#Something I guess I wanted to get off my chest.

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

HAT-TRICK

• jude bellingham x gf!reader

• warnings: a little bit suggestive at the end, and English not being my first language.

• summary: Jude Bellingham has been a bit distracted on the field. Maybe what he needs is a little motivation to get back on track, or so his girlfriend thinks...

a/n: make a request!

Jude Bellingham has always been astute, focused, and relentless on the pitch. Since joining Real Madrid, his star had only risen further, making him one of the most talked-about young talents in football. But lately, something had been off. His last few matches were... well, soft by his standars. He hadn´t been himself—no hunger in his tackles, no fire in his eyes, and it didn´t go unnoticed. He sat in the living room, staring at the highlights of his recent match on his phone. His touches hadn´t been sharp, and his focus had wavered at crucial moments.

It wasn´t something massive, no one will call it a slump, not yet at least. However, he could do it better, he knew it, his team and coaches knew it, and of course, she knew it too.

His girlfriend was sharp. She knew him better than anyone, and while some fans and the media were baffled by his recent performances, she had a good guess. He was distracted. He wasn´t driven the way he used to be, and she had an idea why.

That evening, they were together sat in their apartment, the Madrid skyline glowing in the background. She was quiet, scrolling through social media mindlessly, occasionally glancing at him. She could see the frustration in his eyes—his confidence shaken, his usual swagger dimmed. He didn´t need a pep talk; that wasn´t his style. No, he needed something more direct, something to light a fire under him again. An idea had been dangerously lingering her mind, maybe it was a little bit cruel—for both of them, really, nevertheless, she had a good feeling and decided to test it.

She leaned into him on the couch, her hand touching his bare chest. Jude, sensing the shift in her energy, smirked and reached out to pull her closer. His hand slipped down to her ass, clearly intending for things to heat up.

But she had other plans.

She caught his hand and pushed it away gently but firmly.

Jude blinked, surprised, then chuckled softly. "What´s that about?" His fingers brushed her thigh, teasing.

She slid away, folding her arms over her chest. "If you want to touch me, you´ll have to score a hat-trick."

Said out loud, the idea sounded even more ridiculous, and for a moment, she feared it would sit poorly with him. However, she knew what her boyfriend was like when challenged: stubborn, enthusiastic, firm, and determined. There had been countless times when the two of them had competed or made bets over simple things in exchange for something silly. Neither of them backed down from a challenge, but maybe this was going too far. Anyway, her words had already reached Jude's ears, and it was clear she had caught his attention; his posture changed, and he appeared taken by surprise.

At first he laughed, but then seeing that she wasn´t, his smirk faltered. "A hat-trick? Are you joking? I´ve got more than enough goals to deserve touching you."

She smiled, and decided to continue with her idea. "No. I´m actually dead serious." she said changing turning on their TV as if nothing.

Jude leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "You know I could make you change your mind right now, don´t you?"

Her resolve didn´t waver. She pulled away just enough to lock eyes with him, a teasing smile on her round lips. "Try me. But I´m not budging."

He narrowed his eyes, frustration growing in him, still half-expecting her to crack a smile and let that ridiculous thing go. "So are you joking or not?"

She raised an eyebrow and started walking towards their bedroom. "You´ll see."

Jude sat there for a moment, stunned. He was used to her playing games like this, however, they weren´t about something that serious, but the idea... it stuck in his head. As the night wore on, he made a few more attempts to touch her, playfully teasing, expecting her to give in. But each time, she stood her ground, deflecting him with the same challenge: not until you score a hat-trick.

By the next morning, his frustration was palpable. He tried one last time before training, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, pressing himself to her back, and his lips to her neck. "You sure about this, babe?"

She turned in his arms, still kind of sleepy, a knowing smile on her face. "Go score some goals, Jude."

Jude let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. He loved her playful side, but this was a new level of torment. She was using his natural competitiveness against him. What´s more, the game was seven days from today.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “You want a hat-trick? I’ll give you a bloody hat-trick.”

She just smiled against the pillow.

Sadly, she wasn´t able to attend the match that day. Work had gotten in the way, so she was stuck at home watching it on their TV. She had written to him, of course, as she always did when she couldn’t go to the Bernabéu to see the match, wishing him good luck with a couple of white heart emojis and a four-leaf clover. Then, taking advantage of the moment, she had half-joked about not being able to see his "attempt" at the hat-trick in person, but part of her wondered if her challenge would actually work. Not going to lie, she was kind of nervous. He could see him vibrating through the screen with tension every time the camera focused on him.

However, she probably was the most anxious since Jude was animatedly talking to his teammates, as he always did before a game. He wasn’t nervous at all, on the contrary, the memory of her challenge, the way she had teased him all week, stirred something deep inside him. It was no longer just a game; it became something more personal the moment he saw his girlfriend's messages. He hadn’t been bothered at all; on the contrary, he had put his phone away after glancing at the screen and smiling mockingly—surely the same smile she had worn when sending the message.

When the game started, it was clear something had changed. Jude was moving with an intensity that hadn´t been there in the past few matches. His touches were sharp, his passes precise, and he was pressing harder than ever. The commentators noticed it immediately and the crowd was roaring.

Jude left his girlfriend glued to the screen, watching in awe as he ran through the field. It didn´t take long before he found the back of the net, a clean strike from just outside the box that made her jump up from the couch.

But he wasn´t done.

By halftime, he had already scored two goals.

Jude´s third goal was pure instinct—a deft finish after weaving past two defenders and slotting the ball into the bottom corner. Hat-trick. The Bernabéu erupted, but Jude´s attention went to the nearest camera, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He couldn´t hold back his smirk, his chest heaving from the effort of the match, as he pointed directly at the lens and mouthed: "It´s your time to pay, gorgeous!"

She burst out laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. He had done it. Her heart filled with pride and joy and she could not stop smiling.

Jude got home later that night, his energy still buzzing from the game, dropped his bag by the entrance and called out, "Babe?"

From the living room, he heard her voice, casual but with a teasing edge. "Hey Jude. Just finishing some work." That was an absolute lie, she had been ogling some clothes in a shopping web minutes before she heard the keys.

Jude smirked, knowing better. His footsteps echoed as he approached her, spotting her on the couch with her laptop open, her legs folded. She glanced up with a small smile, playing it cool.

"So... how was the match?" she asked innocently, her eyes flickering mischievously before she returned her gaze to her screen. “I got caught up with this and I couldn’t watch it.”

He chuckled, looking down at her. Of course she had been watching the game. She always did it. Always. “You know damn well how it went. Haven't you been teasing me enough this week?” His voice was low, his words dripping with confidence.

She shrugged, her fingers tapping the keys, but he could see the slight twitch of her lips, the subtle way her body tensed as he loomed over her. “What? Did you manage to finally score?” she asked playfully.

Jude moved around the couch, towering over her now, his hand gently closing her laptop. She looked up at him, her pulse quickening. There was a glint in his eyes that made her stomach flutter.

“I—,” she tried to say.

But tired of her never ending teases, Jude closed the distance, capturing her lips with his. The kiss was electric, igniting a fire that had been building all week. He slid his hands to her waist, letting himself finally feel her and pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as their mouths moved in perfect harmony.

She responded eagerly, god how much she had missed his hands around her body. She let her fingers tangle in his hair, drawing him nearer. As their passion escalated, he lifted her off the chair, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pressed her against the nearest wall, their bodies melting together.

“I think we should celebrate properly” Jude murmured, his lips trailing along her neck, igniting every nerve ending in her body.

She moaned nodding and with a triumphant grin, Jude captured her lips once more. “You know,” he said catching his breath. “I bet I can make you cum three times.”

[hotshotsxyz]

8x01 coda

(buddie adjacent) (784 words) spoilers ahead, read at your own risk!

A little peroxide, a little elbow grease, and the engine bay should be good as new. Five minutes, ten max, except Buck’s been scrubbing for twenty and the fucking stain won’t come up. He kind of wants to scream.

There’s blood soaked into the concrete and blood on his hands and it’s ugly and red and Buck needs it to be gone. He pours more peroxide and watches it foam.

It’s too goddamn quiet in here. The construction’s stopped, obviously, and Hen took the station out of service so no alarm will take its place. No one’s yelling, no one’s commiserating, no one’s vacuuming the fucking upholstery.

Nausea wraps itself around Buck’s organs. A hand lands on his shoulder and he jumps.

“Buck,” Eddie says, quiet, too fucking quiet.

Buck scrubs at the stain.

“Look at me,” Eddie says, kneeling beside him.

He can’t. He fucking can’t because the stain is still there.

Eddie grabs his wrist. “Buck,” he says again, forceful and a little loud.

Buck drops the sponge and whips around. “What?” he asks. It comes out flatter than he thought it would, drenched in something like apathy.

“You can stop,” Eddie says.

“No,” Buck says, shaking his head. “You know what he’ll do if this is here when he gets back?” He gestures at the stain. He can’t even say his name.

Eddie’s hand tightens around his wrist. “Let someone else give it a try,” he says gently.

Buck knows when he’s being fucking handled. He wrenches his wrist from Eddie’s grasp. Eddie grabs his shoulder instead.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says quietly.

A humorless bark of laughter escapes Buck’s throat. “Yeah, no, I just killed a guy. Totally fine.”

“He’s not dead,” Eddie argues.

“Yet.”

Eddie takes a long breath. “He’s not dead,” he repeats. “And even if that changes—”

“What,” Buck interrupts. “It won’t be my fault? It kind of fucking is.”

Eddie shakes his head minutely. “If that changes it’ll be the universe or whatever.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “You don’t believe in the universe,” he says.

“No,” Eddie acknowledges. “But I believe in what I can see. And what I saw was you risking your life to save his. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Buck swallows harshly and rocks back on his heels. “For—for a second I—”

“What?” Eddie prompts.

“I was—I wasn’t happy, but I—Eddie, I didn’t care,” Buck says finally. He drops the rest of the way to the floor and pulls his knees to his chest.

Eddie blows out a short puff of air and settles next to Buck. “I’m still not sure I do,” he says, tilting his head to catch Buck’s eyes.

“You don’t have to care,” Buck says. “He’s awful to you, and you’re not the one who killed him.”

“Still not dead,” Eddie reminds him. “And he’s awful to you too. He was in the middle of yelling at you when you saved his life.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It’s not,” Eddie agrees.

Buck bites his lip. “Have you…” he trails off.

“Ever killed someone?” Eddie guesses.

“You don’t—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Buck stammers.

Eddie presses his knee against Buck’s. “I don’t know,” he says, “not for sure.”

Buck frowns.

“I’ve shot at people,” Eddie continues. “Hit a few. I don’t know if any of them died. I’ll never know.”

“How do you deal with that?”

Eddie levels him with a flat gaze. “Buck. I’m in so much therapy.”

It startles a laugh out of him. “Eds I’m serious,” Buck says.

“I am too,” Eddie replies. “And either way, it’s different. You didn’t kill him.”

“He still might—”

“Buck.” Eddie looks away slightly and shakes his head. “Even if he dies, all you did was change what killed him. You gave him a fighting chance, it’s more than he would’ve given you.”

Buck scrubs at his eyes as they begin to sting. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You talk to me,” Eddie says, nudging his shoulder. “You’re a good person, I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it.”

A single tear escapes Buck’s lash line. “Yeah?” he asks, watery and rough.

“Yeah.” After a moment, he stands and holds a hand out to Buck. “Come on,” he says. “Brass says we can go home. You’re coming with me.”

Buck takes Eddie’s hand and allows him to pull him to his feet, leaving the sponge and the stain exactly where they are. “Okay,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” Eddie repeats.

There’s blood on Buck’s hands. Eddie takes him to the shower room to wash it off.

[targs-on-zorses]

A Good Night

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Reader Warnings - 18 + Smut, Sparring Summary - “A good night then, my Lord?” he said, loud enough for you to hear. You blushed deeper. Cregan glanced at himself, seeing the marks and smiling.

A/N: Very little to say here other than: I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this. Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for beta reading, and to my hype-people: @just-some-random-blogger @thenameswinter99 and @sylasthegrim. I hope you enjoy. I do not have a taglist as of yet

The day is brisk and cold, as it always is in the North, and yet the men of Winterfell get hot enough during sparring to remove their shirts, leaving scars and muscled torsos on display. Something that attracts the attention of many a lady or maid of Winterfell. Packs of women surround the battling men, giggling and whispering behind gloved hands. 

You rush down to the training yard, seeking out your husband, Cregan. The pleasant ache between your thighs punctuates every step, yet despite the heat emanating from your womanhood, you rub your hands together to stave off the cold, regretting having forgotten your own gloves in your haste.

It does not take you long to find Cregan in the throng of moving men, he stands taller than most. His Greatsword, Ice, is far larger than any sword you have ever seen. He is deep in his sparring with his good friend, Arnolf of House Locke, his shirt mercifully still on. The ancestral sword of his house, Ice, glints sharp and deadly in the soft morning light. You would be afraid for poor Arnolf were it not for his skill at dodging a blade. His other friend, Maynard Knott, prepared to spar nearby. 

You stood some distance away, not wanting to accidentally walk into the path of an axe or a sword. Your worst fear was being accidentally dealt a blow by a morning star.

Cregan had Arnolf flat on his behind with a few twirls of Ice. The man laughed, gracefully accepting his defeat, and the outstretched hand of his lord to get back on his feet. 

“It is an honour to be bested by my Lord Stark,” Arnolf panted. 

Cregan laughed, the rich sound carrying across the sparring grounds. As he walked to his starting position, ready to fight Manyard, he lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. You took the chance to ogle at the light muscle of his torso, but you were not the only one staring at your husband, and you felt the bitter bite of jealousy, before pushing it away. Cregan did not care for those women who had thrown themselves at him; he only saw you, and no other.

He does not remove his shirt though, letting it drop amid sighs of disappointment from female onlookers, including you. It would have been such a nice sight, to watch the muscles of your husband’s biceps flex with the weight of his sword.

Your mind wanders to the previous evening, when all that strength was focused on you, as he had thrust into you, holding your face to keep your eyes focused upon his own, even as the pleasure reached such heights you could scarcely keep them open.

You shake your head, as if to clear your thoughts, for they are improper. Your septas had always instructed you that purity of mind was a virtue, and yet the feelings your husband elicited from you were the furthest thing from it. You feared what he would say if he knew you were thinking such things, thinking about his bare chest, the muscles of his arms, his weight pressing into you.

No, no! You would not think such things, they were most improper.

You turn your attention back to the sparring before you. Cregan seems to not have noticed you yet, but Arnolf had.

He approaches Cregan, tapping his friend’s shoulder. You cannot hear his words, but you guess them when your husband glances around. Arnolf chuckles and points in your direction. 

Cregan smiles, and all of those wanton thoughts you have been trying to banish come rushing straight back. Images of his smirk of satisfaction when he had brought you to peak for the third time that night, when you had tugged at his soft brown tresses, pulling him away, only for him to smirk again, and dive back into your cunt, feasting as you screamed his name. 

You blush under his gaze, and his smirk widens.

Arnolf notices this exchange and laughs loudly, as always. Cregan spares him a bemused glance before shaking his head. He plunges Ice into the cold hard ground, and, with one hand, yanks his shirt right over his head. Your breath catches in your throat as you behold him in the daylight. In the candlelight of your chambers, everything had been mercifully dimmed. Yet in the bright morning sunshine of Winter, the scars that criss cross his body, and the definition of his muscles, are luminated for all to see.

He grins again, wide as he watches your expression, and the way you shift to ease the ache between your thighs. You bite your lip, attempting to keep your face neutral, but you can feel the blood rush to your cheeks, betraying your flustered state.

He turns his back, and you gasp. Angry red lines marr the skin of his shoulders. You cannot remember seeing those before, and you had seen his bare back many times over. These marks were new, and you were the cause of them, a reminder of the previous evening’s exploits.

It had been too much, so much pleasure as he had thrust deeply, sucking your neck, determined to leave his mark. He’d cradled your head in one large hand, while the other held you to him. You had tangled your hands in his soft hair, tugging, to pull him from your neck. He released you, only to bury himself between your breasts, alternating between one and the other, licking, and pressing his lips all over.

“Cregan,” you whimpered breathlessly, “please.”

He chuckled, not slowing his thrusts. You gasped at the rush of air over your sensitive nipples.

“Please what?” he groaned at a particularly harsh tug of his hair from you.

You could barely speak for pleasure. You tugged wordlessly, moans and gasps escaping your lips. He relented, hauling himself up your body, capturing your lips with his. As he did so, his cock reached new depths within you. You cried out at the sudden wave of bliss, a cry that was muffled by his tongue invading your mouth. He kissed your face, licking away the tears, not tears of pain, but of pure ecstasy.

You clenched around him, knowing the apex of your pleasure was rapidly approaching. You nails dug into his shoulders, clinging onto him, desperate for something to ground you as your pleasure reached new heights.

Cregan moved back to your neck, muffling his groans. One hand cupped your head, while the other snaked its way down to your mound,seeking out your pearl.

Your peak crashed over you in white hot waves, and you bit into Cregan’s shoulder, your nails simultaneously digging into his back, needing something tangible to cling to as torturous bliss threatened to carry you away. You were grateful that he held you down as you arched against him.

He pulsated within you, groaning into your neck, as he found his own release, the warmth of it causing you to whimper and shudder beneath him. You laid there afterwards, panting in his arms, feeling his weight on top of you as his cock softened inside. He pushed himself up and off you, rolling to the side, and you moved after him, coming to rest upon his chest, still needing him close, having been rendered boneless from the intensity of the pleasure you had experienced.

You did not know how many times you had peaked that evening. You did not know what time it was, or how long you had been so passionately engaged for, the only clue was the fire that had burnt to embers. Cregan’s gentle hand in your hair soon soothed you to sleep. You were not aware of him cleaning you up, or tucking you in, or leaving a soft kiss on your forehead that morning.

You watch him now, cheeks flushed with the memories of your shared passion.

Manyard spots the marks on his back and chuckles to himself.

“A good night then, my Lord?” he says, loud enough for you to hear, causing you to blush more intensely.

Cregan glances at himself, seeing the marks and smiles. He turns to take in your mortified face, and chuckles. “A good night indeed, my friend. A very wonderful night.”

[tpwk-formula1]

hi! could i pls get sicilian crust with alfredo sauce, pepperoni, pineapple, roasted mushrooms, and goat cheese. then also sprite, dr pepper, truly, and dessert? sorry for the big order 😭

p.s. i love ur writing so much 🫶🏻

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

sicilian dating Alfredo sweet sex pepperoni "Be a good girl, and you'll get what you want" pineapple "Look so pretty wrapped around my cock" roasted mushroom “Fucking you so good you I can see myself in your tummy” goat cheese "Look so pretty like this" sprite size kink dr pepper dirty talk truly belly bulge dessert yes served by Ollie Bearman

Ollie x Gf! Reader

TW - Oral (m&f receiving), unprotected sex, slight teasing, belly bulge, slight size kink

WC 1400+

Y/N POV

"If we get married one da-" I start saying but get quickly cut off by my boyfriend Ollie scoffing making me turn my head with a raised brow.

"IF? If we get married? You mean WHEN we get married," Ollie corrects making me laugh slightly and nod my head in agreeance.

"Well, ya when we get married, would you want to write personal vows or standard ones?" I reply softly with a blush creeping on my cheeks just at the thought of marrying Ollie one day.

"Well, what would you want? I love love to be able to get up in front of our entire family and friends and tell them exactly how much I love you and all the promises I make to you but I understand if you would rather do that in a more personal setting," Ollie replies softly while looking down at me.

We had spent the whole day being pretty lazy and had currently been watching The Office while cuddling when the random question popped up into my head.

"Well, I've always pictured myself doing a first look before I walk down the isle so maybe we could do personal ones just us and maybe with our parents and closest friends and then during the ceremony maybe giving the standard ones," I reply back making Ollie smile and nod.

"Well, that sounds like a good plan to me. I'm shocked a bit that you would want to do a first look," Ollie tells me softly making me laugh lightly.

"I don't know I just love first looks they feel really personal and then that way we can have our moment alone before having a moment for everyone you know. I'm sure there's gonna be a lot of people and eyes on us so I think it would be nice to have something for just us and the important people," I tell Ollie softly making him nod.

"God, we really are gonna have a lot of people there," Ollie says clearly thinking about all the the people we would be inviting to our future wedding.

"You think you're gonna invite all your engineers from Haas and Ferrari?" I ask slightly laughly making Ollie chuckle along.

"Probably not, but definitely the important ones. You gonna invite everyone in your ballet preformances?" Ollie questions with a laugh falling from his lips.

"No, definitely not. Maybe 1 or 2 of them are deserving of an invite. Please tell me you're not inviting every driver on the grid," I jokingly ask while cringing just thinking about how much ruckus the 20 of those boys could cause.

"Oh definitely all 20," Ollie says with a smirk falling on his lips making me laugh and nod.

"Ya I guess they are pretty important," I nod laughing with Ollie.

"You're really gonna marry me one day?" Ollie asks suddenly getting serious.

"Well ya, when the day comes that you ask me to marry you I'll say yes in a heartbeat," I tell him with a smile starting to spread across my face. Ollie matched my smile before pulling me closer to his chest and kissing me softly on the lips.

"I fucking love you," Ollie tells me making me laugh and tell him I loved him too.

I pulled Ollie back in for another kiss this one turning into a heated makeout session with me crawling into Ollie's lap and grinding down softly feeling his cock starting to grow hard under me.

"Fuck baby," Ollie groans making me giggle softly.

"I can feel how hard you are," I reply softly against Ollie's lips making him groan when I grind down harder into his growing cock.

I pull off my shirt quickly leaving my upper body completely bare for Ollie's large hands to grip onto my tits making me whimper slightly.

"God, I love these tits," Ollie groans making me smile softly.

Ollie starts teasing my nipples with his fingers making me whimper before I start pulling off Ollie's shirt making Ollie pull away slightly to help pull it off all of the way.

I look down at Ollie's toned chest making me rub my hands along his chest and abs before settling on the waistband of his shorts pulling them open just slightly so I can sneak my hand and squeeze his hard cock.

"Fuck," Ollie groans when I start jerking him off slightly.

Ollie and I both climb out of bed and strip our clothes off before I pull Ollie in for another kiss and push him to sit on the edge of the bed so I can get on my knees for him.

"Look so pretty like this" Ollie mumbles while staring down at me on my knees for him.

I slowly start jerking his cock off before leaning down and pulling the tip of his large cock into my mouth pulling him farther down my throat and making me gag slightly around his cock.

"Fuck," Ollie moans when I start bobbing my head. I hum softly against his cock knowing how much he loves the soft vibrations against his sensitive cock.

"Slow down," Ollie groans pulling my hair into a ponytail and pulling me up his cock slowly when I start gagging around his cock.

"Don't want you to get hurt," Ollie mumbles when I look up at him confused.

"I'm fine, wanna make you feel good," I explain softly while bringing him back into my mouth and down my throat gagging once again but this time Ollie just groaned and enjoyed the pleasure.

"Fuck, Look so pretty wrapped around my cock," Ollie groaned making me whine around his cock and bring my hand between my thigh to tease my already-soaked pussy.

"Get on the bed," Ollie groaned pulling me up and helping me onto the bed.

Ollie was between my thigh within moments, pulling my clit into his mouth and sucking it like his life depended on it.

"Oh fuck, Ollie," I whimper pulling his hair between my fingers and tugging him closer to my core.

"More," I beg when I feel Ollie slowly slip two fingers into my pussy.

"Be a good girl, and you'll get what you want," Ollie groaned against my pussy while picking up the pace with his fingers making the band in my stomach tighten warning me of the orgasm that is starting to build.

"I want you cumming on my cock," Ollie says while slipping his fingers out of my pussy making me whimper at the loss of pleasure.

Ollie sits up before he slowly slips his cock into my pussy making me whimper when I feel his large cock starting to fill my tight pussy up.

"Oh god," I scream out when Ollie is all the way seated in my pussy. I could feel the stretch of him all around me making me whimper.

"Too big," I gasp when Ollie starts thrusting his hips softly trying to stretch me out as much as possible before picking up his pace.

"Fucking hell, you're so tight," Ollie groans when he can feel me starting to relax around him, allowing him to pick up the pace.

"Ollie," I moan loudly when I can feel my orgasm start to build in the pit of my stomach again.

“Fucking you so good you I can see myself in your tummy,” Ollie groans making me trail my eyes down slightly noticing instantly the bulge that keeps showing back up every time Ollie pushes in all the way.

"Oh Ollie," I gasp in a stunned manner not expecting it to be so noticeable.

"So tight for me," Ollie mumbles while slowly starting to push down on the bulge so I can feel it more.

"Oh fuck," I scream when I start cumming all over Ollie's cock. All the pleasure was far too overwhelming around me I don't realize that OIllie's thrusts have stopped until I feel his cock pulsing deep in my pussy before he starts unleashing rope after rope of his cum.

"Fuck Ollie," I gasp out of breath as he slowly starts slipping out of me making me feel his cum leak from my gaping pussy.

"Fuck," Ollie groans while slowly climbing out of bed and grabbing a discarded shirt on the floor to wipe me down quickly before climbing back into bed and pulling me into his chest.

"Fuck, I could do that the rest of my life," I joke softly making Ollie laugh lightly with me but still nodding his head in agreeance.

[buckgasms]

Bucky with a reader who reads smutty books?

She's perfected a straight face reading technique for when she's sat in public reading filth. Bucky thinks she reads innocent shit like fairy tales or soemthing so he buys her books like that (she loves his effort but finds them so boring that they live perminantley on the shelf in their living room).

One day she leaves the book open in the living room while she pops to the toilet and he picks it up to see what all the fuss is about. She comes back to him blushing like mad on the sofa reading the smuttiest smut of all smut and looking up at her like 😳 "this your sorta thing huh?" And while he isn't jealous that she reads that he finds it strange that she hid it from him. He asks her to show him what she finds so hot about it and they get to baby making ;)

-🐰

Hey 🐰! Hope you've been ok?

Yes I like this very much. I'm picturing a sort of Avengers Bucky boyfriend because we know what happens when Daddy finds Princess' smutty book 🫣

I imagine the confusion starts because all the covers have various fairytale-esque pictures. You'd just need to look a bit closer to realise they were slightly off!

When he asks why you didn't mention it, you just ramble about how you didn't want to be weird and if he thought it was too kinky or whatever you were happy to just keep it to yourself.

He just tuts, flipping through the pages and reads the bit you just were. I'm imagining it's a red riding hood book where the big bad wolf is eating her, but just in a very different way.

"Wow. He's really working on her there huh? And you keep a straight face when you're reading this stuff?"

You giggle and nod but he keeps flicking through and you sense that perhaps he's a little miffed about something. So you crawl over and climb into his lap, throwing the book to one side.

"Are you mad about my book Bucky?" You say softly, running your hands over his chest and rolling your hips gently.

He grunts a little and can't resist holding on to your hips and squeezing gently at your waist.

"No" he pouts, "just wish you woulda told me you like that stuff... Coulda been doing...." He peters off but you can't let that slide.

"Wait, could have been doing what Bucky? You wanna be my big bad wolf?" You grip his face and lean down to kiss him, not missing the way his hips push upwards, enjoying the way his fingers stroke down your neck and move to grip your waist.

"I dunno, what is it you want me to do?"

You sit back on his lap and grab the book, flicking through as he massages little circles on your hips.

"Well I guess in this one... He chases her a little, and rips her dress off.... Oh and there's a bit where he pins her down and yknow...licks at her..."

You look up from the book and see Bucky staring at you with a devilish look in his eyes.

"Well then little red, you better get running..."

You giggle but he pulls you in closer and whispers in your ear, "or I'll fuck ya right here..." Before scraping his teeth across your soft skin.

You squeal as you leap from his lap and pelt down the corridor to the lift that will take you to your floor. You see him coming round the corner as you make it, slamming on the 'close door' button as he approaches, a big grin on his face.

You sigh as the doors slide shut and then you have the agonising wait to reach your floor. It's only a few floors down, but you wonder how long it will take him to catch up.

Before you have much time then doors slide open and the corridor is eerily quiet. You can't hear any sound other than the low hum of the lift.

You tentatively step out and make to run to your shared apartment with Bucky. You get a few steps to the door when you feel a metal hand grip your mouth and a strong arm wrap around your waist, holding you tight.

"Gotcha..."

📚

He ripped your dress to pieces and pinned you down on the floor, barely making it into the apartment before he was dragging your heat to his face and devouring you. All you could do was cling to the rug as he sucked, nibbled and licked at your sensitive folds.

He carries his prize to the bedroom and puts you on your knees, ass in the air and places your book in front of you.

"Read it. Out loud..."

You flush furiously as you hear his zipper being pulled down and the mattress dip as he settles behind you.

As you begin to read his cock is dragged along your pussy, teasing you and torturing you as you struggle to read.

"Buckkky..." You whine as he presses his leaking tip just a little inside, but he stops and lands so swats onto your ass.

"Come on babygirl, I wanna know what happens. I'm pretty invested in the plotline now yknow..."

You pant and moan but manage to keep reading, describing how the wolf/man fucks the heroine, claiming her body as his, biting and bruising her delicate body. His big cock stretching her wide, hitting parts that no one has been able to before.

The book falls from your grip as he pounds into you. It was a bit of a head rush to have your incredibly hot boyfriend enacting smut and you let out a long, happy moan as he pulls you upwards, spearing his cock deeper, hitting more sensitive places with unrelenting lust.

"Oh my god Bucky.... Please, can I come please?"

He growls in your ear and uses his metal hand to grip your throat, squeezing slightly making your eyes roll. You cling onto the cool metal for dear life, as you crash into your peak, screaming out for him.

You both fall forward, Bucky managing to prop himself up to avoid squishing you, but as your walls continue to flutter around him, he can't hold himself any longer and falls down on top of you.

You giggle and wiggle until you have him resting on your chest, fingers running through his hair as he presses kisses to your soft skin.

📚

Omg imagine if this happened 🫣 also I may need to go back to writing ABO stuff because 🤤

[laughingfcx]

wc <0.4k

"rin, i'm sleepy."

it's two in the morning, raining outside but still unbearably warm. you're barely awake, and so is he.

"so go back to sleep again, then." his indifferent answer comes out in an instant, shadowed teal eyes still fixed on one of the replays he's always watching on his phone.

"but i want to sleep with you!" your voice is whiny, almost needy, an unusual occurrence in this household. you're like rin; neither of you are ever clingy except on those hot and humid nights when it's late and the covers have been thrown haphazardly onto somewhere on the floor, and he's peeling off his shirt because it's hot as fuck but he still wants to feel you. and you obviously share the sentiment every single time, sinking wholeheartedly into his arms, even though you know it'll make the heat worse.

the screen goes black.

"something wrong?" he asks. you're swaying slightly, balancing on the balls of your feet as you consider the question.

"mmm... nah, not really."

"then?"

"is it a crime to want my boyfriend?"

"that's new." the words slip out before he can stop himself; rin braces for an impact that never comes.

you shrug. "i guess."

concerning.

"okay," he sighs, getting up. his phone is slid into the pocket of his shorts. "let's get you to bed."

you pad up the stairs before him, but refuse to get in.

"rin, the covers."

as hot as it is today, your covers are still on the bed and he knows you do not like that. rin sighs again, expression still flat before effortlessly scooping you up with one arm. he pulls back the covers, takes a step back and then fucking throws you into bed like it's no big deal.

a rare, wide grin stretches across his face when he hears you let out a surprised giggle.— just as uncommon of an occurrence.

“rin!” you shriek.

he tilts his head to one side, smile gone as soon as it comes, and climbs into bed with you. “shh, why so loud? the neighbours’ll complain.”

“it'll all be your fault!” you hiss back at him, glaring as you look away. but there is no malice in your tone or your gaze.

“...sorry.” his shirt is on the floor, he pulls you into his arms and the slightly uncomfortable but still welcome warmth of his chest. “here, i’ll make up to you, i swear.”

© laughingfcx 2024. do not repost, translate or plagiarise.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Any way you want it

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 4

Prompts: Slap & Loud

Rated: E

Words: 1,282

Tags: Nudity; Light BDSM; Blindfolds; Sensory play; Slapping; Dirty talk; Top Eddie; Bottom Steve

Steve doesn’t know for how long he's been here. It's hard to tell with the blindfold on, the way his mind has gone fuzzy and soft, but his legs are starting to ache from keeping his kneeling position and the ropes binding his wrists behind his back are starting to chafe, so it must've been a while. He supposes he could call out, ask Eddie to end it, but the mere thought has his hackles rising and his teeth gritting, so he doesn’t. Instead, he counts his breaths, tries to focus on the crackle of the fireplace and the pleasant warmth of the flames on his aching limbs.

“How are we doing, baby? Desperate yet?” 

The words tear an involuntary gasp from Steve’s throat. The last thing he remembers is Eddie closing the bedroom door, the sound of his boots thunking down the stairs. How far gone has he been that he didn't hear him return? 

“Desperate?” is what he says. He's a little proud of himself for how his voice comes out, all casual disinterest with only the barest of trembles. “Bored, more like. I thought the goal of this was to make me horny, not tired.” 

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie chuckles. He's closer than before, even though Steve didn't hear him move. Did he take off the boots? Steve fidgets in his spot, straining his neck and trying to peek out from under the blindfold, but it sits snugly and won't budge. “That's the problem with you, y’know. You're too stubborn for your own good.”

A hand wraps around his throat, pulling him back against a warm, naked body. Eddie’s cock presses into the space between his shoulder blades, thick and fully hard, and Steve gives a strangled moan as he feels himself twitch to attention. Something clinks, like a glass being set down on the mantelpiece, and he frowns at the sharp, earthy scent that hits his nostrils. 

“Wait, did you get into my dad's good whisky?” 

Eddie laughs. Something touches Steve's collarbone, something hard and sharp-edged and cold and he hisses at the sting of it.

“Why not?” Eddie says, slowly dragging the ice cube down, cold droplets catching in Steve’s chest hair. “Why shouldn't I drink his booze? I'm in the house he never comes back to, in the bedroom he never uses, and I have his perfect golden boy at my feet. I think your daddy has made it abundantly clear he doesn't want any of these things. I, though?” 

The ice cube drags over his left nipple, and Steve just barely manages to keep in his yelp. 

“I want it all, baby boy. The question is: What do you want?” 

He rolls Steve’s hardened nipple between two fingers, the pain only heightened by the lingering cold of the ice- … and then he's gone. Steve is left in the dark, floundering and disoriented and desperately hard, and this time, he can't contain his whimper. 

A hand grabs his jaw, from the front this time, and he smells whisky and cigarette smoke and the heady, thick scent of Eddie’s arousal. Steve moans and opens his mouth, saliva pooling on his tongue. When he tries to lean in, Eddie digs his nails into his skin and holds him in place. 

“What. Do. You. Want?” he repeats, every word sharp. “You're not getting anything unless you tell me.” 

He gives Steve’s jaw a brief, warning shake, and Steve’s cock twitches against thin air. Eddie waits. A second, two, while the fire crackles merrily and the cold water on Steve’s skin slowly goes warm. And Steve still can’t see him, but he knows he must be a sight to behold. The black lines of his tattoos contrasting with pale skin, dark curls basked in a halo of red and orange by the firelight, the smug smile playing on those perfect, plush lips. He wishes he could see. 

He could say as much, he guesses - except the thought makes something unbearably soft stir behind his chest, so he doesn’t. 

“You,” he says instead, struggling to form words around the hand still clenching down on his jaw. “Want you.” 

“Aw, honey,” Eddie coos, all fake sweetness. His grip doesn’t ease. “But you have me already. I’m right here with you, ain’t I?” 

His thumb shifts, the pad of it pressing down on Steve’s bottom lip without quite slipping in, and it’s all he can do not to cry out in frustration. His hands twitch in their restraints.

“Your cock,” he grits out, humiliation prickling at the corners of his eyes. Suddenly, he’s glad for the blindfold. 

“Pardon?” Eddie says. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch that.” 

“Fuck you,” Steve snaps. “You know exactly what I-” 

The slap comes without warning. One second, Eddie’s hand is on his jaw, and one moment later, it’s gone, only for his open palm to connect with Steve’s face. The impact isn’t hard, but it still echoes loudly over the crackle of the fire, leaving behind a hot, stinging feeling in its wake. 

“Oh, look at that, he can speak up,” Eddie drawls. His hand fists into the hair at the base of Steve’s neck, tilting his head up. “Now listen to me, baby. You’re gonna tell me what you want, and you’re gonna tell it to me loud and clear. Do you understand?” 

Steve bites down on his bottom lip to keep in the sob building at the back of his throat. 

“I can always leave again,” Eddie says. “Give you another hour or so to-” 

“No, please,” Steve blurts. He doesn't know why, but the thought of Eddie leaving him alone again fills him with a horrible, cold dread. “Your cock. Fuck, I need- … I want your cock, want it inside me.” 

It feels so weird, saying it out loud. Embarrassing and mortifying and freeing and beautiful all at once. His voice cracks pathetically around the last syllable, but he can't bring himself to mind - not when Eddie makes the softest, fondest sound and cups his face in both hands. 

“That was so good, honey,” he praises, and Steve’s breath hitches in his throat. He can't quite tell if it's a sob or a laugh, but when Eddie strokes the pads of his thumbs over his cheeks, he realizes that they are covered in wet tracks. “Where do you want it?”

“Everywhere,” Steve babbles, the words rushing out of him in a mad tumble, now that the dam has broken. “Wanna suck you off, want you to come on my face, want you to bend me over the bed and fuck me into the mattress and fill me up with your-” 

"Whoa, sweetheart,” Eddie says, pressing a long, chaste kiss to his lips to stop the barrage. “I'd love to do all that, but let's take care of one thing at a time?” 

Steve whines again, the prospect of having to wait, of having to choose when he needs everything, everywhere, at once, sending fresh tears of frustration to his eyes. 

“How about,” Eddie says, lips ghosting over his mouth, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, “if I fuck your face first, until I'm nice and hard for you? And then, when that's done, I get us on that bed and you can ride my cock until we both can't come anymore? How does that sound?” 

“So fucking good,” Steve breathes. “Can we start right now? Please, I need-” 

“Of course we can, baby,” Eddie coos, slipping a tender hand into Steve’s hair in the same movement that he pushes his cock into his mouth, stuffing him deliciously full. “See? Good boys get everything they want. They just need to know how to ask for it.” 

More smutty September

[swappedandtrapped]

Rent Help - Part 1

Hey, first thing I'm posting here. Character consistency with AI is difficult for me, so just go with it.

It wasn't a good time in my life. The pandemic hit, making me unemployed. I stayed at home to avoid getting sick and with nothing to do I was starting to find any excuse to go out of my room. I was renting this flat with another guy I found on Craigslist, Roy.

Roy was my age, he moved in from some place outside the county a few years ago and we managed to stay out of each others' way. Maybe except a few times I heard his booming voice shout at the TV, cursing other players in some online game. He was also too comfortable in the house, taking off his shirt and staying like that even when guests came over.

Slowly, the world came back to order. The quarantines stopped, but I was still out of a job. I ended up searching for a long while. I was struggling and really tried to be frugal. Eating cheap, saving up, the usual. But my savings were about to run out.

I was desperate, and even though I felt bad doing so, I asked Roy if he could lend me the money for rent. Roy, to my disappointment, refused. He said he had really bad experiences with friends he lent money to, but never payed him back. I begged, said it was a sure thing, I was willing to do anything, sign contracts, whatever he wanted.

"Sorry man," He said. "You know how it is, I can't let my friends owe me money," He insisted. "But if you're willing to do something for me in return, I think we can still work something out." I was hesitant. "What do you mean? Like doing your laundry?" "Well. Sort of." He smiled. "Just make sure to be free this weekend so you could help me with that thing." It was either that or become homeless, so I jumped to hug him "Yes, of course! Anything! Thanks man!" "No worries. I'll give you the details Friday morning."

The week went by quick. I wasn't sure what he wanted, but I guessed it was just some house work or doing errands for him. He was straight, so anything sex related was out of the question. I relaxed and knew that I won't be kicked out of my place. At least this month.

…

Friday morning came, but my alarm didn't go off. I woke from the direct sunlight peaking through the window curtains when I knew that my window was facing west. But the first thing that I knew was wrong was the smell. Something smelled... Wrong... Like someone else's laundry. In my half-asleep state, I turned on my side to get my phone to check the time. Eyes still closed, I couldn't feel the phone on my nightstand. I opened my eyes to see where the hell was it, but my heart stopped when I first saw my hand.

It definitely wasn't my hand. Darker skin, hairier, and a bit bigger than mine. I saw it was attached to a foreign arm with the same features of the hand. Darker skin, more hair, and bigger than mine. I gasped in fright and used the hand and arm to take off the blanket and reveal what was underneath.

Not my body. This is definitely not my body. I was wearing only pajama shorts, which I never do. My chest was thick, heavy, and hairy. My gut spilling over its own weight. My legs wiggled with fat from my movement. Wait, is this… Roy's body? I touched my chin and felt the beard Roy had. I took a look up from my body and saw I was actually in his bed, which is also in his room. What the fuck happened to me? What is going on? I run to a mirror to see if my fear is true. All I saw was Roy, having the same expression of horror I had.

I screamed, only to quickly stop and cover my mouth. What the hell was this sound coming out of me? "Ahh, test, test." I tried to listen and realized I also heard Roy's voice coming my throat. MY throat! I couldn't escape it. I tried looking for a way out of this body, clawing my skin to find an opening, but all I did was hurt myself.

I was out of breath. I started to sweat. The world was spinning and I had to sit down. After crashing on the shared living room sofa, my heartbeat lowered to a normal pace, but I was still shocked. "What the fu-" I said, surprised again to hear Roy's accent through my teeth. Was this a dream? What the fuck is going on?

"Can you keep it down? It's barely 8 o'clock." a voice behind me said. My voice. My real voice. I looked up to see who I assumed was "Roy?". I stood up to face him. "I didn't think you'd wake up this early, but whatever, I guess we can do this now." "You… You knew about this?" I stammered. "Wait. Did YOU do this?!" "Don't make a big deal out of it man, I told you I'll needed you on Friday." "FOR WHAT!?" I shouted, with his booming voice. "For replacing you?!"

"Don't give yourself too much credit. It's just for this weekend.". He started getting ready to go out. "And I don't need you to replace me, I just needed to not be me for a bit." "WHAT THE FUCK ROY?!" I started getting out of breath again. Maybe even a low-key panic attack. "Why didn't you say anything about that? I thought I was just gonna clean your room or something!"

"I don't understand why you're so upset. You're getting free rent money for basically just sitting on your ass all day." "Because you TOOK MY BODY." "Don't be dramatic, it's just for the weekend. I'm borrowing it." He put on my coat on his way out. "Couldn't you tell me before? How did you even do this?"

"That's not important, I've had this thing since I was little." He started putting on my shoes and tying his shoelaces. Listen, if you don't want this, we can switch back now, but forget about the rent. I'm not giving out free money. It's your choice."

I started to form an insult, but quickly realized this might be my only option. And is being in Roy's body for a weekend really that bad?

"And this is just for the weekend?" "Yes." "And all I have to do is stay here?" "Or go out, I don't care. I just need your body." "But why?" "That's where the money comes in. Most of the pay is for you being discreet about this." The gears in my head turned. "What, like something illegal? Sex? Don't do weird shit in my body." "Nothing sketchy, I promise, but I really need to go. I'll be back tomorrow."

He closed the door after him, leaving me still shocked at the situation he got me into.

Thanks for reading. Part 2 out soon.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

idk if ur asks are open but PLEASE MORE LOGAN X READER X KURT

also... belly dancer reader if u want (why? because every chubby reader is either fetishized, insecure, or it has nothing to do w the plot/character)

if you want it to be the same story go off but also if you want it to be seperate go off do what u wanna do

~For Fear That You Find Out How I'm Imagining You~

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader x Kurt Wagner

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: oral (f receiving), Kurt and Logan run they MOUTHS, implied sex and a bunch of sexual advances, Kurt is super nervy

Genre: fluff, & some smut

Summary: Logan and Kurt can't keep their eyes off of you when they see you through a window I won't deny I've got in my mind now // All the things I would do // So I try to talk refined for fear that you find out // How I'm imagining you ~ Talk by Hozier

A/N: Honey my asks are always open xoxo gossip girl lowkey all my readers are plus sized because I am and write with myself in mind but I'm happy to write one that says so explicitly!! Thank you for the request darling. This took much of my brainpower but man did I enjoy writing it

***

You walk around the room as your students practice their hip control.

"Remember everyone, belly dancing is a combination of sharp and smooth. You wanna make it easily distinguishable when you stick something versus milking it. Luckily, the music will absolutely guide you through where to hit things." You say correcting people's posture as you weave between them.

"Can you show it to us again? Like can we see you do it?" One of your students, Max, asks.

"Yeah sure!" You say walking to the front again. You show an example of the moves you've been having them practice. Caught up in your class, you don't even notice the duo whose attention you manage to capture through the large glass windows of your studio.

"Logan, look." Kurt smacks his friend on the chest.

"What? You wanna take a dance class or something?" Logan quirks an eyebrow at him.

"No! Well- do you think that's the way to talk to her?" Kurt's brows furrow.

"Talk to who man?" Logan frowns.

"That woman. The one teaching the class. She's gorgeous don't you think Logan?" Kurt says. Logan looks through the window curiously to check you out. You're wearing a cropped shirt and a pair of shorts that sit low on your wide hips. As you do your choreography at the front of the room Logan notices the cutest little pale streaks on your sides, like tiger stripes decorating your exposed middle.

"Well yeah of course she is, you wanna meet her?" Logan asks him.

"I- I couldn't. What would I say to her?" Kurt shakes his head.

"We could start with hi." Logan shrugs.

"But she's teaching a class."

"Yeah we hang out til she's done, ask the receptionist how long she'll be in the class." He says.

"Would that not be weird?" Kurt frowns.

"Maybe but how else are we going to get a chance to talk to her?" Logan drags Kurt into the dance studio and walks up to the receptionist.

"Hey quick question, how much longer is that dance thing going on? I wanted to- talk to the instructor about what other classes she offers." Kurt is impressed with how easily Logan can come up with a lie so believable.

"It'll be over in about 10 minutes." The guy at the desk answers.

"Cool. We'll just- hang out here." Logan says taking a seat in one of the chairs in the waiting room.

"I can't believe you did that." Kurt whispers.

"Well it was that or watch her like creeps for several weeks until one of us finally works up the courage to speak to her." Logan shrugs.

"Okay but we don't have a plan, what do we say to her when the time comes?"

"We don't need a plan we just say hi and tell her the truth, that we saw her and think she's gorgeous. It can't be that difficult." Logan says.

"You say that but she might hate us."

"If she hates us we leave. She also might like us but we can't know without speaking to her. Either way we should at least give it a shot so we can be sure."

"I guess that's one way to see it." Kurt frowns.

"That's the spirit. Kinda." Logan claps a hand on Kurt's shoulder. Logan turns his attention to his phone, leaving Kurt to his thoughts.

"I can't speak to her." Kurt says suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" Logan frowns at him.

"I'm having thoughts that would require more hail marys than I can count in order to repent for them. I can't speak to her." He shakes his head.

"Why? You think she's a mind reader?" Logan scoffs.

"You can't prove that she isn't!"

"Okay well for the sake of not sounding like a paranoid set of weirdos, let's assume she's not because we have no evidence to support that she is. In which case, most days you won't even say a curse word you're not gonna get in there and start spouting all the dirty dirty things you want to do to her. You'll be fine." Logan says.

"I can't think of anything else." Kurt says, eyes wide.

"Fine then I'll do most of the talking all you have to do is stand there. Looks like the class is over, show time." Logan pulls Kurt through the group of people currently heading out of the building and slips into the studio where you're organizing your things while you drink your water.

"Excuse me?" You turn at the sound of someone's voice. You know it's not one of your students before you even turn around.

"Hi, can I help you gentlemen?" You ask the pair.

"Hi, I'm Logan and this is Kurt."

"Okay, and what brings you into my studio Logan and Kurt?" You tilt your head.

"We saw you through the giant window and we hope this doesn't read as badly as it could but we just had to come in here and tell you how gorgeous we think you are." Logan says.

"You came all the way in here to tell me you think I'm gorgeous?"

"Well yeah, why not." Logan shrugs.

"Hm. And uh, do you speak, Kurt, or does Logan do all the talking for the both of you?" You turn your attention to the silent one of the duo.

"I speak. Hi." Kurt says quickly.

"Are you nervous?" You ask him. Kurt glances at Logan. "Don't look at him, I asked you. I know he's not nervous."

"I'm- a little nervous. I wouldn't normally do something like this." He admits.

"Well what's different today?" You ask.

"Logan sort of dragged me in here."

"So then which of you thinks I'm gorgeous?" You cross your arms.

"Both of us." Kurt says.

"Hm. Well, thank you. Although I don't often find myself the subject of interest for a pair like this." You say grabbing your duffle bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

"First time for everything right?" Logan says.

"I guess so. Anything else you boys need or did you just want to throw a compliment at me and be on your way?"

"What's your name?" Kurt asks.

"Y/n." You smile.

"Beautiful." He practically sighs.

"Thank you."

"Would it be hubristic to ask if we could take you out?" Kurt asks.

"The both of you?" You ask and again Kurt looks at Logan who this time looks at him too as if they're discussing something unspoken.

"Yes." Kurt says.

"Well, it's- certainly a bold thing to ask which I guess is worth appreciating. Which of you has a phone I can put my number into?"

"Here." Logan hands you his phone and you quickly input your number and call yourself so you have his.

"Give us a couple of hours to plan something and we'll give you a call." Logan says.

"Well you'd better. Or I'll be pretty disappointed after all this." You wink at them and leave the studio.

"What are we gonna do?" Kurt asks.

"Plan a date, and quickly." Logan says.

The two boys call you in under an hour.

"Hello?" You say when you pick up the phone.

"Hey it's Logan." Logan says.

"And Kurt!" Kurt says.

"Hi boys." You chuckle. "Have you planned something already?" You ask.

"Yes. When are you free?" Logan asks.

"I teach dance classes Monday through Wednesday for most of the day and Saturdays too but only til 4."

"We'll pick you up on Friday 6 o'clock. If you're not comfortable with us coming to your place, we can meet you in front of the studio instead." Logan says.

"My place is fine. I'll text you my address. Where are we going?"

"You'll find out when we get there. Attire is casual."

"Very well. See you Friday." You say and hang up the phone.

Friday comes along and at 6 on the dot, you receive a text that Logan and Kurt are downstairs. You take a moment to double check your makeup and gather your belongings before leisurely making your way out of your apartment building. Outside, Kurt is standing by a car and he opens the door upon your arrival.

"Hello Kurt. You look nice this evening." You say, winking at him as you slide into the car. You're sure if his skin wasn't a deep shade of blue, he'd be blushing bright pink. You wonder if he can blush.

As you get into the car you realize it's vintage, it's got those old school bench seats from the 60s that fits 3 people in the front.

"Hi y/n." Logan says.

"Hi Logan, you look nice too." You tell him. Kurt gets into the seat next to you.

"It's good to see you again liebling." Kurt says.

"Liebling?" You ask.

"It means darling, it's German." Logan says.

"You're German?" You turn to Kurt.

"I speak it." He nods.

"That answer feels evasive." You muse.

"My history is complicated." He shrugs.

"And what about you, Logan, is your history 'complicated' too."

"We're mutants, complicated comes with the territory." Logan says.

"Well- it'll certainly make getting to know you two something interesting at least." You shrug.

"That's a cute outlook." Logan chuckles.

"I mean, when you get asked on a joint date by a pair of- friends? Boyfriends? What is your relationship to each other actually?" You ask.

"We have known each other a long time. I suppose friends is accurate." Kurt says.

"You suppose?" You probe.

"Logan likes to pretend he hates everybody so he never admits we are friends but he's a big softie in secret."

"Oh hush Wagner." Logan rolls his eyes.

"In secret? I'd say it's pretty obvious." You laugh.

"Alright that's enough you two. We're here." Logan rolls his eyes. You look out the window to see that you're at an arcade.

"An arcade?" You smirk.

"We thought it would be best to pick something generally enjoyable, since we don't know anything about you besides that you're a dancer." Kurt says as both he and Logan get out of the car.

"You made a good choice. I hope you're ready to get your asses kicked though." You say climbing out of the car after Kurt.

"Competitive are you?" Logan asks.

"You have no idea." You wink at him.

"You are so on pretty lady." Logan chuckles.

"Bring it big guy."

You spend a couple of hours at the arcade with them, every game you play with Logan is competitive and every game you play with Kurt is just for the fun of playing. Kurt's focus is mostly on getting to know you, and staring. All he wants to do is stare at you. It's a wonder he can manage to focus on anything else. 

If he were honest, he's not been able to shake those unholy thoughts he's been having since first seeing you. As you race Logan in some snowboarding simulator, he wonders what you would taste like. When you challenge Logan to skeeball, Kurt can't stop thinking about how you'd feel wrapped around him. When you and Logan play some zombie shooter game, he imagines your lips against his or teasing kisses down his neck. When you play one of those dancing games he can't keep his eyes from wandering over your curves in your lowcut crop top and your tennis skirt. His eyes catch the part of your tummy peaking between where your shirt ends and your skirt begins and all he wants to do is cover the area in kisses and love bites.

"Dude, what's up with you? You've been more quiet than usual." Logan asks Kurt quietly when you slip away to refill your drink.

"Hail Marys." Kurt says.

"You're doing hail marys?!"

"If only. I should be. How can you manage to hold a conversation with her when she looks so-" Kurt trails.

"Trust me man I am no saint but it's much easier to ignore that urge if you actually try to divert your attention. Play a few games that'll maybe help you dispel some of that pent up frustration you're feeling." Logan suggests.

"What are you two whispering about over here?" You ask.

"You know you've been kicking my ass all night, I think it's time for you to take down Kurt at a few of these." Logan shoves Kurt forward a little bit.

"Okay. Pick your poison Kurt." You say.

"Can I pick you?" He asks.

"Not in public." You wink. "I meant a game hon."

"That one." Kurt points to an air hockey table.

"Air hockey?" You quirk an eyebrow up.

"What? No good at that one?"

Oh no, I just thought you'd pick something else." You shrug walking over to the air hockey table. You wrap one hand around your paddle and Kurt can't help but wonder what it'd feel like for those same fingers to close around his dick the same way. You place your other hand on the edge of the table and lean forward with a smirk.

"Don't take this personally, but I'm gonna wipe the floor with you darling." You say.

"Can't wait to see this." Logan says placing the puck onto the table. It darts quickly back and forth as you both hit it across the table. The first point is yours and you clap your hands when it slides by Kurt's paddle. The next three points are also yours and Kurt hasn't scored once. The game only goes to 7 points so at this rate you'll completely sweep. Logan walks over to Kurt as he grabs the puck from under the table. You can't quite hear their hushed conversation but you watch them whisper for a few moments.

"Aren't you good at air hockey?" Logan asks Kurt.

"I made a mistake here I can't possibly focus with her bent forward like that I can practically see down her shirt." Kurt says.

"Yeah, my view isn't half bad either but I don't have to pay attention to the game here." Logan shrugs. "Focus man."

"Are you two done co-conspiring over there?" You ask.

"I'm giving a pep talk, you're crushing him." Logan defends.

"You asked me to." You say.

The final score ends up being 7 - 4 in your favor. You're surprised Kurt managed to score any considering how obviously distracted he's been.

"Not bad especially since you're barely here." You muse.

"What?"

"You're distracted. It's pretty obvious. Is something wrong?" You ask.

"Uh-" Kurt's eyes dart away from you.

"You're doing that again? I thought we were beyond looking at Logan for answers. Just tell me the truth. Whatever it is I'm sure I can handle it I'm a big girl I promise."

"It's nothing." Kurt shakes his head.

"Oh I find that hard to believe." You hum. "Logan, do you believe him?" You ask although your eyes stay on Kurt. He looks nervous enough when you ask Logan that you're sure Logan knows exactly what's going on with him.

"Well- if he says it's nothing." Logan trails.

"You're protecting him. Cute. But I expect the truth when I ask a question. So again, Kurt, what's on your mind?"

"I don't think I can say."

"Why not?"

"There aren't enough confessionals in the world to compensate for the thoughts occupying my mind at the moment and I- I would never want you to believe that's the only thing I want from you."

"A confessional?" You frown.

"No." Kurt says and you take a moment to dwell on his words before it clicks.

"Ooohh. Naughty boy, imagination running away with you is it now?" You ask.

"You could say that, yes."

"I appreciate the sentiment of being gentlemen but neither of you is particularly subtle enough with your staring for me not to notice. It's quite clear you're both... influenced by your third leg for lack of a better phrasing. Don't look at me like that I'm not a nun. Although if you're hell bent on the whole confessional thing I'm sure I can absolve you of your sins."

"W-what does that mean?"

"I think we've spent enough time at the arcade. Now the question is, how far do you two live from here?" You turn to Logan.

"About 15 minutes." Logan says.

"Perfect." You say grabbing Kurt by his collar and pulling him towards the exist. "Come along Logan." You throw over your shoulder and he does so with a chuckle.

The drive to Logan and/or Kurt's place is quick. 15 minutes isn't by any means long but you're almost certain Logan broke a couple traffic laws to get there in 10. He leads the way to the apartment and once inside the living room, you face the boys.

"Now, I've never gone to a confessional but tell me your sins so that the gods may forgive your transgressions." You say to Kurt.

"I don't speak because it's all I can do to control myself around you. I find myself consumed with thoughts of how you would taste, feel, sound, the faces you'd make in the heat of passion."

"We'll start with taste then." You tell him. With a hand on his shoulder you push Kurt to his knees in front of you. Kurt looks up at you in pure disbelief, hands on your thighs.

"You- want me to, you'll let me-" Kurt trails off as you caress his face.

"I've already asked you to. Isn't that what you want Kurt?"

"Yes please." He breathes out.

"Good, so go on, taste me." You say dropping your skirt and panties to the floor, exposing yourself to Kurt and Logan.

"Christ almighty." Kurt says before burying his face between your thighs. His tongue slides between your folds and you sigh at the pleasure it brings you.

"Don't worry Logan I haven't forgotten you, come kiss me." You say.

"Thought you'd never ask." He says placing a hand at the back of your throat as he kissing you fiercely. You slip one hand up his shirt dragging your fingers over his abdomen enjoying the way his muscles clench under your touch. Your other hand slides into Kurt's hair, holding him against you as he laps greedily at your cunt. Kurt wraps his lips around your cilt and sucks harshly at the bundle of nerves. The sharp waves of pleasure make your knees buckle slightly and Logan's arm winds around your waist holding you against him as he trails kisses to your throat.

"Oh fuck." You moan, tilting your head to give Logan more room to cover your neck in blooms of red. "Don't stop Kurt." You say, fingers tightening in his dark hair. You feel Kurt slip a finger into your entrance, sliding in and out so his tongue can focus on your clit. Logan's hands run under your shirt and when his fingers begin to tweak your nipples your orgasm hits you and your shaky legs are only supported by Logan and Kurt holding you.

"You two are a dangerous pair." You breathe out.

"You haven't seen danger yet gorgeous." Logan says nipping at your ear in a way that makes you shiver.

"Well, there's plenty of hours left in the evening. And Kurt's vices are not yet relieved."

"I hope you don't have much planned tomorrow liebling. We're rather- tenacious." Kurt says kissing along your abdomen as he rises to his feet.

"I can take it sweetheart. Don't you worry." You say. You feel pretty confident in your words, and Kurt and Logan are forever up for a challenge. If the walls could talk they'd have a novel of stories to tell.

***

[affableramen]

Falling in love with a non-sorcerer [Suguru Geto x Reader]

tags: angst with a fluffy ending

Geto despises non-sorcerers. It is common knowledge, and you know it well. However this man has also been extremely biased.

You walk down the park together, it is raining lightly in the evening. The both of you are walking in complete silence, almost indifference in the air between you. After several moments Geto is the first to start conversation:

“I had lots of fun today. Thank you.”

You sigh…

“What’s that look on your face?” Geto asks. He can tell that his words got under your skin. Your face irritated, and your eyes sharp as knifes glare at him. As sly as a fox Geto inquires: “You don’t believe me?” a smirk tugging in the corner of his mouth.

“Will you stop pretending? I know you hate me.”

Geto’s charming expression suddenly changes. He stops in his tracks, ruining the calm walk you had a moment ago. He drops his fake friendliness and finally admits:

“You’re right”, his tone is cold. “I despise you. You make me want to vomit. Your whole being disgusts me. After all, you’re a non-sorcerer.”

“And that immediately means I’m a bad person.”

Geto turns his face to you as his ears perk up to your suggestion.The whole lot of hate he used to have before in his dark eyes slowly subsides, and his look turns confused, softer even.

“You’re not…bad. You’re just unnecessary. Pointless. It is as simple as that.”

You shake your head, trying to brush the tears appearing in the corners of your eyes off.

“You’re so narrow-minded, Suguru.” Your voice cracks, but the tears stop as soon as they start. Your mind is busy telling yourself this man is not worth it.

“I’m not. I just dislike you all, that’s it. I wish to not discuss this anymore.”

“Fine, whatever you say.”

He rolls his eyes seeing you compliant and not even attempting to fight back. This calmness, this “good” of your character is so infuriating to him.

“I’m just stuck with you. You mean nothing to me.”

“What a wonder! You are the one holding my hand currently!”

Almost immediately, Geto pulls his hand away from you, shocked to having not noticed how he is grasping you in his own hand. He shoves his hands into the pocket, as if trying to rub off your touch and aroma.

“You touched me first.”

“Okay, whatever you say, dear.”

Seeing you casually brush off his mean words as if it were nothing, Geto feel his anger grow even more. Gritting his teeth, although trying to still keep his refrigerator-like cold composure, Geto asks:

“Now what’s your damn problem?”

“What’s your damn problem, Suguru?!”

“Don’t you dare. Call me. By my name-” he towers over you, his face red of fury, the veins threateningly pops on his forehead as he cuts the space between your bodies to the brim. “My only problem is that you are an ordinary human. A non-sorcerer. Weak, useless, pathetic, unworthy of a lock of my hair. So please, stop trying to get under my skin, stop trying to fucking understand me. ‘Cause you never will.”

“I never forced you into loving me. You’re the one who started flirting and invited me out! You’re the one who’s given yourself permission to overstep your boundaries!”

Geto laughs cooly. “Flirting, hah! Can’t believe you’re so dumb to have believed in that little show. You truly think I would ever consider intertwining my life with a non-sorcerer? I just did what I had to do to get what I wanted from you.”

“And what did you want?”

Geto’s words stab you right in the chest.

“Sex. All I ever wanted was physical.”

You do not believe his words. He feigns ignorance.

“Oh, don’t be upset. Or are you surprised I’d want something physical like sex?”

“Like hell— we don’t even do that often.”

It’s true. His explanation did not only sound mean, it was completely senseless, because you did not sleep that much together…

“Thankfully, we don’t.”

“Suguru, what do you really want from me?”

Geto takes a short moment to think. Eventually he turns away to light a cigarette.

“What I truly want… I guess it is your obedience. I love power, I love people throw themselves to my feet. Initially I wanted you to serve me, obey me. Does that answer satisfy you?” He lets a soft huff of smoke.

“You need a pet. I’m not a pet, Suguru.”

Rolling his eyes dramatically he throws his cigarette away and crosses his arms.

“I expect your compliance, behaviour and respect. Are you going to subserve into me or—”

You quietly turn around and leave. Geto watches you walk away when something aches badly in his own heart. “Wait.”

Your breath hitches. Did he just attempt to stop you? Not given enough time to overthink or act, you feel the man grab you by your shoulders, stopping you from escaping. He starts kissing you hungrily, passionately. Wrapping his arms around your waist, Geto licks your lower lip before pushing his tongue into your mouth, seeking entrance he longed to have. He moves his thin fingers from your waist to the back of your head, pulling you closer into the kiss. You respond, tasting his lips and letting him taste your own.

“This is what I want”, Geto breathes out heavily. “You have no idea how long I have ben suppressing my inner desires.”

“Sugu—”

He cuts you off, pressing you only closer to him, as if fearing you might escape his grasp again. No, he can’t let this happen, not now. Geto pushes his hot body against yours, you can feel the raise of heat in your own. While he ravishes your mouth, destroying the last bits of sanity between you two, you grab his hair and pull on it gently, not forcefully.

“I need you, for you.”

You suddenly untie his hair. Suguru’s raven locks fall onto his shoulders and some - on his face.

“Non-sorcerer-” he chokes out a moan.

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever leave me, non-sorcerer.”

“I won’t.” You desperately pull his hair, trying to sniff his aroma and pump it into you, as if addicted to his scent.

“That was rather risky, when you untied my hair, I mean.” He warns you, but allows you play with his silky hair. “No one would dare do it.”

“Then I’ll be the one who is courageous enough to touch your hair.”

A chuckle. Still suffering the aftermath of the kiss Geto speaks again, his voice shaky: “You have no idea the things I want to do with you.” He presses his forehead against yours, as if seeking comfort. “I want to be sweet with you… and I also want to wreck you. To have you come undone, scream my name, make you submit to me… But I also want to be tender, to worship your body.”

“Let me worship you too.” You say and without any warning your teeth attack Geto’s neck. You lick every single bite after, soothing the vivid sensation of your affection. He lets out an involuntary moan… However, realising that you’re in the park currently, you pull yourself into reality. Geto groans when you stop.

“We’re in a public place.”

“Damn you’re right.”

“Besides… I’m hungry.”

“Me too. Let’s get something to eat before we proceed to… what we started here.”

“Of course, Suguru. I want fries…”

“Then we’ll get you fries. Money is not problem for me.”

He smooches your cheek quickly. “And I was wrong. You should call me by my name more often.”

[romanarose]

Happy Birthday, Joel

Trans!Joel Miller x m!reader

Summary: No one really knows Joel. Not the way you do.

Warnings: Uhhhhhh being closeted trans? I guess breif use of dead name, but for me personally the name I was born with doesnt bother me, and I have a few trans friends who feel the same, so I'm not gonna dance around it.

Immersivity: Reader is amab and male

A/N: This is for my dead @justagalwhowrites Joel's birthday celebration! I chose the gender swap, and even though it's not neccecarily gender swap because gender is gender, this is a pre-transition Joel Miller. I paired it with friends to lovers <3 I've seen at least one person talk about trans Joel as a concept and I love it! Below I'll have other trans concepts of mine liked

*******************

No one understood him like you did.

He was your best friend, and you were the only person he trusted enough to tell you his secret.

Melissa Miller was a man.

"What about Felix?" You ask him, flipping through a book of names they had gotten at the book store. The clerk treated them like they were expecting a baby, so happy and bubbly and asked when they were expecting. You didn't blame her, honestly.

In 1979, it was in vogue to have short hair, certainly not anything shocking even if the fashion was Ferrah Faucet style, long silky mousy brown hair, or afros. When he cut his hair into a pixie, Mrs. Miller lost her shit and called him a lesbian but that was just Mrs. Miller. He still looked feminine, even if you didn't see him that way. To you, he was a man.

He cringed. "Do I look like a twink to you?"

That made you laugh. "No, no you do not." He still looked more effeminate, but more like a tomboy girl than anything. Some curves for sure, even though he wore a tight sports bra most days. That should've been your first clue. While most girls were trying to make their chest bigger, he was trying to reduce it. Still, he worked on a farm, had muscles that matched his strength. Even before he came into his own with his muscles, he always had more of a straight body type which you loved.

"Give me another"

You were trying out name ideas. It was getting exhausting never referring to him as anything. Not that you could call him anything in public, but there were moments... stolen glances, little touches, times when you thought maybe is feelings for you matched yours for him.

"Theod-"

"Absolutly not."

You slam the book shut, watching him lay on the grass... it was his birthday, 20th to be expect, and he had wanted to just spend it out of the farm with you, so you packed a picnic. Still, birthday or not he was driving you insane.

"You said you liked old names!"

"Not ones that sound like some rich British asshole!"

You groan, watching him laugh as he sprawled out. Jean, flannel, tee shirt... all baggy of course. Despite the sports bra, you could see the swell of his tits.

He peaks up at you. "Well, get on with it!"

"Fiiiiine" Only because it was his birthday. And because picking a name with him seemed special, sacred. and it was his birthday. And because you loved him.

You reopen your book. "Abel?"

He seems to mull it over. "Hmmm. I like it...."

"But it's just not right, is it?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, but it's close."

You skim the names over, flipping through, skipping chunks, trying to find something that fit YOUR friend. He deserved the best.

"What about Joel?"

There was silence. "Joel... Joel Miller... wow.... I really like that. Rolls off the tongue." You watch the smile spread across his face. He sits up. "Joel Miller. Do you think it fits me?"

You're smiling back. "It really does. I think it's perfect. I mean, we can keep look-"

"No!" He cuts you off but this time you arent annoyed. He's bubbling with joy, giddy as he bounces in his spot. "I love it."

"Joel it is then!"

You don't see it coming when he kisses you. As quickly as it started, he pulls away. "Shit. Shit, I'm fuck'n sorry man, I just got-"

You grab his flannel and pull him back to you, kissing him deeper now. Joel's body submits to you immediately, melting into your touch and humming as you lay him down on the grass.

"Wanted you for so long..." You murmur into his mouth, not daring to pull away. "My man..."

He smiles against your skin. "Your man?"

"Mine, and mine only." You settle your knee between his legs, hearing Joel whimper. He was far from a blushing virgin, you knew. Many a man had taken him to bed before he realized what he was. But none of them understood him like you. None of them knew Joel Miller. You touch him, avoiding his chest you knew he didn't like attention drawn to, and feeling the muscles on his stomach. He was your man.

"Happy birthday, Joel"

*********

I hope you likey!!!!! I've been enjoying writing some trans content and i hope you do too!!!!

Here are some others ive done

About a Girl series: Joel meets reader, not realizing at first she's trans. All about acceptance, queer issues, family, found family, love, kindness.

You'd love me if i was a worm, would you love me if i was a man?: reader comes out to Santi

Joel take a strap: Joel's husband is a transman, and he finds a strap

Big Boys Dont Cry: Trans Santi Trans Reader smut

thank you all!!!

I've considered doing something with the trans logan stuff I've seen.... anyone in?

Tagging those i thought might enjoy!

@my-secret-shame @beefrobeefcal @pedge-page @for-a-longlongtime @crowandmousewritingco

[1dmonthlyficroundup]

— 1D Monthly Fic Roundup —

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for September 2024! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup​. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ I long for that feeling to not feel at all by @ineverateakiwi [NR, 2k, Louis/Harry]

When he is not around and Harry needs to feel more grounded, steady on his own feet, he thinks of Louis. It's probably not healthy to rely on someone this heavily, but it's better than nothing. It's what he has right now. And, right now, it's working. Is thinking about that feeling, the feeling of being real, being alive, that he whispers – without thinking – those two words. — "Hurt me."

Harry needs to feel something, even if it's pain. Louis gives what he needs.

＊ where the real you is the superstar by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove [T, 2k, Harry/Louis]

Louis has lived in his tiny beachfront town his whole life, and doesn't know if he'll ever leave. Harry is constantly moving around, but when he meets Louis, he can't help wishing this could be the place he might stay. Just because the summer is temporary doesn't mean it's not worthwhile.

＊ Just a Little Taste, Babe by @allwaswell16 [E, 2k, Louis/Harry]

Harry’s been pining over Louis Tomlinson since their sixth form days. Now, he’s backstage at Louis’ concert and trying not to embarrass himself.

＊ make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face by localopa / @voulezloux [E, 24k, Harry/Louis]

things could be worse. harry doesn’t know what could be worse than being forced to do a tell-all interview with his ex friends with benefits that he still harbors feelings for, the only person he could ever see a future with, the person who truly hates him so much, he can’t help but hate him right back. but surely, worse things have happened at sea, right?

＊ Necessities of Nesting by @haztobegood [G, 5k, Louis/Harry]

“I know this is a sensitive topic and you probably don’t want to talk about your nest with me. But I have a friend that teaches nesting classes. Maybe they could help.”

“So you agree: my nest sucks and I’m a shit omega.”

＊ A Tight Space by haztobegood [T, 2k, Harry/Louis]

Niall pushes the bedroom door open. A huge mass of brown fur bolts between his legs. Louis startles with a hand to his chest.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Oh, that’s the cat. I told you Liam found a stray a few days ago. That’s him.”

“Are you sure that’s a cat?”

＊ The Grundy County Corn Maze Incident by haztobegood [T, 2k, Niall/Greg James]

Niall was getting tired and a bit worried about actually getting out of the corn maze. He had lost track of time and the fun was wearing off. Then, he heard someone shout for help. Part 3 of Grundy County Incidents

＊ Special Instructions by haztobegood [T, 2k, Zayn/Louis]

He didn’t mean for the drawings to become a thing. But they have. Every Tuesday night around eight o’clock, a take out order from Louis T. appears. Each order has new special instructions, requesting some change to the carefully curated dishes that Zayn has concocted. And every Tuesday night, Zayn doodles a response to those special instructions.

＊ A Wrench and a Rodent by haztobegood [T, 5k, Louis/Harry]

Louis just wants to study astrophysics, do some research, and graduate from Casper University. Fate throws a wrench in his plans.

＊ Language Of A Petal by @bittersweetsin [E, 15k, Harry/Louis]

“Wait, you're reading Divin-“

“-Divined Souls? Yup,” Harry finishes for him.

Starving off a grin, Louis says, “Have you actually been stalking me all this time and just lied about not knowing me?”

“Guess we’ll never know.”

or Louis is a librarian, and Harry comes in all the time to return books he’s finished reading. Every time Louis opens the book to check for any damages, there’s always a flower hidden in between one of the pages, specifically on a paragraph that has a deep meaning.

＊ Come and See My Dreams by @lululawrence [NR, 3k, Louis/Harry]

In a world where alphas traditionally built nests as part of the courting rituals for their omegas and rarely outside of that, Louis felt drawn to nest for his best friend from the time he was young.

Now, it was finally time to present the nest to Harry.

＊ a moon, a rainbow, and a carnation by lululawrence [NR, 8k, Louis/Oscar Isaac/Pedro Pascal]

“I swear they’re secretly dating or maybe even married at this point and are just trying to see how long they can keep it under wraps or something. Not quite sure what the deal is, honestly, but they swear up and down that they’re just friends whenever anyone asks.”

Louis chuckled. “Too bad. I’d have happily gone after either one of them, honestly.”

“Or both,” Calvin said, waggling his eyebrows.

Or the five times Louis, Pedro, and Oscar have incredible chemistry and the one time they finally admit to the feelings.

＊ 'Cause What I Want Came True by lululawrence [NR, 1k, Louis/Diego Luna]

Diego had been… unexpected. From the moment that Louis had walked into the coffee shop and seen him sitting there, he was surprised. He’d known Diego was attractive, the few photos he had shared on the dating app had made that clear, but there was something about seeing him in person that made him feel… more.

＊ (Whoops) Here We Go Again by lululawrence [NR, 4k, Louis/Oscar Isaac]

“I’ve got you,” Oscar said as he confidently hit the eight for Louis.

Nodding his thanks as he shyly tucked himself into the corner so the others who needed to could exit easily on their own floors, then Louis sucked his lips into his mouth in an attempt to cover his smile.

It didn’t mean anything, because of course it didn’t. They’d shared an elevator a few mornings a week for months now, but still. He remembered.

Or the one where Louis and Oscar have been seeing each other regularly on the elevator at work for almost nine months. Maybe it’s time for something to finally happen between them.

＊ Duck Crossing by lululawrence [NR, 2k, Louis/Diego Luna]

“So, what exactly are we doing?”

Diego’s brows rose in surprise at the same time Louis started hearing what sounded like quacking. “You don’t know?”

Louis scrunched his nose a bit and looked over towards where the quacking seemed to be getting louder. “I don’t. My sister sent me to the discord without explaining what was so special about the town’s ducks, and when I went to ask about it, I somehow got roped into helping you here tonight instead, so…”

Diego laughed before he looked up and down the road, where several cards were still making their way around. “This is going to be fun for you, then.”

＊ Curiosity by @hellolovers13 [G, 934 words, Louis/Harry]

Fae Harry lets curiosity get the best of him.

Human Louis is intrigued.

＊ Sweetest Poison (series) by @hellolovers13 [E, 7k, Harry/Louis]

It takes all his willpower to keep Harry from devouring it all now. Consume the raw energy that flows through it. Let it become part of him. Let it fuel and rejuvenate him.

But it’s too soon.

or Nothing like starting the day with a little bloodshed.

And coffee.

The barista is cute, too.

or Witch Harry finally gets rid of his latest boy toy. Who will be next?

＊ The Nest by Blue_Green28 / @bluegreen28fics [T, 5k, Harry/Louis]

Harry is a very particular omega who doesn't like to have items of Louis' in his nest until he secretly starts to steal them for it. or, 5 times one of Louis' personal items is missing and 1 time he finally finds them. (5+1 fic for Week 1 of Wordplay Challenge, Prompt: "Nest")

＊ Perfect Now by Blue_Green28 [E, 5k, Louis/Harry]

Timestamp for "We Are World Class" Harry gets frustrated because he wants to wear his wedding suit to the Oscars. After his second pregnancy the trousers don't fit anymore. Louis tries to reassure him that he still looks beautiful. Part 2 of World Class Universe

＊ You make me strong by Blue_Green28 [T, 3k, Harry/Louis]

While Louis is carrying the happiness of Great Britain on his shoulders during the European Championships finale, Harry is carrying something else. (Week 3 of Wordplay Challenge 2024, Prompt: Carry // Time stamp for "We Are World Class", can be read without knowing it) Part 3 of World Class Universe

＊ Home by Blue_Green28 [E, 3k, Louis/Harry]

Louis comes home after his festival tour.

＊ Kiwi - It's your business! by Blue_Green28 [E, 22k, Harry/Louis]

When ex-boybander Louis Tomlinson asks newcomer Harry Styles to be his support act for the next leg of his tour, he has no idea that he will gain more than just a support act. or, the one with the banter on tour

＊ Nest by @kingsofeverything [G, 100 words, Harry/Louis]

Harry wakes up first.

＊ Tight by kingsofeverything [NR, 100 words, Louis/Harry]

Louis comes home early.

＊ Carry by kingsofeverything [NR, 100 words, Harry/Louis]

Baby bump.

＊ Press by kingsofeverything [E, 100 words, Louis/Harry]

Louis asks for it.

＊ now that we're alone (say you hate me) by 28goldensfics / @28goldens [E, 18k, Harry/Louis]

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are Co-Project Managers, constantly bickering at work, always finding themselves at odds, and competing to be the best. When a scheduling mishap with their company’s timeshare forces them to share a summer vacation, they're less than thrilled. But, as they navigate their time together, they realize that their animosity might be masking something a bit deeper than the hate.

＊ my sun, my everything by 28goldensfics / @28goldens [E, 5k, Louis/Harry]

based on the top harry fic fest prompt:

41 - Louis has been making a lot of self-deprecating jokes lately and Harry is sick of it. Ensue Harry worshiping Louis’ body like it’s his favorite god.

“You’re like a god,” Harry said softly, his voice reverent and full of wonder as he pressed a chaste kiss to the peak of Louis’ cheek which caused his eyes to shut gently. “Every part of you is so divine.”

Louis' eyes fluttered open, a mix of surprise and coyness in his gaze. “You think so?”

Harry nodded with absolute sureness, his hands moving slowly to undress Louis. He strategically unbuttoned Louis' shirt, his touch lingering beneath the fabric as if to savor each exposed inch of skin he revealed.

“Your body is a fucking masterpiece,” Harry murmured, his breath warm as he leaned to press a kiss against Louis’ bare chest. “Every curve, every line—it’s all so perfect.”

＊ Do You Know Who You Are? by @eulogiseme [M, 145k+, wip, Harry/Louis]

Doncaster was meant to be a fresh start for Harry, a chance to let go of his past and start a new life. But it doesn’t feel like it when Harry finds himself tormented by the arrival of Louis Tomlinson. Cocky, confident, and a huge flirt, Louis can’t keep away from Harry no matter what Harry says.

Upon his return, Louis is occupied with starting his business with Zayn and dealing with his family’s illegal business. Things start to get messy when Louis is conned by a dealer, and also can’t seem to get a certain pair of green eyes and dimples out of his head.

The one where Louis wants Harry, and Harry doesn’t know what he wants, or who he is. Though, he can take a good chance and guess that perhaps wanting Louis might just cost him everything.

＊ something told me it was you by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed [T, 1k, Zayn/Louis]

Are you ready, 'cause I'm ready to let go Never thought that I'd be ready again

＊ 'til I let go of this moment by we_are_the_same [M, 3k, Zayn/Liam]

Zayn and his terrible horrible no good Olympics. Where he wins gold and Liam’s heart.

Featuring Liam’s unfortunate big penis

＊ and in those rare moments by we_are_the_same [T, 2k, Louis/Harry]

London, May 23rd, 2025

Interview with Harry Styles, popstar, bisexual icon and philanthropist, by Louis W. Tomlinson.

＊ circling the truth by we_are_the_same [T, 3k, Liam/Louis]

Liam Payne has met his soulmate.

He knows he has, because he woke up with his power this morning.

Problem one: he has no idea who his soulmate is. He saw a ton of people last night, because it was the introduction party for the uni he is now attending. He’d talked to at least a dozen people, and he’s unsure on what counts as ‘meeting’ your soulmate, because it might just be someone he’d bumped into on his way to the loo.

Problem two: his power seems to be that he can read minds.

＊ even if it's strange, it's our love by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright [G, 520 words, Zayn/Louis]

Zayn makes a hedgehog friend on his new farm and it changes his life in completely unexpected ways.

＊ I drink the honey inside your hive by yeah_alright [E, 3k, Louis/Harry]

Louis comes home frustrated and riled up in the way that only taking exactly what he needs from Harry can fix.

＊ Help me out of a jam? by yeah_alright [M, 2k, Harry/Louis]

Harry's tightened a jar beyond what he can open. He asks Louis for help, because Louis is always more than obliging.

＊ Carry the One by yeah_alright [T, 100 words, Louis/Harry]

Five times Louis carries her best friend and one time Harry carries the love of her life.

＊ Keep You Sweet in My Memory by yeah_alright [M, 6k, Zayn/Harry]

Of course Harry is the type to have a leather bound journal filled with pressed flowers. Zayn stops at one so delicate looking that he can’t believe it withstood the pressing process. It’s simple – a single layer of small, white petals with just a bit of yellow in the center – but Zayn can’t help but stare. His eyes rove over the subtle details frozen in time, somehow maintaining their softness despite having been crushed into two dimensions, and he feels almost hypnotized. He’s not aware of his hand moving until two fingers brush over the petals.

An image so vivid and sudden that his eyes snap shut in shock floods his mind and he pulls his hand back as though it’s been burned. The second his fingers leave the page, the image is gone, too fleeting for his memory to capture it.

“What the fuck?”

Zayn's only just getting to know Harry when he discovers he's able to store memories of people he loves in pressed flowers. At least that's what Harry tells him. Zayn has a choice: run away or accept Harry's invitation to learn more.

Harry's magic may be too powerful to resist.

＊ this time I'm willing to dance on the wire by yeah_alright [E, 3k, Harry/Louis]

A few days after leaving her shitty boyfriend, Harry goes back with Louis and their friends to collect the rest of her things. When her ex comes home to find them there, Niall, Zayn and Liam keep him away while Louis makes it known how much better off Harry is with her. Part 3 of Sin Wagon AU

＊ Deemed and Delivered a Crime by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28 [E, 35k, Louis/Harry]

Harry keeps his voice low and calm. “I need you to listen very closely because I’m only going to say this once.”

When he’s only greeted with silence on the other end, Harry continues.

“For every hair that is harmed on Louis Tomlinson’s head, I am going to break one of your bones. And then when you’re reduced to a pathetic little pile on the floor, my men and I are going to kick around your limp carcass in my garden for footie practice. Do you understand?”

There’s a few more beats of silence, before the voice on the other line answers. Still sounding calm and unbothered by Harry’s creative threat.

“I’m glad you received our message Mr. Styles. Are you ready to settle on a suitable sum for Mr. Tomlinson’s release?”

(Or the one where Harry is the most feared mob boss in London. Louis is his ex-husband who left that violent life two years ago to teach Uni. His peace is shattered when he’s kidnapped by Harry’s rivals).

＊ The Road So Far (series) by babyhoneyhslt / @babyhoneyheslt [G, 12k, Harry/Louis]

Harry Styles, an Angel Of The Lord, is sent on a mission to save hunter Louis Tomlinson from the deepest pits of Hell in order for him to fulfill Heaven's plan.

＊ hold all our secrets (series) by @justanothershadeofblue [E, 9k, ot5]

One Direction was unusual as a band with two betas in with the expected omega popstars, but they achieved global stardom in spite of it, traveling the world as a five-part sensation until beta Zayn left and the rest of the band went on hiatus shortly after.

Years later, they're all living their separate lives, pursuing separate careers to varying levels of success, until a headline breaks: One Direction had a secret alpha all along.

＊ Buns of a Feather (series) by @tommokat [T, 3k, Louis/Harry]

Bird hybrid Harry has been with his boyfriend, rabbit hybrid Louis, for a while. They're about to take a big step in their relationship and Harry needs to show Louis just how serious he is about him.

＊ I've Got What You're Craving (For Your Misbehaving) by tommokat [E, 2k, Harry/Louis]

"You've been so patient, haven't you, angel?"

"Yes, Mommy."

Sub Louis gets treated by Domme Harry and the age old question of why women go to the bathroom together finally gets answered.

＊ Stand on Holy Ground (series) by @wishingforloushair [E, 17k, Louis/Harry]

Priest Harry eats Louis out and then fucks him on the altar in the Sanctuary of the Church

“Father Styles?” a voice behind him comes, making him jump slightly. He’s used to people interrupting him. After all, that’s why he leaves the large wooden doors propped open. The church was a sanctuary for everyone. Who was he to stop God’s children seeking out the truth? He closes his book, suddenly aware of how much his knees ache from the flagstone floor as he gets back to his feet, turning around slowly. Standing in the centre of the aisle is Louis. Louis, who comes to confess all his sins to Harry, every day on his knees, little begs of forgiveness tumbling from his lips. Louis, whose ridges and bumps Harry feels under his fingertips almost as often as he feels the ridges and bumps of the Word. “Hello, Louis,” he smiles, placing his Bible on the altar next to the Communion chalice. “Come to confess?” He watches carefully as Louis’ eyes darken a little, his lips parting. “Yes, Father.” It’s part of their charade now, a dance that he knows well. “Why don’t you go close the door then? I think you and I, and God, need some alone time, don’t you?”

- Podfics -

＊ [Podfic] White Stripes by @allwaswell16 read by Panda_Podfics / @pandapodfics [E, Louis/Harry]

Harry’s roommate is gorgeous, kind, generous, and basically everything Harry has ever wanted in another alpha. The only problem is that he isn’t even sure that his alpha roommate is into other alphas. In an effort to finally get over him, he lets Niall set him up on a blind date.

- Fic Fests -

＊ Wordplay Fic Challenge / @wordplayfics

Prompt 1: Nest Prompt 2: Tight Prompt 3: Carry Prompt 4: Press Prompt 5: Interference

[bootsukki]

"AITA for pushing my best friend away?"

masterlist

warnings: english is not my first language!! use of (y/n), teenagers in love lol

This it my first time posting here and I really don't know how to use Reddit but...

I (17M) have been friends with this girl (17F) since my first year of high school. I've never been really sociable and I can only say that, until then, I had one friend but ever since I met her, I have considered her a really close friend.

We go to the same class and I’ve been getting this weird feeling whenever I see her or when we talk. It has been happening for a while now, but ever since we came back from break, it has affected me mentally. I can't concentrate on tasks and I need to prepare for my final exams and university entrance exams so I have decided to just, ignore her, I guess?

The thing is that the feeling has not gone away and it has grown and I don't know what to do. Maybe she's not the problem and I just have anxiety for the future? idk.

Am I the asshole for pushing her away without an explanation? I'm the worst with social interactions.

It was the middle of Tsukishima's third year, a time that should have been filled with the usual grind of studying, volleyball practice, and casual banter with friends. But lately, something had shifted. And it had everything to do with his best friend (Y/N).

She had been friends with Tsukishima for more than three years. Tsukishima could not remember what brought him closer to her, but he remembered clearly that he first noticed her his second day at Karasuno. (Y/N) was not afraid of challening him and his sharp tongue, and somehow, even when he didn't mean to, he let his cold demeanor down whenever she was with him. If he was being honest, being friends with her was easy and everybody knew it.

It was easy until he spent a week away visiting Akiteru. Then, he started to feel it - a weird and unfamiliar tightness in his chest whenever he saw her texts on his screen and the heat on his cheeks whenever he opened her Instagram story. He dismissed it as home sickness. Truth be told, he had not been away from home for more than a few days and even when they had no school, (Y/N) and Yamaguchi were always trying to hang out with him but, why would his heart skip a beat whenever his phone pinged with a notification?

Then, it became worse. Back at school, his heart quickened whenever he heard her laugh or when her hand would softly brush his trying to reach a pencil. It made no sense to him and the uncertainty gnawed at him, annoyed as well. He needed to concentrate on getting a good grade for his university entrance exam and needed no distractions.

So, he began to isolate himself and push her away.

It started small—avoiding eye contact, muttering curt answers when she asked how his day was. Soon, he stopped texting her back, stopped waiting for her after classes, and made excuses when (Y/N) asked to hang out. She didn’t seem to notice at first, still bright and hopeful, assuming that Tsukki was just being his usual, antisocial self. But then she started frowning more, voice dropping when asking him if there was something worng and sighing whenever her texts weren't answered.

Tsukishima opened his laptop to see that his Reddit post had comments on it and opened it quickly.

"Hey! YTA bruh."

"you have feelings for her lol i can feel it from this side of the screen... weird feeling and can't concentrate on tasks!! bro, you are in love with this girl but yeh, YTA for pushing her away without saying a damn thing so you need to fix this if you want her to be your friend or girlfriend lmao good luck"

"you're just a teenager in love, talk to her"

Like her? Not even like her, LOVE her? Tsukishima shook his head, blushing sightly at the sight of those words on his screen. He didn't like her like that, right?

Tsukishima turned his computer off, laying his head on the desk, closing his eyes. The closer he got to (Y/N), the harder it became to ignore those feelings happening inside him. He hated it. He hated the vulnerability that came with trying to find out his true feelings for her, because, even if he wanted to avoid them, they were completely true.

Since the beginning of their friendship, he always found her pretty and as time passed as he got to know her, he knew he was completely fucked.

Why did he let it get so hard? He could never tell her. What would she say? She would probably reject him and ruin their whole friendship and that what something he did not want at all. Not now that they were going to the same universitry but he was not like Kuroo, who told him stories about his university flings or Bokuto, who had no problem telling anyone what he felt.

(Y/N) deserved someone better than him, someone that could communicate their problems and love her unconditionally. Tsukishima sighed deeply, moving from his desk to his bed, looking at his phone, trying to find her last messages that he had not responded. If he told her how he felt, she’d probably laugh it off or, worse, feel sorry for him.

And so, he kept her at arm’s length, until one afternoon.

"Tsukki, wait!" (Y/N)'s voice rang out and Tsukishima froze. He had just finished volleyball practice and was walking back to the volleyball club room when he heard rapid footsteps walking up the stairs.

He turned slowly, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat, looking at the shorter girl, still in her uniform, up and down.

"What?'" His tone was flat but she didn't back down, instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him angrily.

She stepped closer. "You've been avoiding me." Her eyes searched his face for an answer. "For like... two weeks now. Care to explain why?"

Tsukishima clenched his jaw, hands tigheting into fists at his side. She was completely right and the truth was sitting like a weight on his chest. He had no escape now and had to make a decision: tell you the truth and suffer the consequences of her rejection or lie and hope she believes his lie.

He was about to open his mouth but the sight of (Y/N)'s face stopped him. There was no sight of anger but of concern and hurt that broke his heart. He was a complete asshole.

"Did I do something to upset you? I-"

"No." Tsukishima replied, heart pounding. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then?" She stepped even closer to him, little space between them. "I don't understand why you've been pushing me away and not answering my texts or even looking at me."

He couldn't tell her. He couldn't but her saddened eyes bore into him, desperate for an answer and he crumbled under her gaze, like always.

"You need to talk to me, Tsukki." She whispered. "Please."

"I..." He took a deep breath, eyes darting away from her face. "I like you."

The silence that followed felt deafening and she blinked, stunned at the soft words spoken by the boy. He turned away, heat rising to his cheeks.

"I don't expect you to like me back." he said "But I... I suppose I needed to tell you even though that may have totally ruined our friendship."

(Y/N) stepped closer to him and, trembling, hugged him from behind, his, still, sweaty body, jumping from the sudden closeness of her body to his.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice was gentle and low, as if she was hiding her face too and her touch sent a shiver down Tsukishima's spine.

"It's stupid, right?"

She giggled, shaking her had. "You're an idiot, Tsukishima Kei." She stopped hugging her for a second and he turned, eyes widening at her rosy cheeks and big smile. "I've liked you for a year now."

"What?"

She blushed again, looking into his golden eyes. "I thought you'd never notice or that you didn't want to hurt my feelings."

Tsukishima stared at the girl in front of him, trying to process her words. He didn't know what to say to her. He had never had a girlfriend or even had a girl approach him like this. He had his first kiss with a girl on Kageyama's birhtday party last year but that was it.

"I... I don't know how to proceed." He admitted. "The... Boyfriend-girlfriend thing? I'll screw things up."

She laughed softly and nodded. "You want me to be your girlfriend?"

"Duh."

She smiled and nodded again. "That's okay. I don't know either but... We'll figure it out?"

For a moment, Tsukishima stood there, watching (Y/N) as she played with the sleeve of his jacket. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain some control at the thought of (Y/N) being his girlfriend but he took a step closer, reaching for one of her hands, interwining his fingers with hers while his other hand went to her face, caressing her cheek softly.

His heart thudded heavily in his chest as (Y/N) stood on her tiptoes, tilting her head slighty and eyes closing as her lips brushed against his, tentative, as if she were asking for permission and he froze once again, but, without a second thought, he leaned into the kiss, his hand slipping from her cheek to her waist, pulling her just a bit closer.

Just as he was about to pull away, a loud, familiar voice echoed down the hall.

"WOAHHHH! WHAT IS THIS?!"

Tsukishima froze, his lips still hovering close to (Y/N)'s as his eyes snapped open in horror. Both of them quickly turned to see Hinata standing a few feet away, mouth agape, eyes wide in shock and delight.

Before either could react, Yamaguchi came jogging up behind Hinata, looking confused.

"Hinata, why are you yelling—" His words died in his throat as he took in the sight of (Y/N) and Tsukishima, still standing too close, cheeks flushed from the kiss.

"Oh," Yamaguchi said, a grin spreading across his face. "Ohhhh."

"Tsukishima!" Hinata’s voice was full of glee, as if he had just stumbled upon the best gossip of his life. "You were kissing (Y/N)!" His tone was incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just seen.

"I knew something was up!" Hinata continued, practically bouncing in place with excitement. " I never thought I'd see the day!"

Tsukishima pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the heat rise to his face. "Shut up, Hinata."

But Hinata was on a roll. "Kissing in the hallway, huh? That’s so unlike you, Tsukki!" He paused dramatically, eyes widening even further. "Wait—are you dating?!" Hinata gasped, then leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "So, how long has this been going on, huh? How many secret kisses? How many dates? Tell me everything!"

Tsukishima, already at his limit, glared at Hinata with a deadly expression, his lips pressed into a tight line. "If you don’t shut up in the next three seconds, I’m going to kill you."

But Hinata, fearless as ever, just grinned wider. "You’re in love, Tsukishima! Admit it! You’re all soft now!"

Yamaguchi snickered, clearly enjoying the sight of his usually stoic best friend looking so flustered. Hinata, sensing he had pushed enough buttons for one day, held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay! I’ll stop! But seriously, this is amazing! I can’t wait to tell Kageyama!"

"Don’t you dare," Tsukishima growled, his voice dangerous low, glaring at the orange-haired ball of energy. But as much as he wanted to snap, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips when he looked down at (Y/N).

He rolled his eyes, squeezing (Y/N)'s arm as he walked past her, heading towards the club room. "Wait here, I'll walk you home."

Hinata, ever the observant one when it came to emotions, pointed dramatically at Tsukishima. "See! He’s smiling! He likes this! He’s totally in love!

"Hinata, shut the hell up."

****************************************************

update: hey reddit, I looked at all your comments and decided to talk things with her which was great. Made her my girlfriend and had our first date yesterday, it was great and I think she enjoyed it a lot. Thanks for all your advice.

[pepi1989]

Sand Between the Lines -Ben Shelton

Ben had never really liked the beach. It wasn’t the water, he loved swimming. It was the sand. Sticky, messy, and always finding a way into every crevice no matter how careful you were. So, naturally, when the two of you planned a beach day, Ben showed up already looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but there.

He had his hood pulled tight over his head and sunglasses covering his eyes, stretched out on the towel with his arms folded stubbornly over his chest. You, on the other hand, were all about the sun, the sea, and the carefree feeling of summer.

“Come on, Ben, you can’t spend the entire day like this,” you teased, crouching beside him on the towel. “You’re missing all the fun!”

Ben grumbled something incoherent under his breath, barely moving. “I’m fine right here. Sand-free.”

You rolled your eyes, undeterred. “You look ridiculous,” you said, pointing at the way he was curled up under his hoodie in full beach sunlight. “Plus, the ocean is perfect today. You know you want to swim.”

“I’ll pass,” he muttered, pulling his hood down even further over his eyes. “I don’t need sand in my hair, in my shoes, and—”

“Oh, stop being so grumpy!” you interrupted, giggling as you flicked a small handful of sand onto his leg.

He groaned, shaking it off immediately. “Seriously? I’m trying to relax here.”

But you were having none of it. “Okay, fine, if you won’t join me in the water, I guess I’ll just have to play without you,” you said dramatically, standing up and heading towards the waves, laughing to yourself.

Ben peeked out from under his hood, watching you go with a mix of irritation and fondness. You always had this effect on him, pushing him out of his comfort zone in the most playful way possible. He sighed, knowing full well that you weren’t going to let him sulk for much longer. You were just too… you.

As you splashed into the water, letting the cool waves wash over your legs, you turned back to check on him, half expecting him to still be sulking on the towel. But to your surprise, Ben had shifted slightly. He was sitting up now, elbows on his knees, watching you with a raised eyebrow.

“Not even gonna dip your toes in?” you called out, splashing the water playfully in his direction even though he was way too far to get hit.

Ben sighed dramatically, pulling his hood off and running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine,” he insisted again, though the corners of his mouth twitched up slightly.

You narrowed your eyes at him, then grinned mischievously. “Fine. But you know what happens to people who say no to beach fun, right?”

“What?” he asked warily.

“They get dragged into it!”

With that, you took off sprinting towards him, sand flying up behind you as you closed the distance between you and the stubborn boy on the towel. Ben’s eyes widened in mock horror, and before he could react, you were on him, grabbing his arm and tugging him toward the water.

“Wait—no! Y/N, no—” Ben laughed despite himself, half trying to resist but also not putting up too much of a fight. You were much smaller than him, but your enthusiasm gave you an advantage.

“Oh, come on, Ben! Just a little dip!” you teased, tugging harder, the both of you stumbling closer to the shoreline. The water lapped at your feet now, cool and refreshing.

Ben groaned one last time, shaking his head as you kept pulling. “Fine! Fine!” He stopped resisting, letting you pull him further into the shallow waves. “But if I get sand in my shoes, it’s your fault.”

You giggled, still gripping his arm. “Deal.”

As the water swirled around your ankles, you expected Ben to stay stubborn for a little while longer, but to your surprise, he let go of your arm and suddenly scooped you up, cradling you effortlessly in his arms. You squealed, half laughing, half surprised.

“Alright, if I’m getting wet, you’re going in with me!” Ben grinned, walking deeper into the ocean now with you in his arms.

“Ben!” you shrieked, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold on. “Don’t you dare!”

But it was too late. With a playful smirk, he lowered you just enough so that your legs dipped into the cool water. You gasped, shivering slightly, but couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, okay, you win!” you conceded, your arms still clinging to him. “I’ll stop pestering you about the sand.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased with himself. “That’s what I thought.”

He set you down gently, both of you waist-deep in the water now. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the ocean, and for a moment, everything was still, just the sound of the waves and the occasional seagull. You looked up at Ben, who, for once, seemed relaxed, the tension gone from his face.

“I knew you’d have fun,” you said softly, poking his side.

Ben rolled his eyes playfully. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

But you could tell he was enjoying himself more than he let on. The way his fingers grazed your hand under the water, the way his shoulders relaxed, it was enough to make you smile.

Without warning, Ben suddenly bent down, scooping up a handful of wet sand. You barely had time to react before he tossed it in your direction, catching you on the side of your leg.

“Oh, it’s on!” you declared, laughing as you grabbed your own handful and launched it right back at him.

What followed was a playful back-and-forth, splashing, throwing sand, and laughing until both of you were soaked and covered in bits of sand and seawater. Ben had abandoned his grumpiness entirely, grinning like a little kid as he ran circles around you in the shallow waves, dodging your attempts to hit him with more sand.

Finally, breathless and laughing, you both collapsed back onto the towel, dripping wet and sandy but utterly content. Ben was lying beside you, his arm resting over his eyes as he caught his breath.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, “this isn’t so bad. I guess I can deal with a little sand for you.”

You turned your head to look at him, your heart warming at the soft smile playing on his lips. “I knew I’d win you over eventually,” you teased gently.

Ben peeked at you from under his arm, his expression tender now. “Yeah, you always do.”

And as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the two of you lay there together, wrapped in the warmth of the fading day, completely at peace.

[mangoshorthand]

Inspired by this post. When your daughter is eight years old, Five organises a family trip to County Clare, Ireland. His reasons why are completely transparent.

The Changeling | Five Hargreeves/Reader, Five Hargreeves & 8 y/o daughter Words: 7.7k

GIF by: @seance

It was Aoife’s first flight, and it was only through Five’s gentle persuading that you were convinced that it would be safe. At eight, he said, she was more than old enough to listen and control herself.

Still, just before you boarded, you knelt down in front of her and took her by the elbows. 

“Aoife, listen to me, honey.”

She blinked at you with Five’s eyes. She looked the picture of innocence, and if you didn’t know better, you might have been taken in.

“You cannot blink on this flight. You can’t blink on this trip at all unless it’s just me and Daddy in the room, but you especially can’t blink on the plane, okay?”

“Okay Mommy,” she said, sulkily.

“Seriously,” you said, giving her a gentle shake, “If you misjudge it by just a tiny amount, you could end up outside the plane. You could fall and die.”

Aoife looked up at Five for backup but didn’t find it. He put a hand on her shoulder with a stern look that was uncharacteristic when aimed at her.

“Your mother’s right, cara. This is life and death. And even if you try it and don’t die, we’re going to go straight back home again as soon as we land. There will be no trip at all. You hear me?”

“I didn’t even do anything yet!” she said, indignantly.

“Yes, and I’m sure you won’t because you’re my good, sensible girl,” you said, hoping she’d live up to the label. 

“I’m just making sure you understand what’s at stake here, kid.” Five said, “ Non sto scherzando . Now, repeat it back: tell me what’s gonna happen if you blink.”

“I’ll die,” she said, with petulant impatience.

“And if you blink but don’t die?”

“No trip,” she repeated.

“Correct,” Five said, “we won’t even leave the airport. We’ll turn right around and get on the next flight home.”

“I know you’ll be a good girl,” you said, kissing her on the nose, “you always are, aren’t you?”

You kissed once, twice and three times until her pout was replaced with a smile. 

As it happened, once the initial excitement of being airborne had worn off, Aoife fell asleep almost immediately, the early morning catching up with her. She was leaning against you, chest rising and falling slowly, and would remain so for all but the last hour of the flight. 

Five was also quiet, staring out of the window at clouds in the odd light of changing time zones. 

Ever since suggesting the trip, he’d been a closed book. He was still himself - still loving, and still every inch the husband and father you knew -  but he was more insular, more like he was before you got married; keeping the internal workings of his mind under wraps. 

With Aoife against you, you couldn’t reach out to offer him any physical affection, so instead, you spoke to him over her head.

“You okay, sweet guy?”

He looked over at you and plastered on a smile that didn’t hide his impatience with the question.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You pulled a face at him, one that told him you weren’t an idiot. He didn’t exactly need to tell you for you to guess what this trip was really about. 

Five couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed by your knowing look. It was galling to know he no longer held any mysteries for you. He leaned his head against the plane’s wall and closed his eyes. 

It wasn’t that he was shutting you out, it was more from a strong sense that this was something he had to do alone. 

It came up in therapy a couple of times. Maybe it was his age, or maybe it was being a father, but he found himself coming back to this idea of history. Aoife’s family tree on his side was more of a hedge: extremely wide but only one generation tall. He wanted to give her an anchoring in this world beyond a strange experiment by a billionaire that resulted in her mentally unstable father.

On his mentioning these feelings, Dr Daley asked him whether it was possible he was projecting, but Five dismissed this.

To him, being Irish by birth didn’t mean much. It might explain his liking for Guinness, but that was about it. And who didn’t like Guinness? 

No. If he’d grown up in Ireland, he’d be a completely different person, as alien to him now as anyone else. For better or worse, Five was the sum total of his experiences. If Reginald was his father along with the harsh life he’d offered, then the apocalypse and all its horrors may as well be his mother. 

The woman who’d birthed him sold him for a couple of grand. He couldn’t imagine it as he glimpsed Aoife out of the corner of his eye. The first time he held his newborn daughter was transformative. He’d felt his entire world crash down and reform around her. He knew she was his on an animal level that left reason entirely behind. His very skin cried out for her.

And yet…childbirth was a bloody, agonizing mess. He’d watched you go through it, and it wasn’t exactly trauma free, even after months of mental preparation.The idea of it happening, all in the space of a few minutes, to women who had no mental preparation was nothing short of horrifying. Now he thought about it, it was amazing that so many of the other October 1st children seemed to have been kept.

But still, when he looked at Aoife, he couldn’t help but wonder. 

He looked up again, and caught your too-understanding eyes. This time, he smiled at you,  irritation giving way to affection. Over ten years you’d grown to know him better than he knew himself. You’d been there for every step as he tried to rebuild his mental health, every tough therapy session, every new drug, and every addition to his laundry list of diagnoses.

You’d known what this was about as soon as he mentioned the trip.

“Can you get the week commencing the 12th October off work?” he’d said, over his cereal one morning, around six months ago.

“I think so,” you said, surprised, “why?”

“We’re going to Ireland.”

“What?” you said, and then, “What about school?”

“They’ll be fine. Call it an educational trip,” he said, “We’ll have Aoife do a project or something.”

“What brought this on?” 

He shrugged, and the way he looked down at a newspaper on the table gave you the distinct impression he was trying to avoid your eye.

“I’ve booked seven nights in County Clare, staying in this huge castle. Dates back to the 17th Century. Aoife’s gonna lose her mind.”

You studied him for a few moments as he sipped his coffee, eyes stock-still on the newspaper, not really reading it.

“Weren’t you born in County Clare?” you asked, gently.

“Mmhm,” he replied, blandly, turning a page.

You waited, and when he didn’t elaborate, you just stuck out a hand and laid it on his forearm. *** When you arrived at Shannon airport, it was raining. It rained like a veil of mist, pin-pricking your faces in a moist cloud of chill wind. It was mid morning, though the foggy skies made it indistinguishable from any other time of day. It made Five glad of his coat, and he paused outside the terminal to zip it to his chin. 

Aoife rubbed her eyes and looked around at the gray, concrete parking lot

“Where are we going?” she asked, in sleepy confusion.

“Not far,” you said, squeezing her hand as Five wheeled your luggage.

The rented Skoda estate was comfortable enough, although not what Five would prefer to be driving. Still, it did the job. As you helped Aoife strap into a booster seat, he had to concede that, on unfamiliar roads, it was more important that style give way to safety.

The thought made him smile to himself as he loaded the luggage into its roomy, sensible trunk. Sometimes it still seemed odd to find himself having such daddish thoughts. It was odd, but good too. 

The environs of the airport faded into the misty rain behind you, and you very soon found yourselves in country that more naturally sprang to mind when you imagined Ireland. 

The landscape was mostly flat and green, damp fields stretching out to the horizon on every side. Short but lush trees and hedges lined the dual carriageway, occasionally leading to taller trees and more advanced woodland, but it mostly served to insulate the surrounding farmland from the road. 

“Do you think there are fairies in those woods?” you asked Five, conversationally, eyeing Aoife out of the corner of your eye. 

“Hm,” Five said, playing along, “It’s possible.”

“Fairies?” Aoife said, her interest piqued as you intended. 

“That’s right,” he said, “there are lots of stories of fairies in Ireland.”

“Will we see some?”

“Probably not,” you smiled, “but it’s fun to pretend.”

As you got deeper into the countryside, stone walls ran along the roadside. Every few miles or so, the fields gave way to the occasional, squat house; all rendered in white with gray slate roofs. They were small, asymmetrical; clearly built for function over form. Once or twice a chimney smoked, bringing with it the smell of peat smoke on the air. 

As you traveled, the sun started to cut through the haze, although the rain didn’t let up, coming down in those same misty clouds. The trees began to thicken, until the land on one side of the road was completely obscured with woodland. At last, you came to a grand iron gate. 

“We’re here.” 

Aoife shuffled excitedly in the booster, trying to peek out from behind the passenger seat to see ahead.

You passed a gatehouse, and soon the thick trees gave way to a simple avenue, leading you up a drive surrounded by lush lawns, upon which small brown rabbits were dotted, those nearest the drive lolloping away from the skoda as it crunched along the gravel.

Aoife was predictably excited by these, and it took some stern words from you to stop her removing her seatbelt and blinking from the car to chase them.

But as you rounded a corner and Ballycarnane castle became visible across the small lake surrounding it on two sides, the rabbits were completely forgotten.

“Look!” she said, in high-pitched awe, “It’s a castle!”

“So it is,” Five said, as if only just noticing it.

It was huge, robust, and square in formation, built with solid gray stone with battlements topping sturdy towers on rising ground. Fountains, trimmed hedges and perfectly mower-lined lawns decorated its immediate environs. At the top of the tallest tower, an Irish flag flew. 

“Is there a princess in there?” Aoife asked, breathlessly, kicking the back of your seat in her glee. 

“Ci sarà presto, cara.” Five said, quietly, a smile playing about his face. 

“Are we staying near here? Can we go visit? Please?”

You looked at Five. He was loving this, you knew, as much as he tried to hide his self-satisfied smile. He gave you the nod to deliver the final bombshell. He was always sweet that way: his daughter’s glee was all the reward he needed. He didn’t need to take the credit too.

“We’re staying right here.” you said. 

“IN THE CASTLE?”

“That’s right,” you chuckled.

Aoife exploded, letting out a series of shrill shrieks that made both you and her father wince.

“Ouch,” you said, at the redoubled kicks to the back of your seat. 

“ WE’RE STAYING IN A CASTLE!”

“Esatto, principessa,” Five replied, pulling into one of the parking spots, “and it’s a very fancy place, so best behavior, okay? You gotta act just like a real princess.”

“CAN I WEAR A PRINCESS DRESS?”

“We’ll see,” you said, “now calm down , sweetie.” *** The next couple of days passed in a blur of sight-seeing, fairy-hunting and princess games. You and Five made excellent ladies in waiting, or else the king and queen, knights, or whatever else Aoife decreed.

Always unable to resist giving his daughter anything she asked for, Five bought not one, but two princess dresses from the ridiculously overpriced boutique attached to the hotel. He also returned with a beautiful, pure silk dressing gown for you, although you suspected this was partly to buy you off after spoiling Aoife.

It was mid-afternoon on Wednesday, you and Five stood on the lawn watching as Aoife tripped over her grass-stained skirts as she climbed a tree stump just for the joy of jumping off. 

“I think I’m going to walk into town,” he said, casually.

You looked at him. 

“Into town?”

“Yes.”

He caught your eye, and his expression was unreadable enough to be perfectly legible to you.

He stood a little apart from you, hands in the pockets of his corduroy trousers. He looked unlike himself, standing there in sturdy walking boots and a thick, oversized cable knit sweater over a flannel shirt. His hair played around his face in the slight breeze, masking and then revealing his face. 

He looked into your eyes, and you saw the grim determination there.

“Do you want us to come with you?” you asked.

“No,” he said, calmly, “you enjoy yourselves here. I’ll be back before sundown.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, approaching him and putting a hand on his upper arm.

“Yes darling,” he said, calmly. 

You understood. Five’s tendency to try and face things alone was a habit born of the apocalypse. He was insular; self reliant to an unhealthy degree, but you suspected that this wasn’t like this. 

This was no impending apocalypse, this was something intensely personal. Processing it himself was no bad thing. This was about him, and part of you knew that he was only standing here at all because he had the security of knowing you’d be there, whenever he was ready to let you in; be it tonight, tomorrow, or months from now. 

“Okay,” you said with a reassuring smile. *** It was a four mile walk from the castle itself into Ballycarnane. He walked almost as the crow flew, across fields; down farm lanes and public footpaths; through wooden gates that creaked with age. The rain spat occasionally, and even the hood of his coat couldn’t keep it from blowing into his eyes. 

As he walked, he couldn’t let his mind drift: it was caught in the features of the landscape, keeping him present in every step. He was struck by the wilderness of it all, even as its habitation was constantly declared by the presence of tarmac and the occasional lonely dwelling.

He tramped over damp gorse and heather, taking detours whenever the ground became too marshy to walk on. His walking boots were good quality and supportive, but that didn’t mean he needed to brave the outskirts of a bog when he could retreat to serpentine, single track roads. 

He’d thought the land was relatively flat when he arrived yesterday, but no sooner had the marshy areas fallen behind him as he walked into rugged, rocky countryside, dotted with pine woods.

This might have been his home, he mused. He might have been familiar with this environment, these roads and the ever-present stone walls, as sturdy as they appeared ramshackle. How might he have spent his childhood? This rain on his face, these clouds above him. Green as far as the eye could see. 

Gradually, more and more signs of habitation sprung up around him: the roads became fractionally wider, the houses more varied and frequent as he approached the outskirts of the town. Now he was on streets, the hedges neatly kept, and there were road markings too, single tracks leading onto dual carriageways. 

At last, he passed a sign welcoming him to the town proper, and he began to pass others bustling around him, speed humps, housing estates, white vans and churches. A woman with a stroller thanked him quietly as he stood aside off the sidewalk to let her pass.

He passed a convenience store, an undertakers, a shop selling fancy cheese and wine, and then he saw it: across from a pub was a butcher’s shop. 

Though many of the shops and houses on Ballycarnane’s main street were painted in bright colors, and many other buildings were of the dull concrete variety he’d grown used to back home, the default building style in this area seemed to be those single story, white rendered buildings with those gray roof tiles. His mother’s butcher’s shop was one of these, with a large window displaying wares. 

Below the building’s blue gables, a mural on the outside of the building depicted a cow, sheep and pig. To Five’s mind, they looked inappropriately happy to be depicted, given the context. Above them, in hand-painted italics read: ‘ Jones Family Butchers’, beneath them, ‘ Est.1979’.

He knew her name was Efa Jones, but seeing the name was odd. He was here. *** “Okay, princess Aofie,” you called, as Five’s figure retreated down the gravel drive, “we’re going to get started on your school project.”

“But Mooommy,” she said, gesturing to the tree stump as if there were depths to its joys she had as yet not discovered. 

“What if we did it about the fairies of Ballycarnane?”

Aoife still looked skeptical.

“You remember John from this morning?”

Aoife nodded. She had exchanged a hearty conversation about the rabbits and deer that roamed the grounds with the old man working as the hotel’s senior concierge.

“Well, he told me there’s a fairy fort nearby. You want to go?”

“Yeah!” she said, enthusiastically, jumping from the tree stump one final time, bounding towards you taking your hand. 

“And,” you continued, setting off, “he said once we’d been to go and find him, and he'd tell us a story all about it. If you write his story down and draw some pictures, that can be your project to show Mx Leyton.”

*** Five finished his third Guinness. 

He’d been nursing the beers for over two hours, looking out of grimy windows into the butcher’s shop across the way. He could see movement within, but no detail. Only two or three customers had been in and out in all the time he watched. 

The pub was a spit and sawdust kind of place. The Weaver’s Inn had a cheap paneling on the walls, mismatched dark wood chairs and a carpet that looked like it hadn’t been changed since before the butcher’s shop was established. 

On a Wednesday daytime in October, there had been only one other patron when he arrived, an old man who looked at him with slight suspicion as he entered, but now, as five o’clock drew nearer, people began to trickle in, and there were over five tables occupied. 

He looked into the bottom of his glass. It was now or never.

He recognised her from the newspaper clipping he found as soon as he walked into the store. She must have been pushing seventy, only five or six years younger than himself. 

Her back was bent into a painful curve over her butcher’s block, though she scrubbed at the salted wood with her metal-bristled brush with more than enough vigor. As his entrance caused a bell above the door to give a little trill, she looked up. 

Her wrinkled face was dominated by a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, white hair scraped back beneath a hairnet. Her brown eyes were slightly misty with the beginnings of cataracts.

“It’s just the pre-cut now,” she said, nodding towards the block, “you’ve left it late.”

“No problem,” Five said, watching her lay down her brush with the air of one not keen to be interrupted. 

He approached the counter slowly, forcing himself to look down through the glass at the meat on display. 

“What’ll you have?”

She exuded a stern, no nonsense attitude. Customer service might be in her job, but not in her nature, it seemed. 

“Uh,” Five said, uncharacteristically unsure, “steak,” he said, suddenly.

“What type and how much” she prompted, approaching the counter. 

“Uh-” he said again.

“Tourist, are you?” she said, shrewdly.

All the Irish accents he’d heard until now were lilting, but hers lilted differently. 

“Is it that obvious?” Five smiled, looking back down at the counter.

“American?” she asked, as if it were an accusation. 

“Yup.”

“Staying at the castle, I’ll bet.”

“Correct.”

“Sure. You’ve got that silver-spoon look about you.”

Five let out something halfway between a chuckle and a scoff.

“Well, you might say I landed on my feet.”

“You telling me they let you cook steak in those fancy bedrooms?” she asked, skeptically.

Five shifted uncomfortably. She was inconveniently shrewd. 

He guessed he knew where he got it from. 

“We’re self-catering,” he lied, and then, as it came into his thoughts, “I’d say you’re not local yourself, Efa.”

“How d’you know my name?” she asked, suspiciously. 

Shit.

“The bartender at the Weavers Inn,” he said, with a tight smile - she had him on his toes in the way few people could manage - “I told him I wanted a good steak and he said you were the lady to talk to.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“That’s as nice as Liam Moore’s been about me in thirty years,” she muttered “So my beef’s good enough for out-of-towners but not good enough supply his dive of a pub?”

 But then, in answer to his question:

“You’ve got a good ear. I was born in Caerphilly.”

“Wales?” he asked, unable to hide his surprise.

“Wales indeed,” she said briskly, “Now, I’ve got a nice rib-eye, fillet’s only thirty-five euro per kilogram today, and this sirloin’s nicely marbled. What will you have?”

Five didn’t process this, “You’re Welsh?”

“Half.” she said, slightly perturbed, “Mam was Irish, Dad was Welsh. We came here when I was ten.”

It all clicked into place. 

“Efa’s a Welsh name,” he said, coming to the conclusion out loud, “That’s why you’re not Aoife.”

“That’s true,” she said, “I was named for my father’s mother.”

She watched him curiously as he cast his eyes back down to the counter. 

“My daughter’s name is Aoife.” he said, in an attempt at off-handedness.

There was silence then, and Five lowered his eyes. 

“And what’s your name?” she asked.

He swallowed. ***

You warmed yourself in an armchair by the fire, while Aoife’s cheeks were still pinched red from the cold outside. 

John sat beside her on one of the couches in the hotel foyer, flanked by two suits of armor.  He was smart in his gray waistcoat, a gold name badge catching the light at his lapel. His white shirtsleeves were immaculate, his thin, white hair combed over his bald head. His bright blue eyes seemed permanently crinkled into a smile.

“Before we begin, I wonder if I can arrange a hot drink for you both? Will you have a cup of tea, coffee? Hot chocolate for the little one?”

“Can I have marshmallows?” Aoife asked you eagerly.

“She has to have marshmallows, Mammy,” said John, twinkling at you.

“Of course,” you said, “And I’d love a coffee, thanks.”

“A baileys coffee?”

“I shouldn’t,” you said, though very willing to be persuaded.

“You’re on your holidays,” John said, waving aside your diffidence. He caught the eye of one of the junior concierges, motioned him over and made the order.

“Now,” he said, resettling himself, “this is rather a recent fairy story,” John said, “One my mother said happened when I was only a lad, going on for fifty years ago, I’d say.”

You looked at Aoife. Predictably, she looked astonished. To her, fifty years previously may as well be prehistory.

“This story’s not for the faint of heart,” John continued, “Can you handle a spooky story, little one?”

Aoife nodded, wide eyed, her pen poised ready to take notes over a freshly bought notebook. You looked quickly over at him with a small, doubtful grimace. 

He smiled and nodded back at you, taking the hint. 

“Just be assured that this is only a story, now,” he said to her, “It’s not real, it’s just something to tell one another for a bit of fun, alright? I was sixteen when my Mam told me this, and she acted like it had only just happened. It was just to scare me out of walking home late at night. You understand?”

“Yeah,” she said, eager for him to begin.

“The fairies you might have heard about before are not like these fairies. Our fairies are not gentle or very kind. They don’t grant wishes and they’re not to be tangled with.”

Slowly, Aoife wrote down a note in her large, uneven cursive. 

“Fairy forts like the one you visited today are supposed to be where creatures from the fairy realm gather. Did you see any there today?”

Aoife shook her head.

“I thought not,” he said, “they’re supposed to gather at night. And that’s when the story starts. Mam said there was an old man walking home to Ballycarnane and he walked too close to that fairy fort.”

John paused as Aoife laboriously copied down what she’d heard, watching her write and offering the odd prompt to aid her memory. The drinks arrived in this interval, and you sipped your coffee gratefully as you watched them.

“Now this fella wasn’t local, you see,” John continued, “he lived nearby but he wasn’t born around here, so he didn’t know you needed to give them a wide berth. And then the poor fool was confronted by a banshee, wailing.”

“What’s a bant-shee?” Aoife asked.

“A banshee ,” he said, “a terrible fairy. Always a bad omen. They look like women with long hair, and they appear to people, screaming and crying. The story goes that if you see or hear a banshee, it means someone you love’s going to die.”

Aoife scribbled this down, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Remember it’s not real though,” he added, reassuringly, adding a little cold milk to cool her hot chocolate for her, “that’s just what they say.”

“What did the man do?” Aoife asked, too transfixed to take the drink from him when he offered.

“Well, he knew what a banshee was, alright, and he knew what it meant. So he tried to beg her not to take his wife or daughter, only it was too late. The banshee wailed, ‘oh no, you’ve disturbed us, so now you’ll pay the price: either you choose a death, or you’ll give the fairies a newborn child of your blood before the sun goes down tomorrow’. ”

He paused to allow Aoife to write down this last, and then pushed her drink towards her. 

“Drink up, pet.”

Aoife took the hot chocolate from him and took a gulp, leaving foamy residue around her mouth, still watching John with wonder in her eyes. The cup wobbled in its saucer, and you leaned forward to help her put it back on the coffee table, lest her princess dress get covered in even more dirt. 

“Then what happened?” she asked.

“Well, this old man and his wife were too old to have any more children, and their only daughter was grown, and she certainly wasn’t going to have a newborn baby so soon, so he thought he had a chance of beating that banshee.”

You could tell even from several feet away that Aoife’s writing was becoming more and more illegible in her haste to hear the rest of the story. You sensed that some translation and aiding of her memory might come in useful when she came to write up the project.

“So the old man agreed. He said, ‘you can have a newborn of my blood before the sun sets tomorrow,’ thinking he could cheat the fairies out of their due. And what do you think happened next?”

Aoife shook her head, unknowing.

“Well, that man fell into an enchanted sleep, and woke up by the fairy fort at mid-afternoon the next day. No sooner than he woke up did he hurry home to check on his wife and daughter.”

Aoife wasn’t even writing notes anymore, hanging on John’s every word.

“And he found a terrible scene.” John said, ruefully, “While he slept, his daughter had given birth to a changeling, though she certainly hadn’t been pregnant the day before.”

You sat up. 

“What’s a changeling?” Aofie asked. 

“A baby the fairies leave when they steal a human one. They’re supposed to be cursed children, sometimes they’re evil and naughty, and sometimes they have strange powers.”

You leaned forward and opened your mouth to speak, but John spoke before you could ask him anything. 

“And then, the old man realized what he’d done: when there was no newborn to take, the fairies took away his daughter’s future firstborn instead, forcing her to birth the changeling in its place.”

“What happened?” you asked. 

John looked over at you, surprised by the sudden seriousness in your tone.

“Well, the old man and his wife died without any grandchildren. Their daughter never married, and their line died out.”

“What happened to the changeling?” you asked. 

“Nobody knows,” John said, returning his gaze to Aoife with a smile and mysterious tone. ***

“I’m Five.”

There was a long silence. He chewed his lips as he looked down at the meat, not willing or able to meet her eyes.

At last, just to say something that might break the tension, he motioned to a pile of beef.

“That brisket looks good.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but when she did, her no-nonsense voice was firmly back in place.

“It’s the best in the county,” she said briskly, “you can’t beat Irish beef and won’t find a nicer cut, especially when it’s slow cooked.”

“Sounds good,” he said, awkwardly.

“Will you have a piece of that instead of steak?” 

“Sure,” Five said, relieved to have the decision made for him.

“To serve how many?” 

“Just three,” he said, watching her hands as they reached into the display of meat. 

They were just like his. The same long, bony fingers. The same bones and tendons standing out on the back of her hands as her fingers flexed. 

“This piece will do you,” she said, decisively.

Five risked a look up at her, and her brown eyes met his green. 

He must have got his eyes from one of his grandparents, he thought, and then Efa looked away from him quickly. 

“I have a secret recipe for brisket” she said, as she took the beef to the scale and weighed it, “Falls apart in the mouth. It was my mother’s, and I only got it out of her on her deathbed, she prized it so much.”

Five couldn’t resist this opening. He had to know:

“Will you pass it down to your kids?”

She paused for a mere fraction of a second and then she turned to ready brown paper in which to wrap the meat.

“I don’t have children,” she said, firmly, her back still to him, “I was never the marrying or the mothering type.”

As she folded the first layer around the brisket, Five blinked rather rapidly. There was a tight fist somewhere in his abdomen. 

When he mastered himself, he spoke again.

“I understand.”

She nodded, still facing away from him, wrapping the brisket carefully in brown paper, still facing away from him at a plastic table.

“Still,” she said, quietly, “it seems a crying shame that nobody should taste my Mam’s brisket after I’m gone.“

She stuck a label to the wrapped beef, holding the paper in place. Then, from behind her ear, she pulled a stubby pencil, knife-sharpened into a rough, angular shape. 

She tore another small portion of brown paper and began to write with the sort of fevered energy Five himself used to write equations on the concrete walls of the Argyle public library. 

“Now, this is to serve six or so, but you can scale as you like.”

Her pencil clicked smartly along the paper.

“You start with a rub. Dark brown sugar, onion powder, mustard powder, garlic powder, cayenne pepper and salt. Mam would usually leave it there, but I’ve had success with paprika too.”

She looked up at him, pausing in her writing, eyebrows raised imperiously.

“Only you make sure it’s smoked paprika, alright?”

“Of course,” he said, slightly taken aback at her forcefulness. 

“Good,” she said, “And the key is to leave it coated in the rub for at least twelve hours in the fridge. Then, when you cook, a lot of recipes would have you use beef stock, but for my Mam’s recipe, it’s beer or nothing: a nice ale. None of that crap excuse for lager you lot try to pass off as beer.”

“Got it,” Five said, catching her flow, “No American beer. Would Guinness work?”

Efa pulled a face.

“You can try it, I suppose,”

She fell silent as she jotted down the final instructions. 

Five watched her as she worked, jaw set, and eyes intense. She finished the recipe with a flourish, folded the paper and handed it to him smartly across the counter. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“And that’ll be thirteen euro forty-five.”

He reached into his pants pocket and handed her the money as she placed the parcel of meat in a paper bag and handed it over. As she searched in the cash register for the change, he watched her lined face, the rim of her glasses obscuring her eyes.

When she put the coins in his hands, her cold fingers brushed his.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Thank you,” he repeated.

He looked at her, trying to do…he knew not what. He only knew that if he was going to drink her in, now was his opportunity to do so.

“Goodbye,” he said and, with it, there was finality. He wouldn’t come back here. This was the first and last time he’d see her. 

His mother.

“Goodbye Five,” she replied, and her lips twitched into the first smile she’d given him. 

It was small, sad, and spoke no love, but it spoke good will just as clearly.  *** Five arrived back at the hotel just before seven. You were sitting on the four poster bed in your new robe, reading a book. Aoife was already asleep in the suite’s adjoining room, the hangings of her own bed drawn around it. 

“Hi,” you said, as he entered. 

“Hey,” he replied, as he closed the door behind him. 

His boots were muddy, his hair damp and windswept. 

“I hope you don’t mind, I already got Aoife dinner. She’s tuckered out. Long day.”

“Me too,” he said, heavily. 

He turned back to the door and the coat hook on its back. He made as if to take off his coat and hang it with the rest. But instead, he sagged and leaned against the door, his forehead against Aoife’s coat.

You sighed sadly, placed down your book and crossed the room towards him. 

“Come here, sweet guy,” you murmured.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind and laid your head against his, occasionally planting kisses at his hairline. Five let out a sigh of his own at this, and you felt him relax into you slightly.

“How about I run you a bath? I’ll order us room service and a bottle of wine.”

“That sounds nice,” Five said, voice muffled against Aoife’s bright blue raincoat.

You helped him off with his own coat - oddly heavy, you noticed - and put down on the bed. 

“I’ll go run the bath. You get those clothes off okay?”

“Thanks dearest.”

When you returned from the bathroom, where a piping hot bubble bath was already running into the claw-foot tub, Five had stripped to his underwear, sorting his laundry.

“Will you order the pinot noir?” he asked.

“Still don’t trust me to choose wine?” you asked, amused, returning to his coat, “not even after ten years?”

“Never,” he said, smiling.

“Why do you have almost two pounds of meat in your pocket?” you asked, having fished out the brown paper bag emblazoned with: Jones Family Butchers, Est.1979.

“Long fucking story,” he mumbled, “just put it in the trash. I don’t know why I bought it.”

“And what’s this?” you asked, finding the piece of folded paper.

“Nothing,” he said, simply, removing his underwear and putting them in with the dirty clothes, “can you just put it with our passports?.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, he disappeared into the bathroom. 

Ignoring his request to put in the trash, you put the meat in the fridge that contained the extortionately-priced minibar, thinking you’d deal with it in the morning.

You opened the folded piece of paper as you went to hang his coat. At first, you thought the handwriting that recorded the recipe was his: there were the same bold lines, the same frenetic energy in the triple underlining of the word ‘smoked’ in ‘smoked paprika’, but the more you looked, the more differences you saw. This wasn’t his handwriting.

You refolded it, opened the room’s safe and filed it along with your passports and boarding passes. *** The helpful voice on the other end of the phone informed you that dinner itself would arrive in around forty minutes, while the wine would be sent straight up. Just enough time for you to place Five’s pajamas on a radiator to warm before a knock at the door announced its arrival.

Bottle and glasses in hand, you joined Five in the bathroom, settling on the low bench beside the shower, fogged up with the heat coming off the bathwater.

Five’s eyes were closed, lying with his head against the rim of the tub, breathing the steamy, fragranced air deeply.

“Wine,” you announced.

“Mm,” he said, contentedly. 

He opened his eyes, his submerged left hand surfacing to receive the large glass you’d poured him.

“Thanks beautiful,” he said, looking up at you, eyes lingering for a moment at the cleavage visible where your robe met at the chest. 

You raised an ironic brow. Clearly he wasn’t totally cut up over this. 

As he took his first sip, he let out a small moan.

“Good?” you asked, amused.

“Heavenly,” he muttered, closing his eyes again.

He might not be so distraught that he couldn’t appreciate a nice view of boob, but he still needed this. You scooched your bench closer so that you could run your fingers through his hair.

He hummed appreciatively as you petted him, and you sat that way for several minutes, watching him unwind and fall into gentle repose. 

Who could give him up? With that smooth skin, that dimple on his cheek, his parted lips, his keen eyes, framed by lashes as thick as his soft hair. 

Not you.

At last, when he had worked his way sufficiently down his glass, you topped him up and asked:

“So, how was it?”

“I’m not sure,” he said thoughtfully, “it turns out I’m a quarter Welsh.” *** The sun came out for the last couple of days of the trip. On your final full day there, you were taking a few hours in the hotel spa. Five, however, was to be found being chased around one of the lawns by his daughter, he laughing, she screeching in delight.

“Come back!” she said, in mock outrage, “you need to have YOUR SHOTS!”

He barked, back bent and arms out in front of him like forepaws.

“Never!” he yelled, deploying a perfectly executed commando roll to evade her. 

Unfortunately for him he commando-rolled straight into a large rhododendron bush.

“IF YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR SHOTS YOU WILL GET SICK AND DIE, YOU BAD DOG.” yelled Aoife, holding a small stick clasped in her fist like it was a knife she was about to go full-psycho with.  

“But I don’t want to!” Five whined, trying to disentangle himself as Aoife advanced upon him, “you’re a big meanie vet! Woof!”

“I’M A BIG NICE VET, ACTUALLY.” she said, as he wriggled away from her once more, “YOU’RE JUST A BIG BABY.”

“I’m a big baby who’s getting away!” Five grinned, looking back over his shoulder and sticking his tongue out at her as he darted away.

And then he tripped over a tree root and fell with a thud onto the soft grass. He flipped over, laughing, as Aoife approached. 

“A-ha!” she said, triumphantly, taking advantage of his compromised to jump on top of him, stick raised. 

“Oof!” he said, winded as she straddled his waist. He tried to grab her wrist, but it was too late: she managed to poke the stick into his upper arm.

“There.” she said, “Now what was all that fuss about, little dog?”

“Owwww,” Five cried, pouting and whining like the dog he was supposed to be. 

“Pull yourself together!” Aoife said, affecting a clipped, professional voice, “Or you won’t get a candy.”

“I'm a dog, I'm not allowed candy! I want a treat!” Five replied, indignantly. 

“WELL YOU HAVE TEN MORE SHOTS FIRST.”

“Surely this is unethical?” Five expostulated, his childish affect replaced by a more adult one as she held his arm down and ‘injected’ him (stabbed him repeatedly through his sweater).

“I am NOT un-effable.” 

“Unethical,” Five corrected, rarely able to stop himself from taking advantage of any teachable moment, “it means morally wrong.”

“What does morally mean?” she said, with a small roll of her eyes.

“Ouch. It means how you behave. If you’re morally wrong then it means you’re behaving wrongly.”

“Then you’re being unethable!” she said, triumphantly, “because if you don’t get your shots then you’ll make other doggies sick too.”

“But do the ends justify the means?” Five mused, grinning. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Thank you for my shots. I’m feeling much better, even if my immune system has eleven different attenuated pathogens to deal with.”

Daddy, you always talk funny,” she said, sounding equally amused and irritated with him. 

He put his arms around her and pulled her down onto his chest. 

“E’ vero, cara.”

He kissed where her hair parted at the crown of her head, feeling the deep damp of the soil beginning to soak into his sweater, but not caring at all.

“Usi sempre parole così grosse,” she replied, and he could hear you in her tone, the loving mockery in it. 

He held her to him tighter and kissed her again, harder this time.

“I love you,” he said, feelingly.

“I love you too,” she replied, smiling down at him, her chubby cheeks dimpling as she did.

He felt his chest heave as he looked at her, and when he spoke again, his voice wasn’t quite his own.

“Being your Dad is my favorite thing about myself. And it's my favourite thing to do.”

And it was. He’d saved the world for the love of his adopted family, but perhaps he’d fought so fiercely because some part of him longed for this. Being a father and husband felt intrinsically, cosmically right, and made more sense than any mathematical logic. 

Perhaps his daughter was always written there, deep in his DNA. He didn’t believe in fate, but still, some part of him knew he was supposed to be here, his daughter in his arms and days upon days of rain soaking from the earth, through his sweater and onto his skin. 

He rocked her slightly, there on the grass, one hand in her hair and the other at her back; his baby girl, no matter how much she grew. 

This was what he needed. You and her. You were both his reward and privilege to love.

Aoife considered his words, slightly taken aback by his sudden affection and not really understanding his intensity. After a moment, she spoke thoughtfully:

“Mine is my hair.”

“What?” he asked.

“My favorite thing about myself. I like it because it's curly but not too curly.”

Five laughed, and she laughed too as she was jostled by the movement of his stomach. She shuffled up his body, causing him to flinch away from a potential knee to the balls but, thankfully, she avoided that. 

Instead, she crawled so that her head was level with his, grabbed him by each ear, and kissed his face.  *** At dinner that last night, Aoife coloured the pictures she’d drawn for her project, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she tried her best to color within the lines. The pencil crayons you chose for the job were tactical: unlikely to mark the pure white tablecloth. 

The waiter brought your drinks. As he did so, he caught your eye and nodded conspiratorially towards the door, where Five couldn’t see him. 

You looked over subtly. John stood in the doorway to the kitchen, motioning to you that the prepared surprise would be only two more minutes.  

“Can we see the menu?” Five asked. 

The waiter hesitated.

“I actually ordered for us all,” you said.

“Hm,” Five said, looking curiously up at you, “what are we having?”

“Thank you,” you said to the waiter, dismissing him for now. 

You turned back to Five, and he was watching you with curious eyes. You caught his significantly, and spoke to him now with lines under your words. 

“It seemed a shame to throw away that brisket you brought back the other day.”

He drew in a breath through his nose. You could tell he was unsure how to feel. You placed your hand over his.

“I copied the recipe too,” you said, softly, over the scratch scratch of Aoife’s pencil and the quiet chink of knives and forks on plates, “I thought you should try it before we go home.”

Five looked down at the tablecloth and put his other hand on top of yours. When he looked back up at you, his jaw gave a slight tremor.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly, “truly.”

You smiled, relieved.

“Are you happy?” you said, checking nevertheless.

Five gave one slow outward breath, and in those green eyes that low light sometimes disguised as blue, you saw an intensity of feeling that was hard to witness without bringing tears to your own eyes.

“I couldn’t be happier,” he said, so earnestly that Aoife looked up in surprise.

He wasn’t just talking about the brisket, you knew.

You smiled, losing the battle and swiping away a tear as you and Five squeezed each other's hands. 

“Good,” you said, sniffling, “because I tipped the kitchen way too much money to make this happen.”

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom, @kaybreezy3000

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

Disclaimer: As an English person, I was conscious of the potential for unintended xenophobia as I wrote this, especially given the fast and loose attitude I've given to folklore. Unfortunately I wasn't able to get any Irish sensitivity readers before posting this though. I have a lot of Irish family and have visited many times in my life, but I'm aware I have blind spots just by nature of being English. If any Irish folk want to discuss anything that made them uncomfortable, my DMs are open :)

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

You know what, I have to get this off my chest so here's my essay on why Anakin and Padme's relationship in Attack of the Clones singlehandedly sinks not only Episode II, but detracts from the entire prequel trilogy.

Here's the thing: the prequels are a tragedy, chronicling Anakin Skywalker's lamentable fall to the Dark Side and becoming Darth Vader. But the movies spend SO. MUCH. TIME. foreshadowing Anakin's fall, we never really get to see him be a hero. (I will always be immensely grateful to The Clone Wars for giving us this desperately needed characterization for Anakin).

The same applies to Anakin/Padme's relationship. Their romance should be a tragedy, and really the only way to make something tragic is to make the audience root for it to succeed in the first place.

But their relationship as depicted in the movies is so toxic and covered in red flags I can't root for it to succeed. (And Anakin himself is already apparently one breath away from going full Dark Side so there's no chance to root for him either.)

Side note about "I don't like sand" since the problems with their romance often get chalked up to "Anakin is awkward" : "Awkwardness" could have worked, because awkwardness CAN be sweet and endearing when it's coming from someone who is shown to be kind and compassionate (see: Tech in general, but also with Phee). But Anakin, 10 years after TPM, isn't depicted in AotC as truly kind or compassionate or anything even approximating heroic until maybe the Battle of Geonosis at the very end of the movie. So yeah, Anakin being an idiot young adult when talking to a girl he likes is understandable; it's all his other behavior that is absolutely unacceptable.

Just a few "highlights:"

- Padme covers the cams in her room because she doesn't want Anakin watching her, then directly calls out Anakin for the looks he's giving her and tells him it's making her uncomfortable... And Anakin's response is creepy smile and then later he persists in talking to her about how he dreams about her etc and so forth.

^ Oh, if only the above or similar had been the actual scene...

- Inexplicably (and out of character for the Padme we got to know in TPM), Padme just... rolls with it and lets Anakin continue the creepy behavior she just told him she didn't like? Okay, guess we're reinforcing the idea that when women say "no" they don't ACTUALLY mean "no," persistence always wins, just gotta keep trying no matter what the woman says.

- Anakin strokes Padme's bare skin (she still hasn't said anything to indicate she's okay with this kind of attention), and she kisses him before pulling away and expressing regret over it. Since there's no other explanation given for Padme's sudden attraction to Anakin, we're left to assume that Padme must have been hiding her feelings for him from the get-go and therefore it must have been right for Anakin to keep testing her boundaries (do I really need to spell out how deeply problematic this messaging is??).

- Padme tells Anakin a relationship isn't feasible. (I have frequently come across comments on her "dominatrix dress" in this scene because apparently if a woman is going to turn down a man she has to plan on wearing, what, a burlap sack I guess, so the guy doesn't "get the wrong impression"). Anakin then shuffles full responsibility for his feelings onto her because of "the kiss she shouldn't have given him."

- Anakin commits one mistake and bad decision and egregious crime after another in the movie, as noted above it's not until Geonosis that he makes any decision that could be marginally considered heroic or "good," and... Padme likes this awful behavior, apparently?? Where did Padme liking this come from??? (If you're going to have freakin' rational smart independent kick-butt PADME fall for something like this, at least explain/show WHY.)

- By the time we get to the "We're about to die so yeah I totally love you" cliche, I'm not even cringing anymore because I'm just trying to figure out how we got to this point in the first place.

So... Yeah, we keep being told this is an epic tragic romance, and all I can see is two hours' worth of indicators that if Padme were my real-life friend, I'd be holding an intervention long before Anakin got assigned to her security detail on Naboo. FOR FORCE'S SAKE, PADME, HE'S BEEN THROWING UP NOTHING BUT RED FLAGS! RED MEANS STOP!!!

Again, this isn't just "Anakin doesn't know how to talk to girls because he was raised as a space monk." (Come on, people, Obi Wan was raised the same way and he does NOT act like that... But I digress.) This is Anakin being a creepy stalker who doesn't listen to the woman he supposedly loves and won't take no for an answer, and he ends up rewarded for it, and we're supposed to cheer him and Padme on and want them to be together?

No. Not me, at least.

And with this as the backstory going into Revenge of the Sith, with us never getting the chance (in the movies) to see Anakin at his best even with the woman he supposedly loves, Anakin's fall doesn't really feel tragic - it just feels... inevitable. His fall is plenty tragic and regrettable for the Jedi and clones and the Republic in general, of course; but with respect to how Anakin's demise affects him, it just hits as being a long time coming.

(At the end of the day, the only reason why I tolerate Anakin/Padme in TCW is because I actively ignore everything about their relationship from AotC. TCW also did such a stellar job showing enough of Anakin's good side contrasted with his darker tendencies that Anakin's fall in RotS now finally hits me as tragic for Anakin in particular. And the only reason why I rewatch AotC is for Obi Wan and the Yoda v Dooku fight, I almost always skip over 90% of the "romance" scenes at this point because I don't like gagging while watching a movie.)