our asses handed to us if we don’t close on time.”

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It’s about 11:45 pm. About 25 minutes ago, you had to pull out the old dolly like some sort of dumbass to push out the huge order to John. He owed you for that. He really fucking did. And now, 25 minutes later, the entire fuckass meal is gone. Nowhere to be found. He ate it all.

Perched behind the counter, you pretend to wipe things down while Alex comes out of the back of the house. He perches next to you, shoulders bumping together. He smells a bit like bacon grease and menthol.

“You think we can add gratuity to his check?” He murmurs.

“Do you wanna be the one asking Herschel ‘we-go-way-back’ Shepherd to upcharge our regular?”

Alex purses his lips, head nodding back and forth. Finally, he settles on a comfortable “no,” before stalking back into the kitchen. With a sigh, you toss the rag you were holding to the side and push yourself from the counter. You walk to the back of house to ring John up, emerging shortly thereafter and slipping it on his table. “You gonna need anything to go?” You’re not really sure why you asked - he ate enough to sustain a damned bear for the winter. If he asked for anything to go, you might punch him.

Lucky for you, he shakes his head.

“No ma’am,” he says, his voice gravelly.

You feel a bit guilty, then. All he was trying to do was order a meal, but you’ve been groveling all evening over walking a couple of plates in his direction. For all you knew, he could’ve missed lunch or something, too busy doing… whatever the hell a park ranger does.

He’s not very chatty tonight, either. Usually, you can fish a bit out of him if you bat your eyelashes and don’t look too busy. He doesn’t mind small talk if he doesn’t feel like he’s getting in your way. But this whole night has felt like pulling teeth.

“Alex made a joke about charging you gratuity for that meal of yours,” You laugh.

The joke quickly slips and falls flat when John looks at the check with a blank expression. Lord almighty.

“Sorry for the trouble,” He replies.

You want to tear your hair out. Does he actually think you were trying to guilt-trip him? Jesus Christ, you want to go hide in a hole and quit forever.

“No no!” You raise your hands to wave off his apology. “It was a joke. He was just being a dick, y’know?”

John reaches for his wallet, tucked away safely in a Carhartt jacket that’s seen better days. He slips his card to you, and you know that it’s time to run off before you say another stupid thing.

Alex and Phil are ragging on each other when you scramble to the back of house, and Phil flashes you a grin. However, your mood is soured. You punch in the numbers and get John’s receipt before they can try and drag you into one of their stupid conversations.

“Here you go,” You mumble, handing John his receipt and card back. Your throat itches with the compulsory ‘thank you for coming, have a good night,’ but you hold it back. Putting on another smile might just make you sick to your stomach tonight.

John rises from his seat, stuffing his card back in his wallet and then his jacket. He nods in acknowledgment, stepping from the booth. He’s taller than you by a long shot as he stands, and he’s even hunched over a bit. If he’d stand up straight, he’d practically cast a shadow over you.

“You have a good night, love. Drive safe.” The most words he’s spoken all night, and they’re telling you to be safe. In that growly accent of his. He’s not even making eye contact, practically bristling at the prospect of socialization, but you feel like your knees are about to give out just from his words.

“Yeah,” You breathe. “You too, okay? Watch out for animals in the road.”

Mentally, you compartmentalize a thought that says buying a book on local wildlife to talk about with him next time is a good idea. It might be a bit weird, but he’s a bit weird. He’d probably dig it.

John nods, finally meeting your eyes as that caterpillar of facial hair quirks up in a small smile.

“Bears right now, mainly. Most know better than to run around the roads, though.”

Why the hell is that little fact enough to make you starstruck? You barely muster a nod before he’s out the diner door, the bell ringing behind him and signaling that the last customer of your shift has left.

[cheralith]

hello challengers au but it’s polyamorous ryusae and your sae’s lowk toxic but gorgeous wife/soccer coach that had a thing with shidou back in the day but ended up leaving him for sae because he had more potential, was more accessible, was more crowd-favored. you live your shattered dream through him, despite him being evidently fatigued from soccer.

now shidou’s back in your life, adamant on trying to corrupt you and to cause a cheating scandal to ruin you and your husband’s well-built career. he slowly picks at you—asking you to dinner (he asks the waiter for a table by the window), driving you home (he removes the tint on the windows), inviting you to his games (he tells the camera to pan on you to make sure the crowd knows you’re within the vicinity)

… and it all comes crashing down on a singular rainy night where shidou just so happens to “return” an earring of yours you dropped in his car. it wasn't your fault that the rain made him look ten times more alluring than usual—white wet t-shirt outlining his figure, his hair down and framing his face? it was basically a given.

don't think your his only target either—he has his sight on sae, as well. he instills the same plan to him, disguising the secret meetups and hook-ups as just "buds catching up." purposely doesn't wear a mask and lets his flashy hair flow despite sae going out all the way to hide his appearance next to him. the paparazzi gets curious; who's this new friend shidou ryusei has been hanging out with that walks with a slight limp?

little does he know, you've been pulling the strings the entire time.

you weren't stupid. you and your husband went to a prestigious university after all, you're more than aware of what shidou is attempting. you knew from day one, when he’d ask you odd questions about sae and how you guys were doing.

so naturally, you decide to break him first.

you tell sae about where shidou is planning to take you next, so he can anonymously tip the paparazzi about his whereabouts. sae catches you on what shidou has been hinting to him about you, him whispering in the prodigy's ear that he deserves better than this shaky marriage, so you and him can plot out weak points for shidou to hit.

"she seems to be more in love with soccer than i am."

"he doesn't really want to acknowledge his true potential."

if anything, you have shidou to thank. you were on the fence about divorcing sae after his team loses the chance to play for the world cup, but you think this entire thing has brought you and him closer than ever before... in a twisted, sadistic sense.

and as shidou grows excited, more apprehensive about publicizing this affair to shatter you and sae, you and your husband wait by the sidelines. you and him are patiently looking at the clock, hand in hand, and waiting for shidou to arrive at the bistro you told shidou to meet you at, the paparazzi hiding in the bushes away from view, their cameras at the ready.

[harperskele]

The Subversion of Expectations

A gift for @mmmilkweed, inspired by this post.

---

Shadow Milk can't remember the last time he felt regret. Has he ever? Fear, certainly. Rage? Countless times. But regret? He can't seem to recall a time he ever had, until now.

Floating lazily above Pure Vanilla's bed, he quietly hums a tune. A small doll, half-complete, dangles in the air as he works on adding its vanilla petal hair. Beneath him, Pure Vanilla slumbers, unaware of his presence. 

It's the middle of the night, and the palace is quiet. Moonlight streams through the windows, casting his muse in a gentle halo. It’s far better than the sunlight, unabashed and loud in its presence; yes, moonlight is far better. Darkness is best, but that isn't an option right now. There is work to be done, and redecorating his new abode isn't a high priority right now.

Stealing another glance for reference, he stitches the petals to the doll's head with a reverence that would disgust him if it were anyone else. Here, in the quiet and the calm, he can relax the chaotic energies that drive him and focus on his craft. Certainly, he could simply create a doll with his powers, a meaningless puppet that would dissipate at will. But this, something tangible that he's made with his own hands? This gives a sense of satisfaction unlike any other.

Getting to watch over Pure Vanilla is a simple bonus, a small treat for his hard work.

He's just finished stitching on the final petal when Pure Vanilla stirs. He jolts, drifting into the shadows like second nature, and silences his little tune. Fortunately, his quarry doesn't awaken. Unfortunately, he does something worse.

Pure Vanilla groans, clutching at his chest through his pajama shirt. His legs kick aimlessly under the covers, and his face grows strained. Even his staff, leaning against his bedside table, begins to twitch and shudder. 

Shadow Milk drifts out of the shadows, floating closer and tilting his head. A dream, perhaps? Certainly not a good one.

Pure Vanilla whimpers.

Shadow Milk jolts, floating backwards a few inches. He'd never expected such a pathetic, weak sound to come from such a man. He's seen his tears before, but he's never heard such a sound come from him before.

Already, he can see the tears beading on Pure Vanilla's lashes, and his struggle grows more frantic.

“No… No, no…” 

Shadow Milk drifts down and plops himself next to Pure Vanilla, figuring it's better to wake him up now instead of let this nightmare play out. He reaches out to shake his shoulder, and--

“Please, not this- Don't- Don't show me this-!” 

He pauses, a frown tugging at his own face. A nightmare about him? He withdraws his hand, crossing his arms.

Pure Vanilla is pale now, gasping frantically. “I won't ignore-- I'll listen-! Please-!” He chokes on a sob, writhing in what seems like pain.

It feels like he's been punched in the gut. He knows now what he's having a nightmare about. An instance early in their meeting, when Pure Vanilla - at the time, Truthless Recluse - had refused to acknowledge him and his incredible hosting skills. He was crueler then, far less patient and completely unempathetic.

He can still remember Pure Vanilla's face when the gore of seeing his maimed friends had caused him to vomit. He had laughed then, laughed at his suffering and his tears. Laughed for how easily he caved under the suffering of others, and laughed at how much work was to be done to teach him.

He can't find any humor in the memory.

He reaches out once more, frantically shaking Pure Vanilla's shoulders. “Hey, ‘Nilly!” He calls, brushing some of his hair out of his tear-stained face. “Wake up! Hey, hey! Come on now, get up!” He tries to smile, but it's strained. His voice grows high and brittle with growing panic. He can't let this keep going. He's made so much progress, gotten so much better. What if he doesn't want him around after remembering what he did?

Guilt feels like ice water pooling in his insides, but also like acid burning in his heart. He almost wants to stop, to run away. But he'd learned, from Pure Vanilla nonetheless, that it wouldn't fix anything to run.

Pure Vanilla shoots up with a gasp, still grasping at his crumpled pajamas. Unfeeling eyes snap open, as does the eye on his staff. His arm is tangled in the sheets, and he lets out a frantic cry as he tries to get free. 

“Hey! You're okay! ‘Nilly, calm down!” He pleads, easily slicing away the sheet. Shadows answer his call, pressing Pure Vanilla's staff into his hands. He just hopes it's enough to help anchor him. He rests his hand on Pure Vanilla's heaving back, but he flinches away.

“No, please, I--” Pure Vanilla clambers backwards, closer to the edge of the bed, and stops just short of falling off. Suddenly, his hands fly to his mouth with a grunt, and Shadow Milk barely has enough time to usher a bucket into place before Pure Vanilla vomits. He gropes for the edges of it, and Shadow Milk pats his back once more. This time he doesn't flinch.

“That's it, get it all out. It's okay.” He murmurs, forcing an uncharacteristic softness into his voice. Once Pure Vanilla stops, he dismisses the bucket and grabs a rag through a small portal, beginning to clean up his face. “You're safe now, you're not-” He stops short, clears his throat, and tosses the soiled rag aside. “Not in that place.” 

Silence consumes them, and Shadow Milk cringes at the awkwardness. Pure Vanilla just had a nightmare about his time in the Spire, his time being tortured at Shadow Milk's own hands. And here he is, helping him recover from it. He ushers Pure Vanilla back to his former spot, fishing out a softer cloth to dab at the sweat on his forehead.

Again, neither of them speak, but Pure Vanilla doesn't ask him to leave, doesn't shudder at his very presence. So he cleans him up, then pats his head.

“All done. I'll leave you be now--”

A hand darts out and grabs his sleeve. “Stay! Stay. Please.” Pure Vanilla begs. His eyes are closed again, but his staff's eye is fixed on Shadow Milk. “I don't- I don't want to-”

“It's okay. I know. I'll stay.” He sits at the foot of the bed, facing Pure Vanilla. He wouldn't have wanted to be alone after that either. 

I'm sorry. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he can't force them out. They're the right words, the only words he can think to say, and he can't make himself utter them. Maybe it's his pride, maybe it's his shame.

Pure Vanilla's deep, meditative breaths are the only sounds that fill the room. It stays that way for what must have only been five minutes, but it feels like an eternity to Shadow Milk.

He opens his mouth to say something else, anything else, but Pure Vanilla beats him to it.

“It was you this time.” He whispers.

Shadow Milk scowls. He knows it was him. It's always him. He's the one who did it.

“They- You-” Pure Vanilla sniffles, rubs at his eyes once, and exhales. “You screamed so much.”

“I… what?”

“There was so much blood, and you were just… Calling out to me. And I couldn't move. I wanted to help, but I couldn't.” Pure Vanilla lowers his head. Seeing his face like this, twisted in pain and guilt, when he should never had felt that way, tugs at Shadow Milk's chest. “I'm sorry. I'm such a coward, I should have--”

“Okay, pause. ‘Nilly, what are you talking about?” He interrupts, scooting closer. He reaches out, takes Pure Vanilla's chin in a gentle hold, and lifts his head. Deftly, he swipes under his eyes with his thumbs, coaxing more tears into falling so that he can brush them away. “You were having a nightmare, right? About… About the Spire. What I did to your friends, what I made you see… Right?”

Pure Vanilla melts into his hand. He sets his staff aside with practiced ease and shuffles a bit closer. His arm brushes Shadow Milk's leg and stays there, seeking its warmth. He can feel Pure Vanilla's hands tremble, but doesn't say anything.

Pure Vanilla shakes his head, loosing a wet laugh. “No, it was you. You were dying. I don't know how, but-” His smile drops in an instant, and his lip wobbles. “I couldn't help you. You were in so much pain, and I--”

“I'm fine, ‘Nilly. Everything is okay. No one can hurt me, ‘member?” He pats Pure Vanilla's cheeks. “It was just a nightmare.”

“I know, but-”

“No buts.” He smiles. “Dreams are crazy. Don't read too much into it. I've even had crazy dreams, like one time I had this dream where--”

He rambles on, spinning tales of whacky adventures and strange phenomena, refusing to let Pure Vanilla talk about his nightmare again. It'll fade with time. Memories are fickle like that, especially dreams.

An hour later, as he glances at Pure Vanilla again, he sees that the man has grown still amongst his pillows. He smiles, tugging the blankets up to his chin. “Sleep tight, sweet ‘Nilly.” He whispers. He pauses for a moment, double checking to make sure he's really asleep, before he leans down and presses his lips to Pure Vanilla's forehead. 

He drifts upwards, floating above his bed again, this time to keep vigil.

He'd tortured him. There was no other word for it. He'd tried to drive him insane, and here he was, having nightmares about Shadow Milk suffering. He grabs at his chest, where his soul jam sings at its proximity to its other half. Maybe it's just because they share a fundamental piece of themselves. Yeah, that's probably why. If Shadow Milk dies, it's probably going to affect Pure Vanilla. It makes sense that he would be scared of Shadow Milk dying.

It's a lie, and he knows it, but it's easier than accepting the truth of the matter. 

Pure Vanilla cares about Shadow Milk just as much as anyone else, probably more, and he's starting to feel the same way.

He huffs, grabs his doll, and begins work on it once more, stealing glances at Pure Vanilla more often now. He tells himself he's not checking on him, he just needs a reference, but that's a lie, too.

[dismalflo]

A knock on the head

rugby player!james potter x reader where james gets injured at training ✩ 1.1k words

cw; very mild nondescript head injury, fluff, comfort

James Potter can only be described in one way: a busybody. He's always on the go. Saturday is reserved for rugby matches, Tuesday and Thursday are for training sessions, and every other day, he's at the gym. In between, he makes time to see his friends and family, he makes time for you. 

All of this means you spend many of your evenings at home, curled up on the sofa, waiting for your boyfriend to walk through the door. You don’t know how he manages it all—you're exhausted just watching him. 

Tonight, however, he’s later than usual. You’d be worried if training didn’t run over so often. He’s always trying to squeeze in one more drill. Sat in the warm glow of the living room, the remnants of dinner abandoned on the coffee table, you’re on the verge of drifting off to sleep.

Until your phone lights up and starts to ring, it's James. 

"Hello?" you answer groggily, barely able to keep your eyes open. In the background, you hear the low hum of indistinct chatter.

“Hi angel, how are you?” 

You blink, confused. "I'm alright. Are you okay?" It’s rare for him to call during training.. 

"Listen, I don’t want you to worry…" His pause makes your heart skip a beat. Immediately, your mind races through all the worst-case scenarios. Oh god, he's broken something.

"What’s happened?" you ask, your voice tight with concern

"Do you think you could come and pick me up? I had a knock on the head, and the physio says I shouldn’t drive." His voice is sheepish, almost apologetic.

It takes you a second to catch up, “yeah–yes of course I can, are you sure you're alright?”, you're darting over to the shoe rack, desperate to get to the poor boy as quickly as possible.

“"I’ll be fine, don't rush, sweetheart," he murmurs, but you hear the fatigue in his tone.

“Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Love you.” You don’t try to hide the worry in your voice now. James is only this subdued when he's hurt and feeling sorry for himself.

"I love you too." His words are soft, and with that, you’re out the door and into your car.

The drive to the rugby field feels like it takes ages. The streets blur past in a haze as your thoughts race. You can barely focus on anything other than James—his voice, soft and apologetic, still ringing in your ears. The thought of him hurting makes your chest tighten.

When you finally arrive, you spot him almost immediately, standing near the locker room, looking a little unsteady on his feet. Your heart sinks seeing him like this, his usual energy dimmed by whatever had happened.

His tousled hair is messy, and there’s a slight pallor to his face that you don’t like. When he hears your footsteps, he turns, giving you a weak smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

"Hey, angel," he greets softly, his usual charm absent.

You stop in front of him, taking a deep breath. "James," you murmur, gently cupping his face with both hands, looking him over. "Are you sure you're okay?" You reach up, brushing his hair back from his forehead, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Physio says it's just a little knock, nothing serious," he reassures you, and if it weren’t for that paleness you’d probably believe nothing was wrong with him at all. 

You wrap an arm around his waist, offering him your support. "Come on, let's get you home."

The drive back to your flat is quieter than usual, James staring out the window with a faraway look, lost in his own thoughts. That's all the proof that you need to tell he’s hurting, and you'll strong arm him, if you have to, into letting you look after him.

Once you're back at the flat, you help James inside. His steps are slow, almost reluctant, and it tugs at your heart to see him so unlike his usual energetic self.

The moment the door closes behind you, you begin to guide him to the bathroom. You’re already thinking of the things you can do to make him feel better—some comfort food, maybe a cozy blanket, and a cup of tea, but that will have to wait.

“Okay,” you say, your voice soft but firm, “You’re going to get into the bath, and I’m going to get you anything you want or need.”

James raises his brow at that, a suggestive smirk taking over his features, and you catch what he’s thinking straight away.

“Not like that,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “you perv.” shaking your head, you turn to start running the bath. James barks a laugh at your indignance, that you're sure he regrets as a wince covers his features in quick succession afterwards.

“Alright, alright,” he says, his tone still a little weak but the playful glint never quite leaving his eyes. “But a bath’s a good idea, I guess. You’re always right, aren’t you?”

“I’d say you should be used to that by now, Jamie” You smile impishly back at him.

His eyes soften, still teasing, when he meets your gaze. “You know, I think I might be in love with you.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile betrays your amusement. “Of course you are. Now get in the bath, before I really start bossing you around.”

He chuckles, but there’s a weariness in his laugh as he finally undresses and carefully eases himself into the warm water. You kneel by the edge of the tub, brushing his hair back from his forehead, inspecting him once more. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m serious—if you feel worse…”

“Angel,” he interrupts, his voice soft but firm, “I’m fine. I just need to rest for a bit. That’s all.”

You search his eyes, trying to find any sign that he's just putting on a brave face, but there's nothing but sincerity there. You nod slowly, letting out a small sigh, trying to ease the tightness in your chest..

“I’ll make you something to eat,” you say quietly, starting to rise.

James grabs your arm to stop you, “Can you just sit with me for a bit?” and how could you ever say no to your darling boyfriend. 

You sit back down beside the tub, your fingers gently brushing the water’s surface as you watch him. His eyes close for a moment, and his shoulders seem to relax just a little more with each passing second. You’re glad you’re here, even if this moment is a quiet one.

After a while, you glance at him, studying his face. “You’re gonna need something to eat when you get out. What do you fancy? Soup?” 

James opens one eye, giving you a skeptical look. “Can I have a cheese toastie with it?” 

“Yeah, you big baby,” you tease.

He chuckles, closing his eyes again. "Deal. You just... don’t go anywhere, alright?"

You give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I’m not going anywhere.”

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let me know what you think of this! I appreciate all feedback <3

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[sombaf]

Just a little something to wrap up femslash february😉

Kara plays the part well.

She smiles at the right moments, lets herself be pulled into tight embraces, laughs in the way she’s supposed to. She tells Alex she’s fine, tells J’onn she’s okay, tells Nia she’s happy to be home.

And they believe her.

They want–need–to believe her.

Lena is the only one who doesn’t.

She sees the way Kara’s fingers twitch at her sides when she thinks no one is looking. The way her eyes keep darting to the shadows, searching, flickering, doubtful. The way she smiles but it never reaches her eyes.

She sees it all.

And it terrifies her.

So she stays quiet. Watches. Waits.

And when Alex finally pulls Kara away, murmuring something about rest, about taking it easy, Lena lets her go.

Because she knows.

Knows that Kara is going to break.

And when she does—

Lena will be there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s late when she goes to Kara’s apartment.

She hesitates for only a second before she knocks.

For a long moment, nothing.

Then—soft footsteps, a slow turning of the knob.

And then Kara is standing there.

Her hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends, like she’s just showered. She’s in sweatpants and a hoodie—one that looks too big, swallowing her whole.

Lena’s chest aches.

Kara’s face is blank. Her eyes unreadable.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says, but there’s no weight to it.

Lena ignores it. “Can I come in?”

A pause.

Then, finally—Kara steps back.

Lena steps inside.

The apartment is dark, save for the moonlight spilling through the windows.

Everything is where Kara left it. A sweater draped over the couch. A book left open on the coffee table. A mug resting beside the sink.

It looks the same.

But it feels wrong.

Empty.

Like a place abandoned.

Kara stands in the middle of it, arms wrapped around herself, as if bracing for something unseen.

Lena watches her for a long moment.

Then, softly— “Kara.”

Kara’s breath hitches.

She shakes her head. “Don’t.”

“Kara—”

“Don’t.”

Lena stills.

And then—Kara laughs.

But it’s hollow, sharp, wrong.

“You know what’s funny?” she says, voice thick. “I thought coming back would feel good.”

Lena doesn’t move.

“I thought—” Kara lets out a breath, shaky, uneven. “I thought I’d open my eyes and I’d just be me again.” A pause. “But I don’t—I don’t feel like me.”

Lena steps closer. “You are you.”

Kara shakes her head, fast, desperate. “I don’t—I don’t know how to be. I feel like—” She swallows, voice breaking. “Like I left parts of myself back there.”

Lena’s throat tightens.

Kara lets out a short, sharp breath, pressing her hands against her temples, frustrated. “I don’t—I don’t even know if this is real.” Her voice cracks on the last word.

Lena’s heart shatters.

She closes the space between them, hands reaching out—but Kara flinches.

Lena stops instantly.

Kara looks at her with something frantic in her eyes. Something terrified.

“What if this isn’t real?” she chokes. “What if this is just—just another trick? What if I wake up and I’m still there?”

Lena’s vision blurs.

She needs Kara to know.

So she reaches again—slowly this time—hands ghosting over Kara’s arms, waiting, waiting.

“Kara—”

Kara sways toward her.

And then she falls.

Into Lena’s arms. Into warmth. Into something solid, real, safe.

A broken, gasping sob tears from Kara’s throat, her fingers curling tight into Lena’s sweater, clinging.

And Lena—Lena holds her.

One hand in golden hair, the other rubbing slow, steady circles on her back. “I’ve got you, darling. I’ve got you.”

Kara shakes.

Her breath is sharp, uneven, frantic.

Lena presses a kiss to her temple, then another, whispering, You’re here. You’re safe. This is real. I am real.

Slowly—so, so slowly—Kara’s breathing evens out.

Not steady. Not even.

But better.

And then, after a long moment—

“Stay?”

The word is small.

So small Lena almost doesn’t hear it.

But when she looks down, Kara’s blue, blue eyes are pleading.

“Of course,” Lena breathes.

Kara swallows. “Will you—” A pause. A breath. “Will you hold me?”

Lena softens.

“Oh, darling.”

She presses another kiss to Kara’s temple, so, so gentle.

“Of course I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They lie together in Kara’s bed, tangled close.

Kara is pressed against Lena, her face tucked into the curve of Lena’s neck, their legs entwined, bodies blurred together until neither of them is sure where one begins and the other ends.

Lena runs her fingers through golden hair, slow and steady, grounding them both.

It’s quiet.

Kara’s breath is warm against her collarbone.

For the first time in months, she feels warm.

Safe.

Real.

And then—

Kara shifts.

Sits up slightly, leaning on one elbow, looking at Lena.

Moonlight catches in her eyes, turning them into deep, endless pools of sapphire, glistening with unshed tears. Tiny reflections scattering across her lashes, fragile and shimmering—like distant stars trembling on the verge of falling, like the universe itself is holding its sorrow within her gaze.

Lena reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “What is it, darling?”

Kara hesitates.

Then, barely above a whisper—

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

Lena’s heart aches.

She reaches for Kara’s hand, intertwining their fingers, squeezing gently. “But you did.”

Kara’s breath hitches.

She swallows hard, gaze flickering over Lena’s face, searching, memorizing.

Like she’s afraid this moment will slip away.

Lena brings their joined hands up, presses a kiss to Kara’s knuckles.

Kara swallows again. Then—soft, hesitant—

“I thought I’d never get the chance to—”

She stops.

Bites her lip, breath uneven, scared.

Lena’s thumb strokes gently over her hand. “The chance to what?”

Kara’s eyes shimmer.

She exhales sharply, blinking fast, lips trembling—

And then, in a voice so small, so fragile—

“To tell you I love you.”

Lena’s breath catches.

Kara looks like she might break apart, eyes darting down like she regrets saying it.

But Lena won’t let her.

She reaches up, cradling Kara’s face, guiding her gaze back.

A soft, trembling smile.

“I love you too.”

Kara shudders.

A tear slips down her cheek.

Lena catches it with her thumb, brushing it away as gently as possible.

And then Kara is leaning in.

Slow, hesitant, searching—

And Lena meets her halfway.

The kiss is soft at first. Just a press of lips, just a breath shared, just confirmation.

But then Kara makes a small, aching sound—a sound like relief, like hope, like something that has been waiting to be felt again—

And Lena deepens it.

Kara’s hands find her, fingertips brushing over Lena’s jaw, holding her close.

Lena sighs into her mouth, fingers threading into golden hair, pulling her in.

And Kara—

Kara lets herself feel it.

Lets herself fall into warmth.

Into love.

Into something real.

And when they finally break apart, Kara presses her forehead against Lena’s, breath still uneven, fingers still curled tight into her sweater.

And Lena just holds her.

Lets herself be held.

Lets herself fall.

Kara exhales, slow and shaky.

And then Lena is pulling her down, arms wrapping tight around her, whispering it again and again—

“I love you, baby. I love you so so much.”

And as Kara buries herself into Lena’s warmth, breath hitching, fingers gripping tight—

She finally, finally believes that this is real.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/sombaf/works

[erosauriarts]

Day 27- Love

(Mini Fic bc I can’t control myself)

A knock at the door, though Atsushi knew who damn well it was. Kyouka waited for a response but Atsushi’s pouts only told her how this was going to go.

“Are you not going to tell him to leave?” Kyouka whispered.

“I can not deal with him messing with me right now.” Another knock, this time it sounded a bit more eager. Atsushi pinched the bridge over his nose and in his fit sank in his seat. His leg bounced with a heavy recoil.

“He’s not going to stop.” Kyouka said quickly, because she knew Atsushi was going to cut her off. “He never stops.” Atsushi did exactly what she predicted. “He just messes with me and finds it fun or something. Bother me here there, humiliate me there.. I’m done, Kyouka.”

Another bang, “Atsushi, you know I can hear you, let me just talk.” Dazai’s words sounded a bit slurred. “He is not… Drunk!” Atsushi in his fit slammed is fist into the table.

Any motives to keep to himself left the window. Atsushi had stormed to the door, ripping it open that it almost felt to come off it’s hinges. Dazai stood in front of him. His clothes and hair were a mess, as if he were tugging and pulling on them. He had sweat and a bit of blush. He reeked of booze.

“What.” Atsushi said through his teeth.

Kyouka was behind the weretiger, peaking over his shoulder to see the mess in the hallway.

“Before you slam the door on me, I want to say I’m sorry.” Dazai saw Atsushi reach for the door, his hand stopped it’s momentum. The noise of the slam echoed through the space around them. “See, I knew you’d do that.”

“Wow, aren’t you so smart.” Atsushi glared up at him. “I know you’re angry, but the sass. I’m trying here. Just entertain me?” Dazai said desperately. Atsushi lifted a brow, “Wrong words. Please.”

“Go on, Dazai.” Atsushi groaned. His arms formed a tight knit pose.

The brunette straightened himself up, “I’m sorry. You should know this was not your fault and I set it up because I was scared.”

“You… Scared?” Atsushi commented.

“I… I have this habit if something gets close to me, I rig it so I lose before I get truly attached. I don’t know why I do it, just that in the moment it was… a good idea.” Dazai looked down at this point, “I’ll torment them, tease, mess with their head. I did it as a teen and I still do it now. You were… getting to me and I acted to scare you off. Pissing you off was what I wanted at the time… Just, I felt like shit humiliating you like that. Unlike the other ones, I didn’t feel relief, I felt sad and alone. So I got drunk and crashed in the street. Kunikida found me and gave me my pants… That I lost for some reason? It seemed like losing my pants told me- you’re different compared to the others. I wasn’t okay with you leaving because I think I love you? I don’t know what that means or will happen? I feel like shit and I’m sorry for doing that to you… I just wanted to tell you and give you closure.” Atsushi and Kyouka didn’t know when their jaw dropped. Just all those words felt weird coming from his mouth and specifically from Dazai. Once the brunette looked at them, his face dropped.

“Wait, that isn’t what I meant to say! Ugh,” A fist bonked his head. “That isn’t how I wanted to tell you that.”

“You… Love me?” Atsushi instantly down his guard, he relaxed his arms, “You’re so bad with emotions… I should have guessed. I’m not mad anymore… But most people who crushes on someone gets them gifts or asks them out.” “I… I know what I did was not okay. I just, I know I ruined my chances, but I still want to be friends.”

“Who said I consider them ruined? I’m not mad anymore, but I do not want to talk about this while you’re drunk. Go home and we’ll talk about over coffee?” Both Dazai and Kyouka responded the same way with their opened cat like expressions.

“Yep. Okay. I can do that…” Dazai nervously pant his thigh and backed up, “9?”

“You know you’re not getting up at 9.” Atsushi chuckled, “11. You know which one.” Dazai looked away before smiling back. He left the view. Atsushi closed the door.

“You took that well.” Kyouka said impressed.

Atsushi nearly collapsed but caught himself on the door, in a muffled squeal, “He likes me back.”

“Have some honor!” Kyouka teased with a push.

[kisskisstine]

Once Upon a Time in Fairywood - Chapter 3

3 - Peri, fairy godparent! Unemployed

Go to Index | Chapter 2 <- Previous | Next -> Chapter 4 (coming soon)

Fanfic Summary: Once Upon a Time in Fairywood, FOPANW fanfic featuring the pop idol and actress Goldie Goldenglow and Peri (the unemployed), featuring Irep (super employed), as they run away from the Fairywood award festivities and explore the city altogether!

Chapter 3 Summary: Peri, just having lost Dev as a godkid, bums his parents home unemployed and regretful of his first time being a fairy godparent and failing terribly. His parents, Wanda & Cosmo gets him a surprise retreat to help him out of his rut!

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The lazy afternoon sun in Fairy World creeped gently through the windows of the Cosma-Fairywinkle household’s starry-pink wallpaper, whimsical decor, and onto the sleepy eyes of Peri Cosma-Fairywinkle, lying on his parent’s couch wrapped in a knitted throw blanket that had stitchings of nickels sewn into it.

He just woke up from a nap dream… lots of flashing light… there was a blonde girl?  Butterflies? Whatever dreams are dreams.

He shrugged it off, picked up the TV remote and mindlessly flicked through TV channels with empty bowls of cereal sitting on the floor beneath him. His purple hair, usually pristine, was unkempt and ruffled wearing the same pajamas he slept in the night before. It’s been days since he lost his job as a fairy godparent to Dev Dimmadome, the spoiled rich, red-headed brat who upended Fairy World world just for his dad’s attention (and still didn’t get it)! Sure, the kid almost got him to explode from magical backup, but it wasn’t all Dev’s fault was it? He was a lonely kid after all. Peri granted his wishes, right? He did his job, didn’t he? That’s all he was supposed to do! Either way, it’s over, right? It’s over. Peri should be happy. But lying there flicking through Fairywood Awards commercials, there was something about it that just didn’t sit right with Peri. At first, he was glad to be rid of Dev. Riding off into the sunset with Hazel, Antony, Jasmine, Winn and his parents– free of that little brat! But as time went on, that small uncomfortable feeling turned into a rotten churning at his core, that no amount of cereal or random daytime TV show can cure. Ah, but maybe TV could cure me, he thought as he progressed to flicking through channels in pure apathy.

“Peri, son? Are you still on the couch?” Wanda, Peri’s pink-haired mother entered the house, carrying a couple bags of groceries of mostly sweets. She layed out the sweets on the coffee table in front of Peri. Her husband Cosmo, a green-haired man in a green bowling shirt and slacks, and her godkid Hazel, a young 10-year old girl in a striped pink and blue shirt followed closely behind her, her purple backpack on, having just returned home from school.

“Son! We got chocolates for you!” Cosmo exclaimed. “Well… your mother got them for you.”

“Yeah but we also got carrot sticks too!” Hazel exclaimed running up to Peri on the couch and offered him a carrot stick from a plastic pouch. He took it meekly and thanked her. Hazel sighed, sat on the couch with him, took the remote to put the volume down as more commercials about the Fairywood awards rolled, and rested her small hand on his shoulder. “Sorry Peri, I haven’t seen Dev since Fairy World. He hasn’t returned to school. I don’t know–”

“Haha! Dev?! Who cares about him? I obviously don’t, hahaha!” Peri exclaimed and continued to laugh frantically. “Look! I’m doing absolutely fine! I didn’t just screw up my first godkid by completely ignoring his real feelings and not addressing his clear need for parental love at all! Ahaha! I gave him all he wished for, right?! That’s what I was suppose to do, right? I did great! Ahahaha!” 

Peri continued to laugh nervously, as Wanda, Cosmo and Hazel were taken aback in shock.

“Sweetie pie,” Wanda interjected cautiously. “We love you and we know you did your best. Your father and I were thinking that maybe it’s best that you take a vacation from this all.”

“Wait– you’re not kicking me out are you?” Peri asked.

“I mean, technically we are but–,” Cosmo answered with a smile, putting all the empty bowls of cereal together, only to dropped them all as Peri shrieked in the idea of getting kicked out!

“Cosmo!,” Wanda interjected after her husband. “No no, we just think you had a real doozy of a godkid as your first time godparenting and you need some time to relax.”

“Yeah! And maybe get your mind off Dev for a bit and take care of yourself!”, Hazel stated nervously but with an assuring smile.

“I’m already relaxed! And I don’t think of Dev at all! Nope! Not one thought of it!” Peri exclaimed frantically again, as Hazel, Wanda, and Cosmo rolled their eyes at him, clearly judging him in his pajamas from the morning, surrounded by empty cereal bowls, and just having woken up from napping in front of the TV until the afternoon. A silence filled the air, until Peri couldn’t keep pretending anymore. “Fine… maybe you’re all right. I do need to get some air maybe…”

“It’s be great for you, son! Your mother and I already booked an amazing place for you!” Cosmo exclaimed pulling out his wand, poofed Peri into a full vacation outfit, Hawaiian button-up with rolled up sleeves under his usual suspenders and linen trousers, with boat shoes. The the cereal bowls clutter was also poofed away, giving room for Cosmo to dump Peri’s luggage in place. “It’s that island place we took you when we were on retirement when you were still our liiiiittle Poofy-Poofy!”  

“Wanda and Cosmo we’re telling me all about it! It’s all these floating islands in the sky and magical waterfalls and really cool famous fairies!,” Hazel exclaimed excitedly. “Ehehe! It’s so cool! You’ll relax there for sure!”

“Yes! The Fairywood Hotel Resort!” Wanda exclaimed, and then pulled Peri in closer to whisper to him directly. “Between you and me, the owner owes your grandfather and I BIG time. If you need any room upgrades, just mention you’re a Fairywinkle and–”

“Ok ok!” Peri gently pushed his mother at a reasonable talking distance. “Sheesh. I’ll go I’ll go! I really do appreciate all this, mom and dad… but NO, I am not using any of YOU or grandpa’s mafia stuff to bully staff for room upgrades!” speaking directly at his mother, Wanda.

“Hurtful.” Wanda teared up and comments under her breath. “But we’re good mafia… (;-; )”

“Wait… Wanda, what mafia?” Hazel questioned.

“Uhh… this might take some time to explain.” Wanda sweatdropped.

“Alright! See you when you’re feeling better son! We love you!” Cosmo interjected with his wand ready and before Peri can put in another word, he and his luggage are poofed out of the house.

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Go to Index | Chapter 2 <- Previous | Next -> Chapter 4 (coming soon)