#The four of them just hanging out and being “normal”

[lazy4honey]

Fair Wind

I feel this went off course as I wrote but I’m not in the mood to course correct so this is it.

Contains: present tense, ancient m!chinese dragon x mtf reader with p and boobs, dub-con, frotting?, mutual penetration, lots of 💦, breeding kink with some cumflation i guess, NSFW & MDNI

You sit in your sailboat’s kitchen, reading the newspaper and drinking your coffee, when you suddenly hear a weird noise. It kind of sounds like a fish landing on deck during a storm, both dull and wet.

Upon poking your head out, you find a... snake? No, what kind of snake is pale blue, has four claws, bird wings, and a head resembling that of a deer?? Also, those scattered feathers and blood stains look quite real...

Sadly, even after thinking about it for a while, you have no idea what this “snake” is. And without a computer or relevant books on board, you can’t look it up, either.

You spend some time scratching your head and pacing around the blue “snake” before finally deciding to take care of it. Anyway, as long as it doesn’t manage to scratch or bite you, it should be fine, right?

… as a result, a while later, you are picking it up with a hand net you normally use to get fish off the boat. It’s a little difficult to get the winged snake inside, but you are patient.

Once inside the net, however, you are clueless as to what to do next. You can’t just hang it somewhere and put a lid on it, what if the thing wakes up and tosses about? Simply putting it somewhere doesn’t seem good, either, since it might toss and panic and get tangled up in the net… So just hold it?

You stared at it for a while, then simply put it in a bucket. The bucket was placed next to the cabin door, where you could see it whenever you went up or below deck. Feeling moderately satisfied with this arrangement, you get some stuff that might be useful and start cleaning up the mess that the winged snake made on your boat.

There are some blue scales, too small to pick up from amidst the blood. The feathers are easier. They are white with a blue glimmer that shines fascinatingly as you hold them up with a pair of thongs before putting them in another bucket. As for the blood, you simply wipe it up and then pour the bloodied waste water from another bucket into the ocean. Anyway, it’s all water.

After cleaning up, you take a little break before returning your attention to the blue winged snake with claws.

What a strange being.

You squat over the bucket for a while, watching it breathe, then get up to bring it inside.

The snake thing limply slides out of the bucket and into the bowl you like to use for washing fruits. Wearing thick yellow cleaning gloves, you wet a paper towel and carefully clean the thing. If possible, you would love to not touch the snake at all, even with gloves on, but using thongs and dish washing brushes for a living creature seems to unhygienic.

So hopefully, the gloves are enough.

Once the snake-like being is relatively clean, you get some medicine and smear it onto the wounds. Considering how strange the blue winged snake looks, that should be enough… If it has any broken bones, there’s nothing you can do. You’ve already done your best.

In the end, it sleeps for a few days. You almost think it’s dead multiple times, but it is always breathing. It’s somewhat reassuring that your unskilled treatment hasn’t killed the poor creature.

When it wakes up, you don’t even realize it, too focused on the book you’ve already read at least a dozen times. And by the time your mind clocks it, the weird winged snake with claws has already wrapped its tail around your neck, threateningly staring at you from narrow slit pupils surrounded by sky blue irises.

You freeze.

Damn, what now? Say hi??

“Uh..."

Just as you are about to say something, the snake thing opens its mouth and produces a series of sounds akin to language yet resembling nothing you know. “&%$! §%&?"

“...Sorry, I don’t speak that."

The tail around your throat tightens a little and its pupils narrow further. After a while, it speaks again, this time in a language you, this ordinary human, are capable of understanding. “Mortal,"

Wow, starting off insulting, huh?

“You have done This King a great favor."

You are baffled. In which culture is it common for someone to refer to themselves in the third person...?

“In return, This King shall bestow upon you a Life Extension Pill—“

“I don’t need that.” You bluntly interrupt it.

“Lowly mortal, daring to interrupt This King!"

“But I don’t need anything to extend my life, modern medicine is already doing a great job at that."

“...This King shall bestow upon you a Cultivation Manual of—“

“A what now?"

It shuts its mouth and stares at you.

You swallow nervously, but it’s already too late to back out now. “I really don’t know what you mean. Because if you’re speaking about cultivating the land, I’m sorry to burst your bubble but we’re at sea."

The weird snake-like being sighs. “This King shall bestow upon you one of the Secrets of—“

“Uhm..."

“What now?!"

You flinch and bravely continue, “I’m really bad at keeping secrets."

You mean to see its eye twitch. “...Is this the reason why you seclude yourself in this tiny room at sea?"

Not exactly, but if you start explaining now, it might really choke you to death and not just threaten you, so you just keep your mouth shut and try to smile politely.

After a while, it sighs. The snake thing lets go of your neck, gracefully flaps its wings, and coils up on your table. “So what do you want? Fame? Riches? Power?"

You think about it and shake your head, “Nah, I’m doing perfectly fine now. But thank you for the offer."

The snake twists its neck to pinch its deer-like snout with one of its claws in a very human-like manner. “Fine. Fine! Lowly mortal, tell This King — what do you desire?"

It stares into your eyes and you feel compelled to confess all your wants and wishes, the most pressing of which—

“Release my pent-up frustration."

Its gaze creates the illusion of gentleness as it follows up, “What kind of frustration?"

“Sexual frustration."

You blush with embarrassment, and the feeling worsens when you see its eyes light up. “Tsk, why didn’t you just say so in the first place! Desiring This King is perfectly normal, especially for a lowly mortal like you."

“...I don’t have a degradation or humiliation kink, so would you please stop calling me that?"

The snake humphs, “Bold of you to make demands of This King. But since you begged— uh, asked so nicely, This King shall grant you this request."

As it speaks, its body swells and grows to a frightening size that fills most of the sailboat’s cabin, and its voice deepens, becoming a melodious male voice akin to the ethereal wind.

You can clearly see the fine fur of its deer-like head, the smooth texture of its white, glimmering blue feathered wings, and the pale blue scales decorating the rest of its body. There is a surreal beauty to it that makes you hold your breath, a hint of reverence taking shape in your heart.

“Anyway, This King hasn’t released his yang qi in quite a while..."

It, no, he wraps around you. His warm scales brush against your skin in a slightly scratchy embrace, subtly restricting your movements, and his claws tear through your clothes.

Shocked by the sudden turn of events, you completely forget to resist, missing your only opportunity at escape.

And it is exactly at this moment that you realize that you are facing a dragon.

Your torn clothes are swept away by a breeze that comes out of nowhere, and you feel it caress your body. It sweeps over your palms and instep, your arms and legs, your chest and crotch, your tits and girl-dick. The dragon seems unfazed by your body, just licking your bare skin with his long, soft tongue until your girl-dick is standing at attention and leaking some pre-cum.

He hums and narrows his eyes with satisfaction, bending down to lick the shimmering drop from your tip, his tongue lingering on your slit for a moment. His deer ears flick at your moan and he raises his head to look at you.

You stare at him with a flushed face and teary eyes, unable whether you want him to continue or not.

What would he even do, just suck your girl-dick...?

Just as that thought emerges, the dragon moves again. He arches his back and the tip of his tail tightens around your leg as just above his hind claws, a gap opens between his scales. Sky blue parts to make way for two milky white cocks with raised spirals running from the tip to the base counter and clockwise. They are completely erect and dripping with slick, and much longer and girthier than yours.

You are unable to move, unable to look away as the dragon puts his cocks against your girl-dick. The ridges of the spirals rub along your length, so wet it feels like they are already dripping with cum, and wedged between the twin cocks yours looks almost pitifully small.

Your girl-dick and balls tingle from the stimulation, and when you feel the two strange dragon cocks throb all hope is lost and you come without warning. Cum spurts from your tip and splashes onto the dragon’s sky blue scales.

Then the dragon starts thrusting. Your cocks press and grind against each other faster and faster, the slicked up spiral ridges feeling like a cock massage. The throbbing of his cocks becomes more rapid, and they seem to grow even harder against yours as he cums with a long, deep groan. His cum erupts with such force that it paints your tits and belly white and even reaches your jaw and mouth, making you subconsciously lick it from the corner of your lips.

It tastes a little salty.

Both you and him come twice more like this. But then, he says that he is satisfied and you seem to be, too, so he will take his leave now. Oh, how could he leave now?

How could you let him leave now?

As the dragon’s twin cocks are slowly retreating into his body, you suddenly grab him. His scales are slick beneath your hands, so you simply intertwine your fingers with his claws.

“You, what are you doing—?!"

In one swift motion, you thrust your girl-cock into the gap between his scales. Your little human dick fits perfectly between the dragon’s, and now, enveloped by his tight heat and pressing hard against the spiraling ridges, it feels like you are exactly where your should be.

The sailboat rocks on the tranquil waves as you fuck the dragon’s hole. He twists and writhes in pleasure and shame. As a king, how could he let some little mortal mate with him like unintelligent beasts in heat?! And yet, he enjoys this, takes pleasure in being passive for once as you plunge into him time and again, letting you dominate him.

You slam your hips into him in a frenzy. With every throb of his wonderful cocks, your climax comes closer, until both of you cum at the same time.

Copious amounts of cum squirt from the gap in his scales and drench your crotch. The dragon’s hole and cocks pulse and his wings tremble, crystal blue eyes filled with tears of ecstasy.

It is a pleasure unlike any he has ever felt before, more humiliating and arousing than any other time he had sex. He longs for more, but it is this thought that hurts his pride more than anything else. A dragon submitting so easily to a human he could pinch to death? Dream on!

So the next moment, you see the world spin and you are pinned down beneath the dragon.

And then you feel it, the spirally tip of one of his cocks against your puckered asshole. Dripping wet with mixed cum and slick, it slips in without any resistance and makes you feel every inch.

You cry out and cum again when he pushes against your prostrate. Your sight is filled with white and you feel lightheaded, your girl-cock going flaccid, yet the dragon couldn’t care less.

Just one cock inside you isn’t enough to vent his desire; he just wants to widen you enough for your asshole to take all of him.

He thrusts with a vengeance and soon enough, your hole is fluttering as you cum harder than any of the previous times. You can feel your pulse in your girl-cock and your balls tingle like there is a soft current of electricity flowing through them. Your asshole becomes sensitive in the afterglow of your orgasm, making the ridges feel bigger, and you are barely fully hard again when he forces you to cum.

The dragon pulls out and lifts your legs to look at your gaping hole, opening and closing like it’s breathing, then ruthlessly forces his big twin cocks into you.

You choke out a moan. His spiraling ridges rub against your entrance and press into your soft inner walls hard enough to leave imprints, the two dicks stretching you so wide you feel like you’re about to burst, and then you feel his slick scales against your ass and his tips in your guts as he bottoms out.

A jolt goes through your body. He pounds into you like his life depends on it, making your tits and girl-cock bounce. The incidental movement stimulates you further, heart throbbing as he ravages you and relentlessly slams his twin cocks down your asshole.

His ruthless fucking rearranges your guts and your asshole flutters around the enormous lengths with an onslaught of orgasms that never seem to end. You feel him pulse and twitch and then erupt and shoot his hot cum into your ass, round after round, pumping you full until your belly bulges and it leaks out with every push and pull.

Your eyes roll, feeling close to passing out from the overwhelming pleasure of being fucked like he could breed you. You are squeezed until only clear fluid spurts from your tired girl-cock, your limbs aching, covered in drool, tears and cum, lying on the planks of your sailboat in a total mess.

The provoked dragon finally calms down after who knows of how many hours of plowing you to within an inch of your life. He pulls his cocks out with a loud squelch, and with the plug gone, his thick cum comes gushing out.

You whine at the sensation. If only you had a butt plug...!

“What, dissatisfied?” the dragon sneers.

“No,” you barely manage to produce sounds at this time, “I love it, I love you, I love your big fat cocks inside my ass breeding me..."

The dragon’s wings twitch and a feather falls, silently landing in the large puddle of mixed fluids spreading beneath you.

He glances at your cock-drunk face, then at your asshole that probably won’t function properly for a good while, and his eye twitches.

...just what had he gotten himself into??

Meanwhile, unaware of the dragon’s doubts, you continue rambling without thought.

“Just stuff me full... pump all your cum into my womb and make me bear your eggs until my stomach is all heavy... and then I’ll have to force them out... one by one..."

The thought alone makes your sensitive body tremble with another orgasm. You can practically feel it already... too bad that isn’t possible...

“Are you sure about that?"

“Huh?"

The dragon locks eyes with you. The pale blue deer head seems serious. “Are you sure you want me to breed you until you bear my offspring?"

Your eyes light up, “Is it possible?"

He chuckles and slowly drags his soft, warm tongue from your thigh over your cock, abdomen, breasts and neck.

As if seducing you.

“Certainly."

[arolesbianism]

I’ve drawn a decent amount of isat au eternal gales but yknow what I haven’t drawn? Eternal gales au isat. Don’t look at me.

[monstersholygrail]

New City, New Life

5k celebration ‘Choose your own adventure’ story

Orc x fem!reader— cum eating, dry humping, fingering, voyeurism, rough sex, clitoral stimulation

Pt1

“Hey neighbor, I was just talking about you,” your hot Wolf Hybrid neighbor says as you walk over to his little group hanging out in his driveway.

His Orc, Naga, and Wolf friends all flash you a knowing smirk, their varying fangs glimmering sends a heat in your belly before you quickly stop yourself. You had to tone your horny ass self down. You didn’t wanna make a bad impression on a new city of people by being desperate for everyone’s cocks. You didn’t think that would fly here. As they stare your cheeks begin to heat up in a way you know is noticeable.

“Mentioned how I wanted to bring over a cup of coffee I made you,” he adds as if sensing your thoughts and trying to reassure you.

So he wasn’t going around talking about you to all his friends? Something tells you that’s not exactly true as his eyes gleam with arousal. You imagine it as you take the cup of coffee from his hands. Your hot neighbor sitting around with his equally hot friends, going over every little dirty detail. Raving about how good your tight cunt felt around his thick cock. All of them growing hard as he recounted the noises you made and how desperate you were to be filled while imagining it was them with you instead.

A choked whimper escapes you that you quickly try and hide beneath a pleased hum. You try your best to look casual as you subtly rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction. But you’re briefly brought back to reality as your hot neighbor hands you the mug of coffee.

“Thank you for this, but—“ you say as you bring the mug to your lips only for your neighbor to brush a clawed finger along the edge of the cup and tilt it up, forcing you to take long gulps of the nicely warm drink. You meet his burning gaze, unable to look away, the tension simmering between you. And in front of all his friends. Fuck you can feel how wet you’re getting.

When he finally removes his finger you lower the cup with only a bit less than half left. Your mouth smacks as the taste bursts across your tongue. It was bitter as you expected coffee to be but also a bit sweet and… salty? It was certainly creamier than you expected it to be. You liked it. Probably more than you liked whatever blend you usually get. You’ll have to ask what his special ingredient is later.

“Thank you again but I was wondering if you guys could give me a ride? I’m in a really tough spot and I just need someone to get me going,” you say, voice strangely huskier than normal.

You clear your throat, glancing away, and look back up to all four of these damn fine men staring down at you as if they’re about to pounce. Your pussy flutters, clamping down around nothing at the thought of them actually doing just that. Their claws digging into your plush form, fangs grazing your sensitive skin, their big tongues ravaging your body to prepare you for their giant cocks.

“Work that is,” you add, voice growing husky all over again.

Your Wolf Hybrid neighbor chuckles darkly, the sound shooting right down to your core. He glances at his friends and a silent conversation passes between them. Then all of them are moving toward the car as if suddenly eager to get in.

“C’mon, sweetheart. We’re headed to work ourselves but we’ll get you off. Who are we to deny someone as cute as you?” He says smoothly, his raspy voice making that sound much more suggestive than you think he meant to.

Your hot neighbor rounds the car, taking the drivers seat. While his Wolf Hybrid friend quickly takes passenger. As if he didn’t want you getting to it first.

“You’ll have to ride in my lap though,” His Orc friend immediately says with a smirk as he hops in the backseat of the car. You follow after him, not wanting anymore seats taken from you.

“And why would I do that?” You ask, not wanting him to know how much you like the idea.

Just as you’re about to sit in the middle seat instead, the Orc’s giant hands are gripping your waist and plopping you down in his lap. Before you can argue or pretend to complain, the Naga gets in last and he curls half his long rattling tail into the middle seat while the rest takes up the remaining one.

“There’sss no more room,” the Naga says, forked tongue slipping out as he speaks and a second later his eyes dilate.

You blush, knowing he can probably taste your arousal in the air. In fact, they all probably can. The realization has you blushing deeper and growing wetter on the hot Orc. Especially as the Orc tugs you closer to his chest and you can feel the distinct bulge of his half-erect cock pressing deliciously along your clothed slit.

Hot neighbor starts on his way and you share your new place of work with them. They’ll know exactly where you are now nearly every day. It sends a strange thrill through you. Wolf Hybrid neighbor tells you that it’s on the way to their place so they’ll drop you off first but that it might take a little longer. They usually like to down the back roads.

You find that you don’t mind as you’re a lot more than just comfortable sitting in the hot Orc’s lap. That is until they actually start driving down the back roads and their… bumpy terrain.

A small grunt escapes you, eyes widening as the car starts rocking. Each jolt of the car has the Orc’s hardening length rubbing right up against your pussy. Your throat tightens as you try and choke down your moans. The Orc feels huge and he’s rubbing over every inch of your cunt. You swear you feel him rocking in sync with the rock. But what would be crazy.

Small talk fills the car and you’re grateful no one seems to be able to notice your inner torment. Small whines leave you as you practically bounce on the Orc’s clothed dick. It sends shocks through your system and you quickly grow more and more needy. The need to be filled and stuffed full itching at your skin.

“I think you’re wet enough f’me now, sweetheart. My patience grows thin. Fuckin’ need to get inside ya,” the Orc says, breaking you out of your lustful daze. It’s only then you register his panting breaths and the way everyone’s eyes shift toward you in the car.

“W-what?”

You yelp as the Orc jerks off your slacks and panties in one swift move and hooks your legs over each of his knees, spreading you wide for the whole car to see. Your glistening folds spasm as they’re exposed to the cold air.

Thoughts run through your head at a mile a minute. You should want to stop this. To scramble off this sexy Orc’s lap. But you only get more turned on, your arousal gushing out of you at the thought of him so suddenly taking you.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been wantin’ to fuck me since your fine ass walked over. That’s how this place works, right?” The Orc asks, almost mockingly.

His words wash over you, clouding your mind, as his hands explore your body. Slightly clawed fingers trail down and dip into your soaked folds. A low moan leaves you and instead of trying to get away you melt back into his chest, hips rolling with the movement of his fingers. He takes the time to prep you for his length and it slowly has you becoming an absolute mess in his lap. And you haven’t even had his cock yet.

You suck in a sharp breath as the hot Orc’s fingers leave you only to replace them with his thick angry tip. His pre-cum creating an even bigger mess of you. Your mind threatens to gain clarity again but then the Orc is pushing you down and splitting you open on his cock.

“Nngh! Ooh… Oh fuck,” you cry out, throwing your head back. The stretch of his girth forcing your gummy walls to accommodate him has your eyes rolling back. The deeper he goes the more you swear you’ve never been filled this good in your life.

The fact that you’re in a car full of men shifts back to the front of your mind and you lift your head to see them all still watching you with a fierce intensity.

Your hot neighbor continues to drive but you notice the way his eyes keep flicking back to you in the mirror. While his Wolf Hybrid and Naga friends each have all their cocks out, languidly stroking them to the sight of you stretched pretty on their friend’s cock. You whimper, basking in the attention, and a second later the Orc starts slamming you down on his massive cock.

“Fuck, dude, you were right. What a perfect pussy. They’re drenched f’me, just slipped right in. So warm and tight. Poor thing won’t get a moments rest in this place,” the Orc huffs and the car erupts into soft breathless laughter.

Aha! You knew your hot neighbor had talked about you with them. The praise is all you focus on and it has your walls squeezing the Orc’s length, wanting to make him go mad. A low growl vibrates from his chest to your back as he feels you get even tighter. His claws sink into your hips as he starts using his grip to fuck his cock up into you at a bruising pace. His thrusts syncing up perfectly with the rocky jostling of the car that only seems to be getting worse.

You cry out as the car’s movements also deepens the Orc’s momentum. You swear you can feel his dick all the way up in your throat. He’s stuffing you so full of him you don’t know if you can take it. You arch back into the Orc, putting on a show for him and everyone in the car. Through hooded eyes you watch as they furiously pump themselves to the sight of your body. It gets you so fucking hot. Their lustful eyes raking over your form. All of them wanting a piece of you, all of them jealous of the one who gets to fuck you.

The Naga flicks out his tail, the rattle on its tip moves in between your legs, wanting to do anything he can to give you more pleasure. You wait with bated breath and shriek as he rattles his tail, the vibration sending sparks throughout your body. The Orc snarls in your ear and picks up pace, jerking up his hips and meeting your thrusts in a way that has your toes curling.

“How do they look?” Your hot neighbor growls, knuckles white on the steering wheel, and sounding borderline feral. His cock aching against his slacks.

“They look so fucking sexy, man. Their tight pussy can barely take him,” His Wolf Hybrid friend moans, his hips twitching as he jerks himself off even harder.

“But they’re doing ssso well. Pretty thing will be ruined for anyone else,” the Naga adds, roughly rattling his tail against your clit. He thrusts up into each of his hands that pump at both of his dicks. You mewl, vision blurring at the intensity that wracks through you.

“Fuck, I think they’re about to cum!” One of them shouts but you’re too lost in the haze of pleasure to focus on which one it is. But then the Orc’s hot breath is curling around your ear and your mind clears enough to hear his rumbling voice.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Fuckin’ let go and cum on my cock. Squeeze the damn life out of me, you can do it.”

The cord snaps and jaw drops, fierce screams echo throughout the car as you explode all over his cock. Waves of ecstasy wash over you and you try your best not to pass out. The sight of you coming is a vision of pure art and none of the other men can hold on much longer.

The Naga lets go first, shooting his cum over any inch of bare skin he can reach. The Wolf Hybrid is close to follow in his friend’s footsteps as he cums all over you two. Seeing you all wrecked and messy quickly has the Orc slamming into you, burying himself to the hilt and shooting spurt after spurt of his cum deep inside you.

“Such a pretty slut you are, sweetheart. So easily made a mess from our cocks. You’re perfect,” the Orc rasps in your ear and you preen under his praise.

The rest of the car ride is spent with the monsters cleaning you up as you lay limply in the Orc’s lap. You take the time to regain your strength and you hope you’ll be able to feel your legs enough to walk into work.

When you arrive your hot neighbor gets out and greets you as the door opens. He helps you out and you immediately melt into his embrace. Your Wolf Hybrid neighbor laughs, leaning down and kissing the crown of your head.

“Next time, darling. Now get into work,” he murmurs intimately in your ear. Giving your butt a nudging pat.

As you walk in on wobbly legs, you glance around the lobby, looking for the headhunter that recruited you. He was meant to meet you and show you the ropes of the job. But he isn’t anywhere to be seen and you wonder what you’ll do next. You could ask the Demon Guard by the door where you could find him, head down the closest hall and hope you find the headhunter down one of the rooms, or you could head to your Minotaur Boss’ office and hope he can show you around.

[marscardigan]

love me anyway

neighbor!ellie williams x reader

neighbor!ellie universe

summary: what was supposed to be a fun afternoon with your niece ended up being a complete mess of a weekend with your girlfriend and the four-year-old.

word count: 5.2k

THE APARTMENT was already a mess when Ellie knocked.

Not a normal kind of mess. No, this was the kind of mess born from full-blown four-year-old dictatorship, with the energy of an untrained golden retriever.

It started earlier that afternoon — a call from your brother that came in right as you were pouring your third coffee of the day. “Please. Please. I’m already late. Her sitter bailed. It’s just a few hours. You’re her favorite. Remember? That time with the popsicles?”

You hadn’t remembered the popsicles. Instead, you remembered the toy box incident. The “don’t cut your own bangs” incident. The “where did she get glitter glue at a Thai restaurant?” incident.

But by the time you could form an excuse, he was already thanking you profusely and hanging up. 

And so you ended up like this. Standing in the middle of your apartment, Ellie’s oversized t-shirt hanging off your shoulder and now proudly stamped with a pink dinosaur sticker and a suspicious chocolate handprint. A unicorn sticker clung to your cheek. Your bun had given up sometime around snack hour. And your couch? Fully taken hostage by a very small, very bossy tyrant named Sophie.

Sophie, your niece, was a walking contradiction. She could command a room of adults with a single lifted eyebrow, and yet turn beet red when a stranger said hello. She was shy around new people, but once she decided you were safe? That was it. She owned you. She was relentless, clever, full of opinions and she never got tired.

You were barely hanging on.

Toys were scattered across every inch of the living room. The TV was still paused on a Bluey chapter that was only interesting for, like, five minutes. A mixing bowl of cookie dough sat abandoned on the counter, crusting over, as Sophie insisted she couldn’t make the next batch until “Rexy” (her green triceratops plush) had picked his favorite cookie cutter.

You were elbow-deep in chaos, glitter, and existential dread. And then there was a knock. You froze, and your heart sank. Because that was Ellie. And today, ironically, was supposed to be your quiet anniversary night. The night you’d both been looking forward to all week. A cozy little dinner, movie on the couch, maybe even wine. You’d even bought her favorite kind, the one with the label she always made fun of but secretly liked.

Instead? Your house looked like a Crayola-fueled tornado hit a dinosaur museum. You trudged to the door, took one breath in, and opened it.

There she was. Your neighbor, looking criminally good in her worn hoodie and flannel jacket. Her auburn locks were messy in that way that made you want to run your fingers through them.

She blinked once. Took in the full scene, looked your stained shirt, your tangled hair and the faint smell of vanilla. And she grinned.

“Hey, lover girl,” she said, voice teasing and full of something warm. “You throwing a rave in here? Without me?”

You groaned. “El, I’m so sorry— I forgot it was today. My brother dropped Sophie off, and it was supposed to be a few hours, and then she started planning her own cookie empire, and I don’t know how, but there’s glitter in the microwave, and—”

Ellie stepped forward, kissed your cheek gently, and interrupted with a soft “Breathe.”

You exhaled. Tried to laugh. “I swear I was gonna wear the nice shirt. The one you really like.”

Ellie looked you up and down, nodded sagely, and tapped the purple crayon mark near your shoulder. “This one’s better. You’re giving... ‘toddler battle casualty,’ but like, hot.”

You laughed and stepped aside to let her in. The moment she crossed the threshold, Sophie peeked out from behind the pillow fort.

Ellie spotted her immediately. “Hey,” she said, voice dropping to that careful, open softness she reserved for animals, nervous kids, and you. “I remember you. From your dad’s birthday. You threw juice on my lap. Iconic move, though.”

Sophie stared at her with the intensity of someone assessing a threat level.

You whispered, “She’s shy. Needs a minute.”

Ellie nodded, and crouched, her hands tucked under her knees. “I heard you’re into dinosaurs,” she said casually.

Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Who told you that?”

Ellie’s eyes flicked to you. “A little birdie. And also the fossil exhibit in the living room.”

Sophie considered that. Slowly stepped out, still gripping Rexy like a shield. “Do you know any?”

Ellie blinked. “Do I know any? No way! I once stayed up until three a.m. learning the difference between a pterosaur and a pterodactyl. And I’m still not over the fact that velociraptors had feathers.”

Sophie stared. “You know about the feathers?”

Ellie’s voice dropped to a stage whisper. “I respect the feathers.”

You watched as Sophie’s shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit. “We were gonna make T. rex cookies,” she muttered. “But we don’t have a cutter.”

Ellie clutched her chest like she’d been personally wounded. “No T. rex cutter?”

“Right?!”

Ellie nodded seriously. “We’ll improvise. That’s what real scientists do.”

And just like that, Sophie climbed fully out from behind the couch, handed Ellie a plush like it was a peace treaty, and declared: “This is Rexy. He’s the boss.”

“Rexy?”

“Yeah. He’s the boss.”

Your girlfriend looked down at the plushie, wincing. “But look, buddy, this is a Triceratops. You can tell from the three—”

You interrupted from the kitchen. “—wrap it up, babe.”

Ellie sighed dramatically, feigning indifference. “Alright. It’s a very special, honorary T. rex who, uh, just happens to have three horns.”

Sophie took the plush, nodded seriously. “Good. He’s allowed.”

Your girlfriend glanced at you, then back at Sophie, then said casually, “Hey, Commander Dino, can I borrow your assistant for a minute?”

The kid nodded, already pulling out the glitter glue. Ellie stood, crossed the room, and took your hands. “You look like you haven’t peed since noon,” she said, too seriously.

“I haven’t.”

“Oh god. Do me a favor and go pee and take a shower, yeah? I got this.”

“But I—”

She raised a brow. “—you kinda stink, baby.”

Your jaw dropped. “Ellie!”

She leaned in, kissed your cheek again. “ Go. I’ll hold down the dino fort.”

You stared at her, heart full and dumb. And then nodded. “Okay. Ten minutes.”

“Fifteen it’s okay too.” Ellie winked, and you disappeared down the hall, heart light for the first time all day. Behind you, you heard her say, “Sophie, I have a mission. We’re gonna make the best non-T. rex cookies in the galaxy. But first, we need a glitter strategy.”

And Sophie, without hesitation, replied: “I have a plan.”

You smiled into your towel as you closed the bathroom door. And for the first time in hours, you let yourself relax.

THE SUN was warm on your back as you pushed open the creaky gate to the park, Sophie’s tiny hand wrapped securely in yours, her sparkly shoes skipping excitedly across the gravel path. Ellie followed behind, hands in the pockets of her hoodie.

“Swings first,” Sophie declared. “Then monkey bars!”

The park was mostly empty except for a few kids on the climbing structure and a couple of moms on a nearby bench. You helped Sophie onto a swing while Ellie wandered toward the bench under a shade tree, where she could keep eyes on both of you while pretending not to be soft as hell about it.

Everything felt… easy. The breeze carrying the smell of mulch and grass and sunscreen. Sophie giggling as she pumped her legs higher. You felt Ellie’s gaze on you and turned around to see her snap a photo — quickly, shyly — then look away like she hadn’t just caught you mid-smile.

“Why is that boy wearing a girl’s top?” a young voice said nearby, loud and obnoxiously clear.

Sophie slowed her swing, blinking. You turned, heart already dropping, and spotted a boy, maybe six or seven, standing with a group of kids near the slide. He pointed a sticky finger at Ellie. “She looks like a boy.”

Another kid giggled. “Is that your dad?”

You froze. But Sophie didn’t.

She hopped off the swing, stomped across the mulch with her fists clenched and her face red.

“That’s my aunt,” she said, loud. “And you’re a poop face.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not your real aunt. My dad says people like that are gross. What a freak.”

The words landed like a slap. You were already moving fast, but Sophie beat you to it.

“Go chew glass!” she snapped, voice shrill with fury. “You’re the freak!”

You blinked in shock. “Sophie—!”

Ellie had already stood from the bench, expression unreadable.

Before you could reach either of them, a tall woman stormed over, her heels clicking furiously on the path. “Hey,” she said, voice clipped and full of judgment. “Is that your child?”

“My niece, actually.”

“Well, she just told my son to chew glass.”

Sophie, still puffed up and red from anger, crossed her arms. “Because he was being mean!”

The woman turned sharply toward Ellie then, sneering. “I don’t know what you people think is appropriate, but flaunting this sort of lifestyle in front of children is completely out of line.”

You opened your mouth, but Ellie’s voice cut through the air.

“This ‘lifestyle’ is just me existing.”

The woman scoffed. “Well, maybe people like you shouldn’t be around kids. God knows you can’t have any of your own.”

Your breath hitched. You instinctively reached for Sophie’s hand and pulled her close, her little fingers clinging to yours.

Ellie’s face stayed calm, too calm. Her eyes didn’t blink, and her voice didn’t waver. “And thank God for that,” she said flatly. “Because if having a kid means raising a bigot who gets his vocabulary from someone like you, I’d pass.”

The woman gasped. “Excuse me—”

“No,” Ellie said, still calm. “Excuse me. For thinking, I could come to the park and watch my girlfriend push her niece on a swing without getting lectured by someone whose personality is just internalized and mediocre hate.”

You choked on a laugh that almost turned into a sob. Sophie squeezed your hand tighter.

The woman’s face turned scarlet. “You’re disgusting. Both of you. This is sick.”

Ellie’s expression changed, just for a second. You saw it. The shift. A flicker of something wounded. You stepped in then, guiding Sophie back toward the bench, crouching low so she wouldn’t have to hear the rest.

And then the father came. Of course he did. Loud and aggressive. “What’s going on here?”

“She insulted our son,” the woman snapped, pointing at Ellie. “She and her… friend.”

Ellie gave a bitter laugh. “Friend? Is that your polite word for dyke today?”

The man took a step forward. “Hey, watch it.”

“No,” Ellie said, eyes sharp now. “You watch it.” You turned, still crouched behind Sophie, who was now hugging her dino plush tightly to her chest. “You want to teach your kid to be cruel? Fine by me. But don’t pretend it’s me that’s the danger here.”

Ellie stepped close, unafraid. “Don’t you dare look at me like I’m the problem. I didn’t teach a kid to hate someone for loving someone else. That was you.”

Silence. Thick and awkward and heavy. The man opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His wife tugged his arm, sputtering something about leaving. And then they were gone.

You let out a long, slow breath. Your hands were shaking a little. Ellie turned to you, her expression softening immediately. “You okay?”

You nodded, blinking fast. “Are you?”

She hesitated. “I’m used to it. But… I hate when you hear it.”

You stood and pulled her into a one-armed hug with your free arm, Sophie still tucked against your hip. “You didn’t deserve that. Ever.”

Ellie swallowed. “Neither do you.”

Then a tiny voice whispered between you. “Can we go home?”

You nodded quickly. “Yeah, baby. We can.”

Ellie offered her hand to Sophie, and she took it instantly.

As the three of you walked back toward the car, Ellie glanced over and said softly, “Remind me to buy her a whole cake.”

“For telling that kid to chew glass?”

“Exactly.”

YOU HAD just gotten home from the park. The golden-hour sun had followed you in, spilling lazy light across the floor and catching on the faint glitter still clinging to your couch cushions from earlier.

Sophie was already half-asleep in Ellie’s arms.

At some point between the sidewalk and the front step, the four-year-old tornado had lost steam. Now she was curled up against Ellie’s chest like she’d been born to fit there, head resting in the dip of her shoulder, clutching her beloved plush dinosaur like a sleepy lifeline.

Ellie had popped on a random episode of Pokémon and was whispering little commentary into Sophie’s hair every so often.

You just smiled and leaned against the kitchen counter, watching them— the quiet rise and fall of Sophie’s chest, the way Ellie adjusted her arm every so often without waking her, like she was terrified of being too firm. Like she knew exactly how to hold a child who trusted her.

Then your phone buzzed on the table.

You hesitated, not wanting to break the peace. But it was your brother’s name on the screen, and something about the timing made your gut twist.

You stepped into the hallway and answered quietly. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I—shit. I’m sorry,” your brother said immediately, already frazzled. “The meeting ran late. There’s a dinner thing now, and I’m stuck. Like, stuck-stuck. I was gonna send someone, but they bailed.”

You frowned. “So…?”

“I can’t grab Soph tonight. I didn’t mean to dump her on you for this long, I swear.”

You glanced through the hallway, back into the living room, and felt the tension in your shoulders ease. Sophie hadn’t moved. Ellie had shifted slightly, stretching her legs along the couch now, her hand cradling Sophie’s back like instinct.

You felt something heavy and soft settle in your chest. “It’s okay,” you said gently, lowering your voice. “She can stay the night.”

Your brother exhaled on the other end. “Are you sure? Like, really sure? You guys had plans today, right?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, watching Ellie brush a strand of hair from Sophie’s forehead, slow and careful. “Honestly, I think she’d be heartbroken if I tried to wake her up right now.”

“She likes her,” your brother said quietly. “Ellie.”

You smiled. “Yeah. She likes Sophie too.”

“Tell her thanks, okay? And thank you. Seriously. You’re saving my ass, once again.”

You murmured a goodbye and hung up, then padded softly back into the living room. Ellie didn’t look away from the screen, but her voice was low and amused. “Was that Big Brother?”

You nodded, easing down beside her. “Yeah. He’s stuck at some dinner thing. Can’t pick her up.”

Ellie glanced down at Sophie’s sleeping face, then up at you with a crooked little smile. “So it’s a sleepover, then.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Looks like it.”

She adjusted the blanket across Sophie’s legs with one hand. “Guess that makes me the honorary cool aunt. Or maybe the dino wrangler.”

“You might be both.”

You sat for a moment in the quiet, listening to the muffled sounds of Pikachu yelling on screen, watching the soft light of the TV ripple across Ellie’s freckled face.

She looked so at peace. Like this wasn’t even a question. Like this was the most natural thing in the world. This kid tucked against her, your hand close by, the three of you wrapped in something wordless and safe.

You hesitated, then whispered, “You don’t have to stay.”

Ellie turned to you. “What?”

“You’ve had a long day. I know. You don’t have to stay the whole night, El. I can—”

“Nope.” Her answer was firm. “Not happening.”

You felt your throat tighten. “I just meant, if you’re tired—”

“I am tired,” she said. “But this—” she nodded toward Sophie, curled tighter now, cheek squished into her chest, “—this is the kind of tired I don’t mind. I’d rather be here, in your living room, covered in cookie crumbs and glitter dino stickers, than anywhere else.”

You looked at her for a long time, heart full. Then, shifted closer and pressed your lips to her cheek, then her jaw. She turned into the touch.

“I love you,” you murmured.

She smiled into your hair. “I love you more.”

Then she leaned her head against yours and let out a quiet sigh. You didn’t say anything else for a while. You didn’t need to. Just the three of you, safe under a shared blanket, with Rexy the dinosaur squished between Ellie’s ribs and Sophie’s tiny arm.

Outside, the sky darkened.

Inside, it felt like home.

THAT peace was now long gone. Sophie stirred eventually, as she always did, grumpy and dramatic about the fact that time had passed. “Is it nighttime?” she asked from Ellie’s chest, blinking slowly like a confused space traveler.

Ellie chuckled and brushed a hand over her messy hair. “Almost. Sun’s clocking out.”

You sat up and stretched. “Alright, munchkin. Bedtime routine. Let’s go.”

Sophie groaned louder. “But we didn’t even finish the Pikachu episode!”

“You drooled on me halfway through it,” Ellie pointed out gently.

“No I didn’t,” Sophie mumbled, eyes already drifting shut again.

Ellie looked over at you, grinning. “Want me to take the lead?”

You raised a brow. “You sure you’re ready for the Great Toothbrush War?”

“I survived the Dino Rebellion,” she replied. “I can handle her.”

You smirked and waved her toward the hallway. “Be my guest, Captain.”

Ellie stood and scooped Sophie up with practiced ease. “Alright, space cadet. Teeth, pajamas, and then I’ll tell you a story about the time a dinosaur got abducted by aliens.”

Sophie’s head popped up from Ellie’s shoulder. “Wait. Really?!”

“Oh yeah,” Ellie said seriously. “Dead serious.”

You watched them disappear down the hall together, your tiny niece still clutching her dino plush, her other hand twisted into the collar of Ellie’s hoodie like she belonged there. And she did. That part was undeniable now.

You moved through the quiet, straightening blankets, folding up half-painted coloring books, collecting plastic stegosauruses off the coffee table like little emotional landmines. You lit the soft lamp by the couch and dimmed the TV until only the faintest blue light flickered across the walls.

Twenty minutes later, Ellie reemerged.

Her hair looked messier, the neckline of her hoodie slightly wet, which you didn’t ask about, and she was holding the empty cup from the kids’ toothpaste like a war trophy. “She fought me,” Ellie said with mock exhaustion, flopping beside you. “But I prevailed.”

“She got the T. rex jammies?”

“Obviously. We don’t mess around on sleepover night.”

You smiled and leaned into her, pulling the throw blanket over both of you. “She asleep?”

“Out like a light. But not before I told her about the dinosaur who accidentally got launched into space by a rogue scientist named Dr. Picklejuice.”

You choked on your laugh. “What?!”

“She named him. I don’t ask questions.”

You kissed her temple. “You’re really good with her.”

Ellie blushed slightly. “She makes it easy.”

You nodded, then paused. The comfort started to settle, but something else was still under your skin. You weren’t sure why it suddenly pushed to the surface. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was seeing Ellie so soft and gentle in a way you knew not everyone had accepted in her life.

Ellie noticed instantly. Of course she did. Her hand slid over yours beneath the blanket.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “You good?”

You hesitated, eyes still on the low flicker of the TV. “I’ve been trying not to think about the park.”

Ellie didn’t say anything yet. She just squeezed your fingers.

“It wasn’t even about me,” you continued. “Not really. But the things they said about you. The way they looked at you. Like…” You swallowed. “Like you shouldn’t be near her.”

Your voice cracked on that last word, and Ellie turned toward you instantly.

“They don’t know you,” you said quickly, like if you said it fast enough it wouldn’t sting. “They don’t see how good you are with her. How kind. And smart. And patient.”

Ellie stayed quiet for a second longer, then turned your hand over in hers, tracing small circles into your palm with her thumb. “I’m used to it,” she said, almost too calmly. “It doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, but it’s not new.”

“I hate that,” you whispered.

“I know.”

You looked at her then, eyes wet. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it. We shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

Ellie smiled, soft and sad. “It’s the trade-off, sometimes. Being who you are in a world that still isn’t built for you.”

You leaned into her shoulder, voice thick. “I just wanted today to be easy for you.”

She pulled you tighter. “It was. But the hard parts? Totally worth it.”

“I just... I got scared. That someone will say something worse. Do something worse.”

Ellie’s hand slipped into your hair, gentle. “If they do, they’ll have to go through me first.”

You snorted softly. “You’re 5’5”, El.”

“With rage strength, babe. Don’t underestimate me.”

And just like that, you fell asleep. You didn’t really mean to. You were just curled into her side, the warmth of her arm around your waist, her nose tucked behind your ear, the blanket pulled high, the distant sound of Sophie’s sleepy breathing coming from the bedroom.

The last thing you heard was Ellie’s voice, barely audible. “G’night, angel”

And then the world slipped away, and everything folded into dreams.

YOUR eyes blinked open slowly, lashes still heavy with dreams, your body warm and wrapped in Ellie’s hoodie. You’d fallen asleep tangled on the couch, but there was no sight of your girlfriend. You stayed there a moment, taking in the early morning quiet. The apartment was softly lit with that pre-8 a.m. haze, the golden sunlight creeping through the curtains.

Something clattered, and Sophie’s voice rang out, bright and relentless, from down the hall. “Do dinosaurs even like waffles?!”

You smiled against the cushion and slowly peeled yourself away.

Padding down the hall, you made your way toward the bathroom, expecting Sophie looking around your drawers. But what you weren’t expecting was Ellie, kneeling on the floor. A full YouTube tutorial paused on her phone, her head tilted as she stared with furrowed, confused concentration at Sophie, who was sitting cross-legged on the closed toilet lid, eyes wild and arms flailing.

“Okay,” Sophie said, mid-rant, “but what if, listen, what if dinosaurs came back but they were like, invisible, and only dogs could see them, so we wouldn’t even know, and maybe that’s why dogs bark all the time!”

Ellie, holding a brush and a hair tie, blinked slowly. “… That’s a terrifying theory.”

“I know, right!”

“Okay, um—head down, kiddo, please.”

Sophie obliged, swinging her head down dramatically. “Are you sure this video is even going to work? It looks old.”

“It’s a braid tutorial, not a crime scene documentary.”

You laughed, and Ellie looked up then, meeting your eyes in the mirror, and froze, immediately flushing. “Oh. Uh. Hey.”

You leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. “You braid now?”

Ellie cleared her throat. “I’m… learning.”

“Mm-hm.”

Sophie twisted around. “She’s trying to do Elsa hair, but it’s not working. At all.”

“I said I’m learning,” Ellie muttered, red now. “There’s, like, sections. And weaving. And finger placement. It’s a lot.”

You walked over, kissed the top of Sophie’s head. “She’s trying very hard.”

“She’s not very good, though.”

Ellie let out a wounded gasp. “Ma’am, I am a musician, not a hairdresser. I work with strings for a living.”

Ten minutes later, Sophie was sitting at the kitchen table with a slightly better braid and a mountain of crayons spread across your place mats. A half-colored dinosaur coloring page was already crumpled from her sheer intensity.

“Can dinosaurs wear clothes?” she asked no one in particular.

Ellie, flipping pancakes at the stove, said, “Only the fashionable ones.”

Sophie grinned. “Like Rexy. He wears capes sometimes.”

You were slicing bananas, watching it all like some surreal Sunday morning sitcom.

Ellie passed you a plate, leaning in to kiss your temple. “You slept hard.”

You nodded. “Did I snore?”

“Like a dragon.”

“Liar.”

Ellie shrugged. “A cute dragon.”

You bumped her with your hip. “Thanks for… you know. Doing all this.”

She gave you a look. The you-don’t-have-to-thank-me-for-loving-you look. You’d gotten good at recognizing it. “I like mornings like this,” she said simply. “Even if they start with weird conspiracy theories.”

“Rude!” Sophie called.

“You’re too short to vote,” Ellie shot back.

Sophie grinned wickedly. “So are you!”

You choked on your orange juice.

Ellie looked personally attacked. “I am average height, thank you very much.”

“No you’re not,” Sophie said. “You’re small. But tall enough to make waffles. So you can stay.”

Ellie whispered to you, “Thank God. I was nervous.”

You smiled, leaned against her side, and let the warmth settle.

BY midday, the apartment had transformed again.

Gone were the scattered crayons and the sticky syrup plates from breakfast. The coloring books had been cleared, the glitter wiped from the table, and now, in their place stood something far greater. A museum.

Sophie had declared it around eleven a.m., full of conviction and without warning, as she lined up every single plastic dinosaur she owned across the floor.

“This is the entrance,” she explained, gesturing at a pillow with glitter glue stains. “And only people with imagination are allowed in.”

Ellie, standing beside you with a cup of coffee and her usual half-smile, nodded solemnly. “We barely qualify.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “No phones. No snacks. No shoes. And no boring facts.”

Ellie blinked. “Wait. What?”

“No boring facts,” Sophie repeated. “You’re the tour guide, so you can say fun things. But not, like, ‘blah blah, this dinosaur was alive in this year.’ That’s boring.”

Ellie shot you a helpless look, and you smiled innocently and flopped onto the couch. “I’m just here to observe.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool,” Ellie said, clapping her hands and clearing her throat dramatically. “Welcome to the World Famous Dinosaur Museum, curated by Sophie, the most powerful four-year-old paleontologist on Earth.”

Sophie gave a tiny approving nod.

Ellie walked up to the first toy. “Here we have… the mighty Ankylosaurus, also known as the living tank. This dude had a club for a tail and armor all over his back. Total unit.”

“Wrong,” Sophie interrupted.

Ellie froze. “Uh. What?”

Sophie crossed her arms. “That’s not an Ankylosaurus. That’s a Bumpy.”

“A… what?”

“Bumpy. From the show. She’s nice and has big eyes, and she doesn’t hit people with her tail unless they’re being rude.”

“Right,” Ellie said, clearing her throat. “Of course. Bumpy. Noted.” She moved on. “And here, we have the infamous Velociraptor, known for its sharp claws, high intelligence, and hunting in coordinated packs.”

Sophie raised her hand like a teacher’s assistant. “Actually… Velociraptors were smaller. Like chickens.”

Ellie blinked. “You’re four.”

Sophie shrugged. “I have books.”

You were openly laughing now, half-curled into the couch, watching your girlfriend slowly spiral. Ellie stared down at the toy dinosaur. “Sure. Whatever you say, kid. That’s definitely a... Dino-nugget.”

Sophie giggled. “It’s okay. I forget too sometimes.”

Ellie turned to you, defeated. “She’s smarter than me.”

You grinned. “I’m weirdly attracted to it.”

She smirked, cheeks pink, and whispered, “Yeah?”

“The flustered dino tour guide thing is working for you.” Then Ellie reached out to tickle your foot. “You’re too mean! Stop!”

You yelped and kicked gently at her shin. Sophie shouted, “No violence in my museum!” and Ellie immediately stood straight, arms behind her back like a soldier caught goofing off in formation. “Apologies, Dr. Sophie,” she said. “Won’t happen again.”

“Good,” Sophie said, spinning dramatically on one socked foot. “Now it’s snack time. All museum staff must report to the kitchen immediately.”

You followed them in, Ellie trailing after with her hands still behind her back, muttering, “I didn’t go to dinosaur jail just to be bossed around by a preschooler.”

The three of you were halfway through peanut butter toast and a chaotic cup of apple juice when your door buzzed.

Sophie didn’t even flinch. “It’s Daddy,” she said, mouth full.

You opened the door, and sure enough, your brother stood there, hair windswept and eyes a little tired. His face softened the second he saw Sophie run toward him.

“Hey, Soph!” he said, catching her mid-leap.

She immediately launched into a breathless retelling of the day. “We made pancakes and Ellie did my hair, and I told her about dinosaur ghosts, and we made a museum, and she got every dinosaur wrong, but it was okay because she tried really hard!”

Ellie, still behind you with crossed arms and a red face. Your brother looked between the two of you, the toy-covered floor, the messy table, the crayon drawing Sophie had taped to the wall that read “Ellie = Cool Aunt”, and put down the toddler.

“You’ve got her wrapped around your finger,” he said to Ellie, smiling softly. “Didn’t know Sophie ever let someone else be the boss.”

Ellie shrugged, suddenly shy. “I bribed her with waffles.”

Sophie looked up. “She’s my best friend now. Don’t be jealous.”

Your brother gave you a long look. Something quiet passed between you. You kissed Sophie’s forehead, ruffled her hair, and passed her Rexy.

She hugged Ellie’s leg tightly before leaving. “Bye, Ellie!”

“Bye, kiddo.” Ellie whispered back.

Then the door clicked shut, and the apartment felt... still. Not empty. Just quiet in the way it only was after a kid left. You turned to Ellie, who was still standing in the living room, arms folded, gazing at the now-empty dinosaur museum with a look that was almost… wistful.

“She really likes you,” you said gently, walking over to her.

Ellie didn’t speak right away. Just stared at the spot where Sophie had left her sock-caped Rexy perched on a pillow like he was still standing guard. Then, she exhaled softly through her nose and said, “You know what’s weird?”

“What?”

“She reminds me of you.”

You blinked. “Me?”

Ellie nodded, finally glancing over at you with a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. Bossy. Relentless. Too smart for her own good. Will bite if threatened.”

You snorted. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious,” she said, grinning now. “She takes up space like she was born to, like she never learned how not to. You’re like that, too. You just… walk in and fill a room. And it makes it better. Brighter.”

“It’s why I fell in love with you, you know. The way you just… care. Loudly. Without apology.”

You took a step closer, touching her wrist. “I don’t always feel like I do it right.”

Ellie smiled, lacing your fingers together. “You don’t have to. You just have to do it like you.”

You stared at her for a second, heart thudding, then leaned up and kissed her slow. When you pulled back, she sighed happily. “So… museum’s closed for the day?”

You nodded. “But I hear there’s a private showing tonight. Just for dorks who are bad at braiding hair.”

Ellie smirked. “Perfect. I know a girl who fits the bill perfectly.”

And just like that, everything felt simple again. Not perfect. But real. And full of love.

Ellie having beef with a four-year-old makes so much sense to me lmao. I love them so much its unreal.

perm taglist !

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neighbor!ellie taglist !

@alinerr @liztreez @wwefan2002 @ellielvrssss @ellieslittleslutt @elliesfavwife @uselessnewt @lvmxih

[little-miss-apple]

Caleb loves seeing the shape of your teeth marking his skin. He wears them like badges of honour. As soon as the marks disappear, he will do anything for you to leave new ones scattered across his skin.

He can't explain exactly what it is about them that he loves so much. Is it the small visual reminders? Is it the stings that makes him gasp? Is it knowing your lips were on his body? Is it know he's the one satiating your oral fixation? Maybe it's all of those. He doesn't really know. He just knows he can't get enough.

Sometimes you see the marks and feel sorry, worried you might have hurt him a lot when it is still there several days later. You try to soothe the marks on his hand, hoping to massage the skin back to normal.

"whatcha doin', pipsqueak?" he asks when he looks away from the movie playing on tv, noticing your frown as you rub his hand. "why is this still here..." you mumble to yourself more than to him. He let's out a soft laugh before pulling you a bit closer.

"because you bit me sooooo hard, you almost drew blood!" he teases you, but you don't seem to find it funny. When he sees your unchanging frown, he tilts your chin towards him, forcing you to meet those galaxy like purple eyes.

He leans in and you close your eyes, ready for his lips to touch yours, but they never do. "Ouch!" you wince when he pinches your cheek "what was that for?"

"you should get back at me..." I grins as he puts the back of his hand to your lips, hoping you will deepen the markings as revenge, but you don't.

It quickly turns into a little game of 'caleb trying anything to piss you off and get you to open your mouth', but you remain steadfast, lips tightly pursed together no matter how much he tickles, pinches and teases.

He is desperate for a reaction, for you to sink your teeth so deep into his skin that the shaped will be etched into it for weeks. He holds you in his lap, arms slung around your shoulders from behind as he pouts.

The display of your phone that had been tossed to the side starts ringing, a familiar name as the caller ID.

Before you can even reach towards the phone, Caleb snatches it away and puts it on speaker while once again pushing the back of his hand to your lips.

"Hey Tara, it's Caleb!" he announces cheerfully. Suddenly his other hand pushes your panties to the side, thanking the heavens you were wearing just his shirt and your underwear on this lazy evening.

You almost let out a shriek at the sudden touch, but luckily Caleb's hand is conveniently placed between your teeth the moment your lips separated.

"Don't make a sound, pipsqueak..." he whispers in your ear in your ear while playing with your clit, lying through his teeth to Tara, claiming you were already asleep.

Tara says she'll call you later but Caleb isn't ready to hang up yet. He asks about new restaurants in Linkon city, cute date spots and other fun activities and Tara is all too happy to tell him all her favourite spots.

Meanwhile tears are starting to form in your eyes as you try your best not to moan while his middle finger gently dips in your entrance. Your jaws clench on his hand and he let's out a hiss. It doesn't escape Tara's ears.

"Are you alright?" the ever kind hearted woman asks, completely unaware of how you're currently sprawled out in Caleb's lap while he finger fucks you into pure bliss.

"Yeah, was just being clumsy and bumped my toe... nothing severe!" he claims as he inserts a second finger, stretching you out so perfectly.

As his fingers pump inside of you, he uses his thumb to apply some pressure on your clit, getting you so close to the edge. You're about to cry and don't know how much longer you can hold back these obscene sounds that are so close to spilling from your lips.

Luckily they seem to finish up their conversation, Caleb readily accepting Tara's invitation to go to one of her hot spots with the four of you, just like with Linkon new year. Soon after the line cuts off, signaled by the tell tale beeps.

A shaky, muffled moan leaves your lips as you can finally relax a little. But your muscles contract when Caleb finally brings you to your sweet release. He helps you ride it out till the last second before removing his hand from your lips, admiring the red marks fully covering it.

"you were so good for me..." he coos as you come down in his arms "your little friend had no idea that you were here, dripping all over my fingers."

He nuzzles into your neck, leaving a trail of kisses on your shoulder before leaving his own mark there gently as you fall asleep in his embrace.

[geminiwritten]

cold showers ; bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

fandom: top gun

pairing: bradley x reader

summary: you and rooster have been best friends since freshman year of college, and that's all... until you move in together and things get complicated (roommates trope)

notes: Y'ALL!!! please be gentle with me on this one! i was so damn excited and i poured so much into it, but reading it back, it feels kind of choppy and way too internal... i just love this man too so much, i feel like anything i write for him is terrible! but either way, i hope y'all enjoy and i would love some feedback!

warnings: swearing, drinking, italics, text screenshots, kind of super cheesy, and it gets REAL horny in some places (no actual smut) so 18+ ONLY please!!! (let me know if i missed anything)

word count: 9327

You’ve only just realised that this might not be such a good idea, but it’s too late. There are moving boxes scattered throughout the apartment, their tops torn open and contents half unpacked. There are empty pizza boxes and wine bottles from last night’s dinner, when – after a full day of moving heavy furniture – you treated your friends to the customary Floor Dinner that everyone must have on their first night of moving into a new place. 

You hadn’t thought about it when you signed the lease and you hadn’t thought about it last night, but right now you’re starting to realise that this could have been a very bad idea. Because Bradley Bradshaw – your best friend, your number one confidant, your ride or die – is now standing at the main door to your shared apartment, and his broad shoulders are taking up way too much of the frame. 

You’re not sure how you’ve never noticed it before, but Bradley is big – tall, broad, all lean muscle. Not over the top, but the kind of big that makes your brain short-circuit with images you absolutely should not be having. Lifting you, pinning you, holding you down. And the fact that you’re even thinking that? Yeah. That’s fucking new. 

“Are you okay?” 

You shake your head, feeling heat crawl up your neck and into your cheeks. You stop staring at your best friend like he’s an alien and return your attention to the box on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just a little hazy this morning.” 

“Well, lucky for you,” he drops a paper bag on the countertop, “I have just the thing.” He pulls out a four-pack of energy drinks and various packets of snacks, none of which look like suitable breakfast foods. 

“How does your body look like that when you eat like this?” The question leaves your lips before your brain has a chance to slap a warning label on it, and it hangs in the air between you and your best friend, humming like an electric current waiting for ground. 

You and Bradley have been friends for a long time, but you’ve never really talked about each other’s looks – which is normal. Because friends don’t talk about that kind of thing. Right?

He chuckles awkwardly, keeping his chin tucked into his chest as he finishes unpacking the bag, but you don’t miss the dusting of pink that blooms across his cheekbones. “I eat properly when I have to, but this morning I felt like liquid energy and twinkies.” 

You press your lips together and nod, not trusting yourself to say another word. You’ve never been awkward around Bradley, and you sure as hell aren’t going to start now – not just because you’ve suddenly noticed how attractive he is. And on the second day of living together no less. 

Fuck. 

You continue unpacking the kitchen boxes while Bradley moves into the lounge room. He lays out all the pieces of your disassembled bookshelf and starts fitting them back together like a giant puzzle. You hate yourself for not being able to look away, watching the sun spill through the high windows behind him and cast a warm glow around the shape of his body – which is a nice fucking shape. 

You need to get it together. You're gawking at your best friend, for god’s sake. Maybe you just need to get laid – it has been a while, and moving is stressful. You just need to find someone to fuck the tension out of you, and maybe then you’ll stop drooling over your best friend drilling together two pieces of chipboard. 

Then a new thought crosses your mind. Another thing you hadn’t even considered before signing the lease. 

“Bradley,” you say thoughtfully, tipping your head as you wait for him to respond. 

He blows out a breath and stands up straight, holding the power drill in his hand like it’s the beginning of a cheesy porno. “When you say my name like that, I know I’m in trouble.” 

“I think we should have some rules for...” You pause and roll your lips, trying to think for once instead of just letting random words tumble out. “We should set some rules for bringing people home.” 

He tilts his head, clearly confused. “Like, specific visiting hours, or...?” 

You stare back at him blankly. “Bringing people home to have sex.” 

“Oh.” His brows shoot up toward his hairline. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” 

“Okay.” You lean forward, bending at the hips and resting both forearms on the countertop. “First rule, if you bring someone home while the other roommate is home, you stay in your room.” 

He nods. “That’s fair.” 

“Second rule.” Your eyes slide away from his stupidly broad shoulders and toward the couch cushions piled in the corner of the lounge room. “No sex on the couch, please.” 

He lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, okay. Can I make a rule?” 

You nod, stretching across the counter to grab a piece of junk mail that you’d pulled out of the mailbox earlier this morning. 

“Third rule, only one guest at a time.” 

You freeze as you reach for the black marker tucked into your back pocket, and you look over at Bradley with wide eyes. “Just how adventurous do you think I am?” 

He shrugs his shoulders and turns his attention back to the bookshelf, but you don’t miss the way his lips curl into a little smirk. 

“Alright,” you say once you’ve finished scribbling down the first three rules. “Rule number four, no PDA.” You wait a few seconds for him to object, and when he doesn’t, you add the fourth rule to the list in front of you. 

“Fifth rule,” he says, “if your guest stays overnight, they need to be out before the other roommate is up.” 

You laugh under your breath as you write it down. “If I’m lucky, they’ll be out before I’m even awake.” 

When you look back up, Bradley is on his knees, leaning over the bookshelf with the drill aimed down. His bicep flexes against the thin fabric of his shirt, and his tan skin shines with sweat. The air in the room crackles, charged by the strange tension building inside of you, thanks to your dry spell and... your best friend. 

Fuck. You need to sort yourself out before you get into trouble. 

“Okay, rule six.” You swallow thickly. “Keep it quiet. Whether you’re with someone or on your own, just keep the noise level to a minimum.” 

Great. Now you’re thinking about your best friend touching himself alone... in the shower. Naked and wet, fisting his- 

“That’s a good one,” he says, before the sound of the drill echoes through the open plan living space once again. 

Your mouth is dry but your panties are not. You need to get out of here before you say or do something that you’ll regret. 

“Great.” You slip the cap onto the marker and stand up straight. “I’m just going to go- uh, I need to grab something from the pharmacy, so I’ll be back in half an hour. Do you need anything?” 

He looks up at you with a quizzical expression. “No, I’m good. Are you alright?” 

You force your mouth into a smile and give him a thumbs up. “Never better, roomie.” 

- 

After your pretend trip to the pharmacy, you manage to keep your lecherous staring to a minimum. You put your headphones on and bop along to music while you pack the kitchen away. Bradley busies himself with putting together the bigger pieces of furniture, and you can’t decide if you’re more grateful or frustrated by how turned on it makes you. It shouldn’t make you feel this way. He’s your best fucking friend. 

You take a few short breaks to flick through Tinder, wondering if you’ll be judged you for inviting someone over on the second night of living here. But then you remember that your bed is just a pile of slats and a mattress on the floor, so once you finish the kitchen you move into your new bedroom. 

The sun is well below the horizon by the time you finish laying out the pieces of your bed in the way you’re fairly sure they fit together. 

“Hey,” Bradley says, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “Do you want some help?” 

“Um.” You look around at the panels laid out on the floor, knowing it’ll be a thousand times easier with him giving you a hand. One of two things you can think of that would be better with him giving you a hand. “If you don’t mind.” 

He nods and surveys the room, a smirk splitting across his face as he does. “Well, we should probably start by getting some tools.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah, I was getting there.” 

He walks back into the living room before returning a minute later with a fistful of hand tools and an easy smile etched onto his face. You still can’t believe that you’ve never noticed how handsome this man is. You used to wonder why women would fall over themselves for his attention on a night out – but now? Now you get it. Your best friend is fucking hot, and there’s no unseeing it. 

He kneels on the carpet beside you and leans forward to prop the headboard panel up against the wall. His shirt stretches across his broad back, sticking to his sweat slick skin and highlighting the way the muscles flex as he moves. 

“Do you have the instructions?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder. 

A faint smirk tugs at your lips as you shake your head. “No, that would ruin all the fun.” 

He chuckles and sits back on his heels, assessing the panels laid out around the two of you. “Alright. How hard can it be?” 

Almost an hour later, the bedframe is almost built. The footing is still loose, but after a bit of trial and error, you both realised that the bolts to secure that panel to the side supports should be the last ones tightened. Bradley is on one knee in the middle of the frame, his tongue captured between his lips as he fixes the horizontal support bar to the vertical one. 

You’re sitting right in front of him, almost too close, but you don’t want to make it awkward by scooting away when you’re supposed to be helping. Each of your legs are stretched out on either side of him as you hold the cross section of the two bars steady. 

“Here,” you say, picking up one of the bolts from the floor beside your thigh and handing it to him. His fingers brush against yours and you both linger there for just a little too long before pulling away. 

He glances up at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Careful,” his voice a little rougher than usual, but you decide to blame it on the physical demands of building furniture. “Wouldn’t want to screw this up.” 

You force a laugh, but it comes out a little breathless. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to screw it.” 

He’s still smiling, but now there’s something in his eyes. A hint of challenge, maybe. Or something more. You can’t put your finger on it. You try to return your focus to the task at hand, but now you’re hyper-aware of the space between you – or lack thereof. You feel the heat of his body too close, the rhythm of his breath too in sync with yours. 

When he leans over to grab another bolt, his face is suddenly inches from yours. You freeze, your breath hitching as you instinctively back away, but not before his gaze flicks to your lips for a split second. 

“What?” His voice is low, almost teasing. “You alright?” 

You swallow, praying he doesn’t see how your chest is rising and falling just a little too quickly. “Yeah. Fine,” you say, forcing a casual tone that you definitely don’t feel. “Just focusing.” 

But you’re not focusing on the bed. You’re focusing on him – on the way your body reacts to his proximity, the heat between you that shouldn’t be there. The reluctance to admit it lingers, but you can’t shake the thought that this... this was not a good idea. 

- 

You spend most of the night tossing and turning in the bed that Bradley helped you build, doing your best not to dwell on the fact that your best friend has somehow become the target of all your pent-up sexual frustration. 

You try scrolling through Tinder and replying to a few messages, but none of them are interesting enough to hold your attention, let alone warrant any effort. You can hear Bradley moving around in his room, just one thin wall away, and your mind wanders to what he might be doing. Probably putting his own bed together – something you should’ve offered to help with, but you honestly don’t trust yourself around him right now. 

You need sleep and then you need to get laid. 

At about 2AM, you’ve tossed and turned so much that you can no longer bear the feeling of your sheets against your skin, so you get out of bed. You pad out into the kitchen to find the list of rules you’d written on a piece of junk mail earlier and start typing them into your phone’s notes app. Then you drink a glass of water and assess the lounge room layout, trying to decide which way you want the couch to face. 

When you finally drag yourself back to bed, exhaustion takes over, and your overactive brain has no choice but to let you sleep. But even as you drift off, thoughts of Bradley slip in – thoughts you definitely shouldn’t be having – and soon your dreams are filled with things you never thought you’d be imagining about your best friend. 

You wake to the insistent buzzing of your phone that’s tucked half-beneath your pillow, but by the time you find it and hold it up to your face the caller has already hung up. You roll onto your back and rub your bleary eyes, recognising Natasha’s contact name written across the screen. She probably wants an update on how the big move is going, because she’s nosey like that. She also told you that this wasn’t a good idea, but you ignored her warning and assured it would be fine. 

Jokes on you. 

You decide to call her back later, instead opening Tinder and scrolling through the messages you ignored last night. Yeah, you’re definitely getting laid tonight. You reply to a couple of matches before going into your notes app and copying the list of rules you wrote down to send to Bradley. 

You jump out of bed and head straight for a cold shower, letting the icy water shock your system and wash away the remnants of those steamy dreams about your best friend. It’s a new day – and with any luck, tonight your sexual frustration will finally get some relief. You change into a pair of tights and an oversized shirt before exiting your room and- holy fucking shit. 

“Sorry.” Bradley smiles sheepishly from the kitchen, his hip leaned casually against the bench beneath the coffee machine as it whirs to life. “I need coffee first, and then we can go get some breakfast.” 

He’s wearing nothing but boxers. Little satin ones covered in fluffy white clouds and red airplanes – they look like he’s had them since he was fourteen, judging by the damn size of them. They’re far too tight, leaving way too little to the imagination, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s parading around in them on purpose. 

And then there’s his body. The same body you’ve seen a thousand times before. You’ve gone to the beach together, changed in front of each other, you even waxed his butt cheek once on a dare – but you’ve never looked at him like this. You can’t remember when he filled out so well, when he got so muscular, so manly. The lines and dips of his body are making your mouth water, and it feels like the connection between your brain and your mouth has short-circuited entirely. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, forcing you to stop ogling his abs and meet his eyes. 

You clear your throat and nod, scrambling to find your voice. “Y-Yeah,” you manage, cringing at how weird you sound. “Just… still waking up.” 

He nods slowly, but there’s a knowing smirk curling at his lips – teasing, almost smug. And you want to ask him what the hell he’s playing at, but it’s just Bradley. Your best friend Bradley. He’s always been a little shit like this. He’s messing with you, obviously. You just need to pull your head out of the gutter and stop acting like every look he gives you is foreplay. 

You force your heavy feet to move toward the lounge where Bradley left it yesterday evening after assembling it. This is something you can use to distract yourself until he gets dressed, focusing on the layout of your new living room is a perfect distraction from the half-naked Adonis in your kitchen. 

Seriously, what the fuck? 

Once Bradley is appropriately covered and you’ve secured a Tinder date for the evening, the rest of the day passes rather easily. You start to feel more like yourself as you unpack and settle into the new apartment, joking around with your best friend while doing your best to ignore the way his body moves – or the way his mouth curls into that silly little smirk. You never used to care about those pink lips tugging into something coy beneath his stupidly hot moustache… but now, it’s all you can think about when you slide into the Uber on your way to meet your Tinder date. 

The next week passes in much the same way. You regret taking time off work because Bradley did too, and now you’re stuck in such close quarters with him, unable to ignore the new way you’re seeing him. Your Tinder date wasn’t a total disaster, the sex was adequate, but it did nothing to ease the suffocating sexual tension that hits you every time you walk back into your apartment. It’s getting so overwhelming that you’ve finally decided to swallow your pride and ask for help. You need backup. A voice of reason. Even if you might regret it. 

When you open the door to see Natasha’s smirking face, it takes all your strength not to slam it shut again. 

“Hi,” she says, a little too brightly. “How have you been?” 

You step back and watch her carefully as she walks into the apartment. “What do you know?” 

She glances back over her shoulder. “Oh, absolutely nothing. But I have my theories.” 

You shut the door and follow her into the lounge room, grabbing your bottle of water off the kitchen counter on the way. “Theories?” 

“Yep.” She makes herself comfortable on the corner seat of the couch. “Want to hear them?” 

You sit on the other end where the chaise is and sigh out an exasperated breath. “Shoot.” 

“Did you two have a huge fight on your first night and immediately regret moving in together?” 

You shake your head. “No.” Although that would have been easier to navigate than whatever the fuck is going on. 

“Okay.” She taps a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “You seem a little frustrated, so… is Bradshaw just a terrible roommate? Like, super fucking messy and leaves his shit everywhere?” 

You shrug as you glance around the tidy apartment. “He’s actually really clean, and surprisingly considerate.” 

She rears back a little, her brows pinching. “Okay, he’s a good roommate, so why are you-” Her eyes go wide, thoughts racing behind them. “Oh, my God. Did you two kiss?” 

You flatten your lips and shake your head again. 

Her eyes go impossibly wide. “Did you sleep together?” 

Heat crawls into your cheeks, and despite your best effort to keep a straight face, Natasha has no trouble reading the embarrassment written all over it. “Oh, my God! You-” 

“We didn’t sleep together,” you say quickly. “I just-” 

“But you want to!” she exclaims, almost leaping across the couch. “Holy shit, you’re into Rooster?!” 

You cover your face with both hands, feeling the heat of your cheeks burning against your palms. “Nat, please be quiet. I don’t know how thin these walls are, and I haven’t met the neighbours yet.” 

“Okay, I’m sorry.” She settles back in the couch and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I just- Like, this is so weird. I knew this whole situation was a bad idea, but I thought you’d end up fighting, not falling in-” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

She presses her lips together like a scolded child, but her eyes are still brimming with amusement. 

You take a deep breath and blow it out in a raspberry as you fall against the back of the lounge, mentally sorting through the chaos of the past week to figure out how to explain it as simply as possible. “It got weird on the first morning,” you start. 

Nat snorts. “You didn’t even last twenty-four hours?” 

You give her a blank, unimpressed stare. 

“Sorry, I’ll shut up.” 

You nod and continue, giving her your best rundown of the chaotic chain of events that led to your desperate call for some logical advice. To her credit, she doesn’t react nearly as dramatically as you’d expected – aside from that initial moment – and when you finally finish, you peek up at her from beneath your lashes, sheepish. “Am I insane for suddenly being attracted to my best friend?” 

She studies you carefully for a minute, but it feels more like a lifetime as you wait anxiously for her response. You don’t expect her to give you life-changing advice – you mostly just needed to rant – but you also don’t want her to chastise you or call you an idiot. You’re already confused enough about these feelings; the last thing you need is for them to be invalidated. 

“I mean,” she says, tilting her head thoughtfully, “sure, he’s objectively attractive. I can’t exactly call him ugly, because that would be a lie. But... he’s still Bradshaw.” 

You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I know.” 

“Are you sure you’re not sleep-deprived and delusional from all the moving?” she asks. “Maybe you’re just wound up and need to get laid.” 

“I got laid. Hooked up with some guy from Tinder.” You sigh, glancing back up at her, a beat of hesitation before you ask, “And do you want to know what I did?” You hope she’ll say no – but deep down, you know that there isn’t a universe, parallel or otherwise, where Natasha says no to a question like that. 

She nods, and you drop your head into your hands again, mumbling into your palms. “I called out his fucking name.” 

She draws a quick, sharp breath – a gasp. “The guy from Tinder?” 

“No.” 

“Oh… my God.” Her voice is laced with amusement – definitely not mocking, but she’s clearly having the time of her life watching you squirm in your own embarrassment. 

You peak up at her from between your fingers. “I know.” 

“What did the guy say?” 

“Nothing. I’m not even sure if he noticed.” You drop your hands into your lap. “His name was Riley, so it could have sounded similar amongst all the other… noises.” 

She laughs, the sound edged with disbelief – like she’s watching some midday soap opera with a plot so ridiculous that you couldn’t possibly imagine it to be real. “Oh, my God.” 

“Would you stop saying that and give me some actual advice?” 

She shakes her head slowly. “I’m not sure I’m equipped to deal with this.” 

“Well, neither am I!” you exclaim, tipping your head back to stare at the ceiling. “I smelled his fucking laundry the other day.” 

She chokes on nothing, and you can just imagine the unhinged look in her wide brown eyes. “You what?” 

You’re already knee-deep, so you might as well dive right in and spill all your dirty little secrets. “I was moving his clothes out of the dryer,” you say, slowly tilting your head down, “so I could put mine in… and I sniffed one of his damn shirts.” 

Her mouth falls open, but no words come out. Her face is bright red, though not the same embarrassed shade of scarlet you're wearing – she looks like a kid in a fucking candy store. Your shameful confessions are making her happier than you’ve seen her in… well, ever. 

Then she bursts out laughing – the hand on your stomach, curling over, cackling kind of laughter that rings through the empty apartment. You’re almost positive your neighbours would be able to hear this, but that doesn’t bother you anymore – you just hope that Bradley doesn’t come home any time soon. 

When she finally manages to pull herself together, she wipes the moisture from the corners of her eyes and looks at you with complete earnestness. “I know I said this already but… oh, my God. I can’t believe you’re down bad for Bradshaw.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, and your brain short-circuits – something it’s been getting disturbingly good at lately. The idea of being in love with your best friend isn’t just terrifying; it’s ridiculous. You’ve been friends for far too long for this to even be a possibility. You’re so deeply entrenched in the friend zone that the thought of climbing out doesn’t even cross your mind. It isn’t a consideration. 

“I am not,” you protest. 

She raises one, challenging brow. “Then what are you?” 

“I’m…” you hesitate, feeling the crack in the floodgates holding back all your inner turmoil. “Confused! I’ve known him since freshman year of college. He’s one of my best friends – we’ve had, like, a thousand sleepovers, and up until a week ago, I would’ve confidently said that I felt more sexual tension in a funeral home than lying in a bed next to him. But now? Now it’s like I’ve been stuck in the Sahara Desert for thirty years and he’s a six-foot-tall glass of ice-cold water – and I’m pretty sure I’ll die if I don’t get a taste.” 

The apartment falls eerily silent when you finish talking, breathing like you’ve just run a marathon. Natasha just stares at you, her expression a complicated cocktail of amusement, pity, and the slightest hint of disgust. Exactly how you would’ve looked a week ago if someone had tried to tell you that Bradley Bradshaw – your best fucking friend – was suddenly the new object of your desire. You would’ve laughed in their face, faked a gag, and told them to get their head checked. 

Maybe you need to get your head checked. 

“What are you going to do?” she asks. 

“I have no fucking idea.” 

The sound of keys rattling makes you both jump, heads snapping toward the main door of the apartment just as it swings open. Bradley strolls in looking criminally hot in his gym clothes, sweat gleaming across every inch of exposed skin. It’s honestly obscene. He looks like he just walked off the set of a porn film – ‘stache and all – and you have no idea how you’re supposed to act normal when your best friend looks like that. 

“Hey,” he nods at Natasha. “I didn’t know you were coming over.” 

“We hang out a lot,” Nat says, “so you better get used to having me around.” 

Bradley lets out a low, rumbling chuckle, the kind that vibrates in his chest before curling around your spine like smoke. It’s effortless, teasing, and way too attractive for something so casual. You swear you feel it in places a laugh has no business reaching. And he’s all the way across the fucking room. 

“Do we need a new set of rules just for Phoenix’s visits?” he asks, looking at you with that familiar smirk. “Because honestly, I’d feel a lot safer if her presence came with some kind of regulation.” 

Natasha turns back to you and frowns curiously. “You have rules?” 

“Yeah.” You tear your gaze away from Bradley as he downs a bottle of water by the fridge. Even something as simple as hydrating looks sinful when he does it. “For bringing guests home.” 

“Adult guests,” Bradley clarifies from the kitchen. 

“Oh.” She snorts a laugh. “Hook ups.” She eyes you with mischief, a smirk playing at her lips as she watches you watch Bradley. 

He finishes his water and walks toward the lounge, moving past Natasha before opting to sit at the foot of the chaise where you’re perched. If the air in the apartment was warm before, it’s practically on fire now – electrically charged, humming like static before a storm. Even the look on Nat’s face says she feels it too. 

“Well.” She smacks her hands against her thighs and pushes off the lounge. “I better get going. I told Fanboy I’d take him to the blood drive.” 

“I thought you went last weekend,” Bradley states. 

“I did,” she says. “But Fanboy signed up for this weekend and he’s worried he won’t be able to drive himself home.” 

Bradley smirks again, his lips playful beneath his moustache – the very one that’s been haunting your dreams with alarming regularity. “I’ll pay you twenty bucks to film him if he passes out.” 

“Twenty bucks if he passes out, or twenty bucks regardless?” 

“Regardless,” Bradley replies. 

Natasha mirrors his smirk and holds her hand out, palm up. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Bradshaw.” 

Bradley stands back up and walks toward the kitchen, oblivious to the way your eyes track his ass and to Natasha’s barely contained laughter as she watches you ogle him for the second time today. After finding his wallet and handing her a crisp twenty-dollar bill, she moves toward the door, pausing to flash you a grin that can only be described as pure evil. 

“Alright, you crazy kids,” she says. “Don’t have too much fun tonight.” 

You fight the overwhelming urge to roll your eyes and shove her out the door, instead settling for your best ‘Fuck You’ scowl as she winks and steps into the hallway. Bradley calls his goodbye from the kitchen, bent over the island with his forearms resting on the countertop while he scrolls through his phone. You close the door behind her, take a deep breath through your nose, and turn to face your best friend – something you’ve been needing to remind yourself of more often lately. 

“Want to order takeout tonight?” Bradley asks, twisting his neck to look at you. “I was thinking we could have a movie night – unless you’ve got plans. How’s that guy from Tinder been?” 

You tilt your head, brows furrowing as you try to make sense of the two completely unrelated questions. You don’t even remember telling him about your Tinder date, but clearly, you must have. So why does he care how it's going? He’s never asked about your dates or flings before – not unless you brought them up first. 

“I’m not sure how he’s going,” you reply honestly. “It was more of a- uh… stress relief kind of thing than a date.” 

He chuckles again as he stands up straight, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Wow, didn’t even think to ask me first, huh?” 

Your heart leaps up into your throat, stealing all the air from your lungs as heat floods your entire body. Your face is burning, your skin feels too tight, and your pulse is a pounding drumbeat in your ears – and between your legs. The sheer audacity of his words ricochets through your brain, short-circuiting every coherent thought. You don’t know whether to slap him, laugh, or drag him straight to your bedroom… 

“I’m kidding,” he says, brows pinching. “It was just a joke. Are you okay?” 

You know exactly what you must look like – cheeks blazing, mouth hanging open, and eyes wide as saucers. You scramble for words, for your voice, for anything at all to keep yourself from gawking at your best friend like a complete idiot. 

“I-I know that,” you stammer out, before forcing a shrill and completely unconvincing laugh through your lips. 

He eyes you with a hint of doubt but doesn’t press any further. “Okay, well, if that guy didn’t do much to relieve your stress, maybe it’s time to explore... other options.” 

Then he winks and walks past you, his arm brushing against your shoulder as he does and setting the skin there on fire. You’re frozen again, you can’t breathe, and your feet are seemingly glued to the floor. Your thoughts are racing, but you can’t find the words to ask him what the fuck that was supposed to mean. All you can do is stare blankly at the spot where he just stood, the sound of the bathroom door closing and the water turning on barely registering as you stand there, completely fucking lost. 

A few hours later and after yet another cold shower – let’s be honest, you're practically living in them now – you find yourself sprawled out on the couch, aimlessly flicking through streaming channels. Bradley is in the kitchen, cracking open two beers and typing in his credit card details on the Uber Eats app to order some Thai takeout for both of you. 

“Food will be here in twenty minutes,” he says as he flops onto the lounge beside you, handing you one of the two bottles of beer. 

The silence that settles between you feels surprisingly comfortable, the kind of quiet that doesn’t demand to be filled with awkward small talk. You don’t bother making more room for him on the couch; one leg draped over the armrest as you lazily scroll through the endless options on the screen. Bradley sits beside you, almost close enough to touch but not quite. His beer rests in one hand, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the bottle.  

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks suddenly, his gaze shifting from the TV screen to you. 

You glance over at him, surprised. He’s still holding his beer, his brows furrowed slightly. 

“What? You mean because I’ve been acting like a stressed-out wreck all week?” you joke, but it doesn’t quite land like you hoped. 

Bradley shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, but also just... I don’t know. You’ve seemed a little off lately. Not like yourself.” 

You pause for a second, the air between you feeling heavier than it should. Normally, you’d brush it off with a sarcastic remark, but something about his tone makes you reconsider. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you – genuinely concerned, no teasing. 

“I just…” you hesitate, wondering how to word your thoughts without giving too much away. “I let Phoenix get in my head about us living together. She said it could end badly and mess up our friendship, but that’s the last thing I want. So, I guess I’ve been a little hyper-aware, kind of walking on eggshells, because I don’t want to mess this up.” 

Bradley nods slowly, processing your words. “I get it. But you know that’s not going to happen, right? It’s you and me – us. We are literally unshakeable. Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah, I know. I’m just overthinking it – being dramatic, as usual.” 

He chuckles and nudges you with his elbow. “Without your dramatics, my life would be empty.” He pauses, unspoken thoughts racing behind his eyes. “Especially when it comes to your spectacular Tinder dates. I love hearing about those.” 

Your chest tightens – an unfamiliar feeling you’ve never before felt with your best friend. “Yeah?” You force a light laugh past your lips. “I wouldn’t exactly call them dates. And ‘spectacular’ is definitely a stretch.” 

He laughs again, and it’s easy, comfortable, like the kind of sound you’ve always known. “You’re too picky, that’s your problem,” he teases, but there’s no judgment in his tone. “Maybe you should just take a break from the whole dating thing for a while.” 

You shoot him a sideways glance. “Yeah, maybe... but then you’d be stuck with me forever. No escaping.” 

Bradley looks at you, his eyes too wide and too sincere above what should be a playful smile – but it’s more serious than that. “I think I could handle it.” 

Warmth rushes into your cheeks and you quickly avert your eyes, turning your attention back to the TV screen where you had apparently just clicked on an old action movie about navy fighter pilots who become prisoners of war. Not only do you love forcing Bradley to watch movies about the navy and insisting he point out every single inaccuracy, but this one also looks perfectly morbid. Hopefully morbid enough to keep your inappropriate thoughts at bay. 

You flash him your cheesiest grin as you hit play, then make a dramatic show of sinking comfortably into the couch cushions. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue – just gives you that annoyingly pretty little smirk before shifting his gaze to the TV. 

It isn’t long before the buzzer for the lobby door rings through the apartment. You’re barely ten minutes into the movie when you hit pause and Bradley springs up from the couch. He heads out the door to meet the delivery driver in the lobby – building rules don’t allow anyone but official USPS personnel through the main door. 

Once the door clicks shut behind him, you pull out your phone and type a text to Natasha. You tell her that – thanks to her complete lack of helpful advice – you ended up talking to Bradley, and now you’re feeling a lot better. More normal. Sure, you can objectively acknowledge that he’s attractive, but as long as you don’t blur any lines, you’re confident your friendship will stay exactly where it belongs. You were just being dramatic before. Overwhelmed. Sleep-deprived. All it took was a conversation to clear the air. 

Before he’s even back, you push yourself off the lounge and wander into the kitchen. You start pulling open drawers, grabbing cutlery and plates, when the scent of pad Thai hits you like a warm hug. Suddenly, Bradley is beside you – having somehow snuck back into the apartment without a sound – unpacking containers and setting them on the counter with that effortless ease that only makes him more frustratingly attractive. 

You tell yourself not to look, not to care – but your eyes have a mind of their own. They watch him as he opens another container, catching the flex of his forearm, the concentration on his face, the way his tongue pokes out slightly at the corner of his mouth. God, you’re hopeless. You turn back to the drawer and focus on pulling out chopsticks, pretending like you’re totally unaffected.  

“Napkins?” he asks. 

“Top cupboard,” you reply. 

Before you can step aside, he’s there – close, impossibly close. His chest brushes against your back as he reaches up, trapping you between his body and the counter. You freeze, breath catching in your throat, hand still in the drawer. The scent of him – clean sweat and something sharp like cedar – wraps around you like a vice. 

And then- 

Oh, fuck. 

His hips shift, and it’s not subtle. He presses against you, slow and deliberate, the hard line of him settling against the curve of your ass. There’s no mistaking it – no accidental contact or innocent mistake. He lingers for a beat too long, the heat of him searing through your thin lounge shorts like a warning – or a promise. 

Your fingers curl around the counter edge as a quiet gasp slips past your lips. He still hasn’t moved. You should say something. Step away. Do anything but melt like butter beneath him. 

Instead, you stay rooted, your whole body pulsing with heat, electricity zipping down your spine as his breath grazes the shell of your ear. “Just needed the napkins,” he murmurs, voice rough, low, amused. 

You want to turn around and call him a liar – or better yet, grab a fistful of his t-shirt and pull his lips down to yours. But you can't. You're too much of a coward to do anything but let out a high-pitched, breathy laugh – the most unconvincing laugh in the history of fake laughs. 

The smirk on his lips is anything but innocent as he spoons rice into one of the bowls, the motion slow and deliberate. It makes your pulse stutter, and your mind goes into overdrive, swirling with questions you can’t even begin to articulate. You’re so off-balance, you can’t even bring yourself to fix your own plate, not until he’s across the living room and settled comfortably on the couch – far enough away that you don’t feel like you might spontaneously combust. This is a very dangerous game. One you didn’t even know you were playing… until now. 

Every thought you’d had a mere five minutes ago about being in control of this situation has flown right out the window by the time you sink back onto the couch. Bradley looks perfectly content as he spoons mouthfuls of Thai food into his mouth – but you know better. There’s something else going on behind those brown eyes, something unreadable, because he’s pretending to be far too invested in a movie you know he doesn’t give a damn about. 

Once you’ve both cleared your plates, Bradley packs the leftovers into the fridge and hands you another beer like it’s no big deal – like he didn’t just grind up on you in the kitchen like you’re in some slow-burn porno. You take it with a tight smile and attempt to sink even further into to the couch, pretending the bottle is far more interesting than the memory seared into your brain. The air crackles between you, heavy with a tension that definitely doesn’t feel platonic. You keep your eyes glued to the screen like it’s your lifeline, pretending you’re totally invested in the movie that you can’t even remember the name of. 

Two painstaking hours crawl by, and you barely exchange more than a handful of words. You don’t ask Bradley to clarify any of the movie’s questionable navy facts, and he doesn’t offer up his usual know-it-all commentary – even when it’s painfully obvious that what just happened on screen is pure Hollywood fiction. The tension between you is palpable, and you can both acutely feel the electric aftermath of him pressing his half-hard cock into your ass. 

The second the screen fades to black and the credits start to roll, you spring up from the couch. “I’m going to head to bed. I’m super tired.” You don’t even try to make your shrill voice sound more convincing. It’s fucking awkward right now and you both know it. 

“Yeah, me too,” Bradley says, keeping his eyes glued to the TV screen. 

You drop your empty beer bottle into the recycling bin and head toward your bedroom door. “Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

You shut the door behind you and lean against it as if you’re in some angsty teen romcom. You let your head fall back with a soft thud and squeeze your eyes shut, desperately trying to recall a time when Bradley’s warmth, his scent, and that damn smile didn’t make your heart feel like it was doing a full-on marathon. When it was just friendship. You try to laugh it off, but it sounds a lot like a strangled gasp. 

You give yourself a few minutes to wallow in self-pity before dragging your phone up in front of your face to check the time. It’s barely 9PM. And it’s Saturday. You doubt that either of you will be falling asleep anytime soon – but there’s no way you can go back out there. Not after that. You’ll just have to find something to do in your room that doesn’t involve thinking about your best friend. Preferably something mind-numbing. Or holy. 

You crawl onto your bed and flip open your laptop, browsing through a few streaming apps before landing on an old comedy you’ve watched a thousand times before. You’re not in the mood for any surprises – you want something familiar, something predictable. You’ve had more than enough confusion for one night. 

But no matter how many times you toss and turn and fluff your pillows, your mind refuses to cooperate. There’s no escaping the searing memory of what had happened in the kitchen, the way he’d trapped you against the counter. The feel of his breath ghosting over your neck still tingles down your spine. And the way his hips had pressed into you – slow, deliberate, almost like he knew exactly what he was doing. It has your thoughts spiralling into places you shouldn’t be going. Especially not alone. Especially not about your best friend. 

There’s only one thing you can think of to ease the ache building between your legs, but it feels wrong. The thought of touching yourself while thinking about your best friend sends a wave of guilt through your body. You've managed to distract yourself every other time this thought has popped up over the last week, pulled yourself away just before it took hold – but not tonight. Tonight, you’re stuck, trapped on your speeding train of thought, headed straight for the flashing neon sign that reads: Masturbate to Your Best Friend – Go Ahead, I Dare You. 

“Fine,” you groan out, snapping your laptop shut and rolling over toward your bedside table. 

So much for holy. 

Your hands are practically trembling as you pull out your vibrator and drop it on the bed. You twist toward your headboard and prop your pillows up before settling back against them – then you pick up your phone and open a new web browser. If you watch porn, then that means you’re not totally thinking about Bradley while doing what you’re about to do. Right? 

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly drop your phone and jump off the bed. Frustration bubbles in your gut, spreading through your whole body and making you more than a little agitated by your best friend who seems to be thoroughly enjoying giving you whiplash. 

You yank the door open to see him standing there – fucking shirtless – wearing a hesitant, apologetic little smile. 

“I – uh – wanted to talk about earlier…” His voice is a little strained, and you’re suddenly aware of how close he is, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders and deliciously naked upper body. 

You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms over your chest. “About what? The part where you decided to get all up in my personal space and make it weird?” 

He winces. “Yeah, about that.” His gaze flits to the bed behind you for a second, where your vibrator is sitting in full view. His mouth opens, then shuts, and suddenly he's biting back a very unapologetic grin. 

You bite your lip, ignoring the immediate burning in your cheeks. “Something caught your eye?” 

Bradley steps forward, forcing you further into your room, before shutting the door behind him. His eyes are glued to the bed, but there’s a heat building in his gaze, and you feel it deep in your stomach. 

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly trying not to stare at the thing on the bed, but then, with a quick, almost predatory glance at you, he takes another step forward. “Yeah, well, I was going to apologize, but now I’m not so sure what for.” He’s close enough that you can feel his breath against your cheek, but your feet are stuck, you couldn’t move away even if you wanted to. 

You smirk and tip your head, faking a bravado that you definitely don’t feel. “Oh? So, you’re not sorry for grinding against me in the kitchen?” Your voice is a lot stronger than you feel, and for that, you’re grateful. 

Bradley stiffens, then shrugs, trying – and failing – to appear nonchalant. “Maybe I enjoyed it a little more than I should have,” he mutters, his voice dropping low. 

Your heart skips a beat. “What?” 

Before you can say another word, Bradley is suddenly right there, his hand gripping your wrist and pulling your body right up against his, making your breath hitch. “What if I’m really sorry?” His voice is playful now, but there’s an edge of something else – something hotter – lingering in his words. 

But you don’t get the chance to ask him what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, because his lips crash onto yours without warning. For a heartbeat, you're frozen – shocked and unsure – before instinct takes over and you melt into him. Your hands find his chest, fingers splaying across warm skin, and you swear you can feel his heart racing beneath your palms. He tastes like beer and something dangerously addictive, something that’s always been there, just beneath the surface, waiting. Your hands drift lower before you can stop them, tracing the curve of muscle and heat, before stopping at the waistband of his sweatpants – as if that’s the line. This elastic band of grey material is the physical embodiment of the line the divides friendship from something more. 

Then he pulls away just as suddenly as he had kissed you, breathless and wide-eyed. He looks wrecked – like his thoughts are spiralling, torn between a dozen different emotions you can’t quite name. 

“Bradley, I-” You start to speak but you’re not actually sure you have anything to say. 

Your whole body is on fire, every nerve ending singed as fire laps and dances across your skin. You want him to kiss you again and again – you never want him to stop. You have no idea how you’ve gone this long without tasting his lips, his tongue, but now you know you can’t live without it. You need him more than you need oxygen but... he’s your best friend. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you mutter, slowly removing your hands from the waistband of his sweatpants. 

He blinks a couple of times and frowns, tilting his head as he regards you with curiosity. “Why?” 

You swallow thickly on the emotion building in your throat, determined not to cry about the fact that you’re in love with your best friend. And only just fucking realised it. 

“For everything,” you say. “This past week, moving in together, staring at you like you’re my next fucking meal. We’re best friends, and I meant it when I said I don’t want to ruin it. I-I know this isn’t want best friends do, but I’m willing to forget about it if-” 

“I’m not,” he interrupts, his expression serious. “I’m never going to forget about the moment when I finally sacked up and kissed you.” 

Your breath catches and you can feel the bridge of your nose starting to sting. “Finally?” 

He lets out a dry, humourless chuckle, rubbing a hand up the side of his neck. “Yeah. Finally. Because I’ve been in love with you for a long time. I’m not even sure when it started – just that it was long before you started looking at me like that.” He gestures toward your face, where whatever expression you’re wearing must scream hunger. 

You both let out breathless little laughs, and then you press your lips together and wait for him to finish his big, dramatic speech. 

“I was perfectly happy being your best friend, and I still will be if you decide that that’s all you want from me. I swear, I’m not saying this to mess anything up. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel more.” His eyes are full of earnest, and it makes your chest ache. “Because I wake up every fucking day thinking about you, and I fall asleep wondering if you’re thinking about me too. I know we’ve always had this easy rhythm between us, but lately it’s been… different. And I don’t think that’s just in my head.” 

You can feel your pulse thrumming across every inch of your body, and it takes all the self-control you have not to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him senseless. 

“What happened in the kitchen – that wasn’t nothing.” A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. “That was a moment I’ve been trying not to want for way too long. And if there’s even a chance you want this too, then I’m all in. But if not… I’ll still be here. I’d rather be your best friend forever than risk losing you. But I had to be honest – because I’m in love with you. And I think maybe you’re in love with me too.” 

His chest rises and falls quickly as he finishes, and all you can do is stare up at the face you know better than any other, wondering how you’ve never truly seen him before. “Bradley, I’m-” 

“I mean, come on,” he says, his lips curling into a full-blown smirk beneath that damn moustache, “who goes on that many Tinder dates but never ends up with a boyfriend?” 

You frown, attempting to look indignant but deep down, you know you're just gazing at him like a fool in love. “Is this how you ask girls out, by insulting them first?” 

He chuckles again, but this time it’s nervous. “Did it work?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, trying to ignore the way your heart is rioting within your chest – beating so hard, you’re sure it’s about to break a rib. “Yeah,” you sigh, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants to pull him closer again. “It worked.” 

The grin that splits across his face is blinding, but you barely have time to appreciate it before his hands are on your face, pulling you toward him. His lips crash against yours with a desperate urgency, and it’s like everything you’ve ever felt about him floods to the surface. Your hands slide up to his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens, fierce and unrestrained. The taste of him is intoxicating, as if you’ve been starved for this connection, for him. Your heart races at a dangerous pace as you lose yourself in the heat, the spark between you crackling louder than any words you could’ve spoken. It’s messy, it’s raw, but it’s everything you’ve been craving and more. 

It’s only when your lungs start to burn for air that he pulls back, his breath ragged as he meets your gaze. “Now I’m really sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.” 

You giggle, the sound soft and giddy. “You’re going to need to apologize better than that.” 

He grins, pulling you closer, and in one swift motion, he’s pressing your back against the wall, his body flush against yours. “Oh, I can do better,” he says, lips ghosting over your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “But you’re going to have to be patient.” 

You laugh again, breathlessly, but the sound quickly dies in your throat as his lips find yours again – even more demanding this time – his hands sliding down your sides with a confidence that has your heart racing. He’s moving against you, not in a hurry but with an urgency that you can’t help but match. 

“Bradley,” you murmur against his lips, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “I am in love with you too.” 

His eyes darken, and the playful grin on his lips shifts into something far more dangerous. The teasing is gone – replaced by an intense, smouldering need that matches your own. His gaze locks onto yours, raw and unguarded, and in that moment, every inch of you ignites with desire. He’s all heat and need now, and you’re right there with him, every inch of you aching with want. And love. 

END.

[obsesssedblerd]

"Who's your new teacher?"

Synopsis: Toji meets Megumi's new preschool teacher and immediately develops a crush.

Pairings: single dad! toji x f! reader

Wc: 2.3K

Contains: plenty of fluff, crack, a tiny bit of angst, megumi is four, tsumiki is seven, toji is still toji (but like he's soft for his kids and he takes care of them), reader is a preschool teacher, reader and toji are around the same age, toji being soft, mentions of shiu, shiu and toji work together, shiu being an idiot (lol sorry he'll get love in another fic) , everyone is happy bc I said so

a/n: omg, first fic, we made it! barely proofread, sorry for mistakes. also, tysm for 1,000 followers here! the other two fics that were on that poll will be coming soon!

update: pt 2 here

-------------

Toji’s Fushiguro’s muscles ache. The job he took was harder than he anticipated, and it took way longer than it was supposed to. After confirming that the payment from the job is in his account, he calls Shiu Kong so he could check in on the kids. “About damn time,” Shiu scoffs when the line connects. “I was beginning to think I wouldn’t hear from you until sunrise.” 

“Job’s done,” Toji says as he gets into his car, settling into the drivers’ seat with an exhausted sigh. “I hear the TV in the background. Better be cartoons or something age-appropriate.” 

Shiu laughs. “Of course, what else? ‘M not getting cussed out by you. Anyway, you comin’ back with Megumi? Can’t believe you took him on the job with you. Once you’re back, I can get out of here.” 

Toji’s heart nearly stops. He sits up in his seat, gripping the phone so hard that the screen nearly cracks from his strength. “The fuck did you just say?” 

“Huh?” 

“Megumi isn’t with you?!” Toji’s voice booms in the car. On the other line, he hears Shiu gulp. “I… I thought he was with you.” 

“You idiot! I asked you to pick him up from preschool around the same time you pick up Tsumiki from her school because I knew this would take a while!” 

“You did?!” Shiu asks, and then it goes quiet; him more than likely flipping through his messages to double check. “...Shit,” he breathes out. 

Toji inhales sharply, then exhales shakily in an attempt to calm the rage, and even the fear that pools in his gut. “If anything has happened to my fucking son, Kong, I will murder you and make your death look like an accident. Keep an eye on Tsumiki.” 

“Fushiguro, I swear, I-” Toji hangs up before Shiu can explain himself further, then he starts the car. 

He grips the steering wheel hard, and his breathing picks up as his mind spins with every horrific scenario possible. The preschool closes at six thirty. It was close to nine. He didn’t see any missed calls from them. On a normal day, he’d be done before work with plenty of time to pick up his four year-old son, but today’s job was far more difficult and required more time. 

The car speeds down the street leading to his destination. He’s half-expecting to see Megumi sitting outside with his backpack, clinging to his dog plushie and crying. Or worse, he’s not there at all; because this world is full of terrible people, and they won’t hesitate to steal a small, unsupervised boy. His heart aches at the thought, and he shoves it away before he feels the need to throw up. He’ll be okay, he thinks to himself. Everything is going to be fine. 

—

When Toji arrives at the preschool, he rushedly parks lopsidedly in the lot, then exits the car. His eyes scan the steps leading up to the front, and when he doesn’t see Megumi outside, he rushes to the door. 

He sees a security guard in a booth, and before Toji can even ask any questions, the guard gives him a small smile and nod, pressing a button that unlocks the door to the preschool with a click. Toji’s shoulders slump in relief. They were expecting him. That meant Megumi is still here and safe. 

Toji nods back at the guard in thanks, and rushes down the dimly-lit hallway. He sees a light coming from a classroom that still has its door open, and he slows his steps when he hears a child giggling. His child. 

Then it’s followed up by a beautiful, melodic laugh that makes him stop in his tracks. It’s a lovely sound; one that his heart skips to, and one that gently rings in his ears even plenty of seconds after it stops. 

Toji peeks into the classroom to see Megumi comfortably resting in a pillow fort, and you, kneeling beside a lamp and using your hands to make shadow puppets on the wall to entertain him. “Alright,” you say softly as you rearrange your hands and fingers. “What’s this one?” 

You smile as you watch Megumi hum thoughtfully, and Toji is transfixed by you. Who are you? Where did you come from? Since when did Megumi get a new teacher? Why is your smile so bright and so beautiful that the sun would envy? Why is his heart beating wildly in his chest at the sight of you? Fuck, why is he staring? 

“Ooh!” Megumi gasps as he figures out the animal you made with your hands. “Rabbit!” 

“Correct, great job!” You reach forward and give him a high-five. “I think you’ll really like this next one,” you say, and Megumi giggles again as he sits up, completely focused and ready to guess. “Ready?” You ask, and the boy nods. 

Toji crosses his arms, quietly leans against the door of the classroom, and watches, unaware of the soft smile that creeps onto his face. When you put your hands in front of the light, and the shape of the animal displays in front of Megumi, he squeals excitedly and stands up. “Doggy!” He shouts with a wide grin and pulls up his favorite dog plushie that he takes with him everywhere, imitating the sounds a dog would make. You break out into laughter, and Toji nearly stops breathing so he can fully take in the sound of it again.

Beautiful, he thinks. You’re so fucking beautiful. 

Megumi’s eyes flicker towards the door, and he gasps before running as fast as he can towards Toji. “Papa!” 

“Hey, Megs.” Toji kneels down, hugs the small boy against his chest before picking him up in his strong arms, sighing in relief as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s okay, and he doesn’t look too upset that he was here for this long. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah!” Megumi pulls away, then gestures towards you, who watched the tender reunion with a sweet smile. “Ms. [Y/L/N] played so many fun games with me!” 

“Aw, I’m so happy you had fun, Megumi.” You take a step closer so you’re standing in front of Toji, slightly lifting your head upward to meet his eyes due to his height. “We tried calling you, but your phone went straight to voicemail. Megumi said that it does that sometimes. He took a nap earlier, but I’m sure he’ll be sleepy soon after all of those games. I also gave him dinner earlier.” 

“That’s… I just-” Toji struggles to find words, especially when you slightly tilt your head to the side and blink slowly. He exhales, then snaps himself out of his daze. “Thank you so much,” he says. “Are you new? I swear, I’m not usually this late.” Great. Megumi’s pretty teacher might think I’m just the worst parent on this damn planet. 

You nod. “Yes, I’m new. Today was my first day with this angel,” You use a finger to gently boop Megumi’s nose, and he smiles, shyly burying his face into Toji’s shoulder, “and the other kids. I figured you might’ve been held up at work or something. It’s okay. Things happen. Besides, he’s such a well-behaved kid. I didn’t mind spending this much time with him.” 

Toji places Megumi on the ground, then gently taps his shoulder. “Let’s grab your stuff, okay?” As he helps Megumi pack his backpack, Toji bites back a smile when he sees you watching him out of the corner of his eye. He notes the way you fiddle with your hands and avert your gaze after catching yourself. 

You walk over to your desk and open a drawer, pulling out three suckers from a sealed jar. Once Megumi had all of his things packed, you kneel before him, handing him the suckers one by one. “Here you go. One for you, one for your sister, and one for your dad. I can tell he works really, really hard.” 

Toji doesn’t hide his smile this time; it was impossible, especially when Megumi accepts them excitedly. “Candy! Thank you!” He hugs you gently, and you return it, rubbing your hand up and down his back. “You’re so welcome. Thanks for being so sweet today. You made my first day so fun.” 

A muffled gasp coming from outside has the three of you looking towards the window. Toji sees Tsumiki’s face squished against the glass with her usual, excited smile, and Shiu Kong standing beside her, looking relieved when he sees Megumi safe and sound. He purposely avoids Toji’s glare. 

The sound of Megumi’s small yawn gets his attention, and Toji’s gaze softens when the boy rubs his tired eyes. “Aw, ‘m sorry. It’s past your bedtime. Let’s get you home.” He leans down to pick him up again, and once you have your belongings, the two of you leave the building together. 

When you three make it outside, you face Toji and Megumi. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Megumi,” you say quietly to him, who is slowly beginning to drift off. Then you look up at Toji, who is softly smiling at you. “And I’ll see you tomorrow, too, right?” You ask.

“Yeah, you will.” 

You wave goodbye, and Toji makes sure you get into your car safely. “Hey, Megs,” Toji gently shakes Megumi as he watches you drive out of the parking lot. “Do you know her name?” 

“Ms. [Y/L/N]” 

He chuckles. “No, kid, her first name.” 

“I dunno,” Megumi mumbles before closing his eyes and resting his cheek on Toji’s shoulder. “Sleepy, papa.” 

“Ah, there they are!” Shiu exclaims, and Toji would’ve thrown a punch if his son wasn’t in his arms, and if his seven year-old daughter wasn’t happily skipping towards him. “Hi, papa!” 

“Hi, sweets, how was school today?” 

“Good,” Tsumiki says, then grins mischievously as she points to the spot where your car was just a minute ago. “You like her!” She teases. “You wanna hug her and kiss her and give her chocolates!” 

“Alright, you.” Toji rolls his eyes and laughs softly as he uses his free arm to lift up a giggly Tsumiki, then presses a kiss to her forehead. “Both of you should be in bed. Let’s get home.” 

“Aw, okay.” Tsumiki then leans forward to gently kiss her sleeping baby brother’s cheek. “Night, Gumi.” 

Toji secures both Tsumiki and Megumi in his car, and then faces Shiu, who is smiling nervously. “Well, look at that. Megumi’s doing great and you even developed a crush. How cute. All’s well that ends well.” 

“Very cute, but guess what?” 

“What?” 

Toji finally throws a swift punch at Shiu’s jaw, greatly holding back his strength so it wouldn’t break. Shiu stumbles, then groans, cupping his face with his hands. “Okay, fine, I deserved that.” 

“Damn right,” Toji says as he opens the door to the driver’s seat. “See you later.” 

—

Toji almost never stresses about his appearance in the mornings. After all, it was just dropping off the kids. But this morning, he frets over which shirt would look better with the jeans he picked out, if he should wear a different type of cologne, or if he should slick his hair back. 

All because he’s seeing you again. 

He decides to skip the new cologne and go for his usual, simple one, dresses in a dark shirt to match the jeans, and also ditches the idea of slicking his hair. Once the kids are ready for the day, he leaves early and goes to a coffee shop to pick up a medium cup of coffee. First, he drops Tsumiki off at school, then he takes Megumi to preschool. 

Toji spots you almost immediately. You were out in the front amongst the other preschool teachers, parents and their kids, wearing a gorgeous yellow top and simple blue jeans. When you see Toji and Megumi approaching, you pause your conversation with your coworker and walk over to them. Toji decides that he likes that, and that he loves the way you kneel in front of Megumi to meet his eye level, telling him good morning and asking if he was excited for the day. 

You raise to your feet, Toji hands you the cup of coffee he purchased earlier. “For you,” he says, “As a thank you for everything yesterday.” 

“Aw.” Your eyes light up as you accept the cup. “Mr. Fushiguro, this—” 

“Toji,” he corrects softly, and he ignores the way his heart stutters when your smile grows. 

“Well, Toji, this is lovely. Thank you so much.” 

“I never caught your name last night.” 

You tell him your name, and Toji tests it once. From the way you shyly avert your gaze, he can tell you that like the way it sounds in his voice. Megumi clears his throat, and Toji looks down to see him staring up at him, his brow raised in suspicion. “You never stay this long. Don’t you have to go to work?” 

Damn, kid. Thought we were on the same team. 

You laugh as Toji rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at Megumi—a gesture that the four year-old returns immediately. “Well, he’s right, gotta get going,” Toji says, looking back up at you. “I’ll see you later?” 

“Yes.” You nod, then point to the warm cup in your hands. “Thanks again for the coffee. Have a great day at work.” 

“You too.” Toji then gently ruffles Megumi’s hair. “Be good.” 

He doesn’t realize how big he’s smiling until he’s back in the car, and he sighs as he remembers Shiu’s words from the night before. A crush. That word seems so silly. He’s not a teen in high school. Toji looks up just in time to watch you take Megumi’s hand and lead him inside the building with the other children, and he chuckles to himself as he starts the car up.

Maybe “silly” was okay when you’re this pretty.

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ husband john price - 02

cw : reader is on the chubby side

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤcollection - prev ⋆ next

he knew. after years spent by your side and two pregnancies, john knew. to be honest, he wasn't even sure you knew it yourself.

you had noticed your husband was a bit more handsy than usual, but it was typical for him after coming home. he'd watch you from his seat on the patio, a cigar hanging from his mouth, as you watched your children play in the backyard. the look in his eyes was something you hadn't seen in a long time-so much love, passion, and dedication. you laughed it off, attributing it to the fact that he'd been away too long. there was no way he knew.

in reality, john watched you like a hawk, noticing all the small changes already happening. after having two kids, your body had changed-all for the better, if you asked john. more to love, but it had been a bit hard on you. it took a lot of love from your husband to help you accept the changes. it had unlocked something primal in price-your body had grown his children. his. that was one of the reasons you had a second child so quickly after the first. the man was just unable to leave you alone.

now, he smiled softly as you walked over to your youngest, who was crying gently after tumbling down. the way your hips moved was hypnotizing, even more so now that they were fuller. it was barely noticeable, but after more than a decade together and years of training in the military, price noticed small details like this. he also noticed how your breasts had filled out a bit, how your stomach was softer and rounder, making room for the little life inside. john never would have imagined how much he would love being a father, but every moment he spent with his little boys filled his soul with so much love that he didn't know what he would do without them.

later that night, after putting his boys to bed, john sneaked up behind you, his hands grabbing your hips lovingly. he loved quiet moments like these, just appreciating you. his beard tickled your neck, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. his deployments were getting longer again, so you savored every small moment with him. he had been home for a little over four months now, and you knew another assignment was coming soon-you always felt it.

"we ought to start looking for a bigger house soon," your husband muttered, his voice low against your neck. at first, you didn't catch on, but then his hand slid down to your stomach. he knew. "twelve years together, love. nothing you can hide from me." he pressed a soft kiss to the spot where your neck met your shoulder, the warmth of his touch saying more than words ever could.

slowly, you turned around in his arms and were met with pure love in your husband's eyes. you asked him how. how had he figured out you were pregnant? you had made sure to hide all the tests, your cravings weren't off the charts yet, and your libido was still normal. how did he know?

john laughed gently at your confusion, then proceeded to explain. he had noticed the changes in your body: how your hand would linger a bit too long on your stomach, how your gaze softened even more when you looked at your kids, how you ate more-especially more sweets than usual, and how your eyes would linger on every baby you passed in the street. he had noticed all the small details.

this was going to make his next deployment harder. he knew you hated when he was away, but you hated it even more when he was away leaving you pregnant back at home. his and your families were close so you'd never be alone, but it was different. you wanted your husband, by your side, where he was supposed to be.

it didn't help that john was supposed to tell you he'd be gone in two weeks, for at least a month. he'd received the call yesterday, before going to bed. that made him want to clarify that he knew about your little situation. he'd expressed his need for family leave soon, explaining that his wife was pregnant. the person on the other end of the phone didn't say anything except "noted, captain," before hanging up. not even a small congratulations. fuckers, the lot of them. so he had to tell you soon, but not now-not tonight.

tonight, he focused on his family-on you and the little bean growing inside. he hoped it was another boy, so he could later tell you he wanted a little girl. john knew you weren't opposed to a big family, but with him being gone so often, it was becoming more difficult to manage. he also knew how to sweet-talk you into another child by painting a picture of your family with a tiny little girl in the mix.

john decided he'd have a talk with simon when he returned to base, telling him he thought ghost was ready for the next step in his career. then, he would ask for that desk job.

with you in his arms, crying happy tears, he couldn't think of a better time to finally retire from the battlefields.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Just Kiss Her

James Potter x BSF!Reader

Summary: You find a few unsent letters with your name on them- literally.

WC: 2.1k

CW: use of {Y/N} - typo and nonsense it's 4am and I can't sleep.

The Gryffindor boys' dormitory was unusually lively for a day when James was absent. You sat cross-legged on James’s bed, surrounded by the mess that only four teenage boys could call normal. The faint scent of James’s shampoo lingered on his pillow behind you, a small comfort as the chatter of the room swirled around you.

Sirius groaned dramatically from his own bed, his leg propped up on a stack of pillows. He had injured it during their last Quidditch practice and was now milking the situation for all it was worth.

“Darling,” Sirius called, drawing out the word as he tilted his head toward you. “I demand attention. Do you know how utterly dull it is, lying here with nothing but Moony’s dull bookishness and Wormtail’s horrible color sense for company?”

“I’m literally right here, Pads,” Remus replied flatly, not looking up from his book.

“And you love me,” Sirius shot back without skipping a beat, grinning lazily.

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to Peter, who stood in front of the mirror with a tie hanging awkwardly around his neck. “I think the green one is better,” you offered. “It brings out your eyes.”

Peter frowned, his hands fumbling with the knot. “But is green too Slytheriny?”

“Not unless you start hissing and cursing muggleborns,” you replied with a teasing smile. “Just pair it with a gray jumper. Neutralize it.”

Peter nodded, muttering something about giving it a try before swapping it for a blue tie. Meanwhile, Sirius groaned again, this time louder.

“I’m dying, and none of you care,” he complained, flopping back against his pillows like a tragic figure in a poorly acted play.

“You’re not dying,” you said, leaning back on your hands. “You’ve got a bruised leg.”

“Bruised? Bruised?” Sirius gasped as if you’d mortally wounded him. “That’s how they minimize war injuries, you know. Next you’ll say I’m malingering.”

“Which you are," Remus said, still not looking up from his book.

Sirius turned to you, ignoring Remus entirely. “Come on, love. Entertain me. Read me a story or sing me a song or- oh! Recite poetry! You’re good at that.”

“I’m not reciting poetry for you, Sirius.”

“Why not?” Sirius pouted. “You do it for James.”

“That’s because James actually asks nicely,” you quipped, smirking.

At that, Sirius clutched his chest as if you’d stabbed him, his grin betraying his dramatics. “Et tu, Brute? I thought you loved me.”

“Loved, past tense,” you teased. “You’re officially too high maintenance.”

“You wound me,” Sirius said, throwing an arm over his face. “Moony, tell her she’s being cruel.”

“Not getting involved,” Remus said quickly, still reading but now smiling faintly.

Sirius turned his face toward you again, his pout morphing into a cheeky grin. “Fine, if you won’t entertain me, at least come sit over here so I can lean on you while you’re ignoring me.”

You rolled your eyes but stood anyway, walking over to Sirius’s bed. “You’re unbearable.”

“I prefer entertaining,” he replied smugly as you perched beside him, letting him lean his head on your shoulder.

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the sound of Remus flipping another page in his book and Peter muttering to himself as he fiddled with another tie. Sirius, still leaning on your shoulder, let out a long, exaggerated sigh, clearly waiting for you to indulge him.

“Alright,” you finally relented. “I’ll read something to you. Happy now?”

Sirius grinned triumphantly. “Ecstatic. Now, find something good. None of that boring rubbish you usually bring in here.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood and glanced around the room. “Fine, but I’m not wasting my time reading some textbook or Quidditch manual. Let’s see if James has something decent for once.”

Sirius perked up, watching you make your way over to James’s trunk. “Careful, darling, you’re stepping into dangerous territory. Prongs’s secrets and all that.”

“Oh, he won’t mind,��� you said, waving a hand dismissively. “Besides, if he didn’t want me snooping, he’d have locked it.”

Remus glanced up from his book. “I’m not sure that logic holds up, actually.”

You knelt beside the trunk, lifting the lid to find the usual James Potter mess: a tangled heap of robes, a few textbooks with worn edges, and a Gryffindor scarf stuffed haphazardly into the corner. But what caught your eye was a small, battered box tucked near the bottom, half-hidden beneath a crumpled cloak.

“What’s this?” you murmured, pulling it out and turning it over in your hands.

Sirius’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Oh, now that looks promising. Open it.”

Remus let out a quiet sigh. “I wouldn’t- ”

“Of course you would,” Sirius interrupted. “It’s Prongs. What’s his is practically hers anyway.”

Ignoring their back-and-forth, you pried open the lid. Inside was a disorganized stack of parchment, some neatly folded, others crumpled and torn. Some were even singed at the edges, as if they'd narrowly escaped being thrown into the fire. Every single one had your name scrawled across the top in James’s messy handwriting.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“What is it?” Peter asked, peeking over your shoulder.

“Letters,” you said softly. “They’re… they’re addressed to me.”

Sirius’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Oh, now this is good."

Remus closed his book, his brow furrowed. “Are you really going to read those? They’re personal.”

“They’re addressed to me," you replied, a mixture of curiosity and nerves stirring in your chest.

“You’re doing him a favor,” Sirius said breezily. “If he didn’t want you to read them, he’d have gotten rid of them properly.”

You hesitated for a moment before unfolding the first letter. The parchment was slightly wrinkled, and the ink looked rushed, as though James had written it in a moment of unfiltered emotion.

Dear {Y/N},

You probably think I’m an idiot. Honestly, you wouldn’t be wrong. I’ve tried to write this letter five times already, and I keep throwing them in the fire. But this one… I don’t know. Maybe I’ll keep it. Maybe one day I’ll find the courage to actually give it to you.

You laughed today. I can’t even remember what I said to make you laugh, but Merlin, it was the best sound I’ve ever heard. I keep playing it over in my head like an idiot, and it’s driving me mad.

I think I love you. No- scratch that. I *know* I love you. But I can’t tell you. What if you don’t feel the same? What if it ruins everything? Maybe it’s better this way. At least I can still be near you, even if it kills me to pretend.

Your voice caught, and you lowered the letter, your hands trembling slightly.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius said, looking genuinely impressed. “Prongs has it bad.”

Peter nodded mutely, wide-eyed.

“You really shouldn’t be reading those,” Remus muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

But you couldn’t stop. You reached for another letter, this one more crumpled, as though James had balled it up in frustration before deciding to keep it.

I tried to burn this one too, but I couldn’t. I can’t seem to get rid of the things I write to you, even if they’re pointless. You’ll never read them anyway. But writing them feels like the only way to stop my chest from caving in whenever I see you with someone else. Merlin, I’m pathetic.

I wish I could just tell you. But then what? You’d laugh, or worse, pity me. I couldn’t stand that. So, I’ll keep pretending. Keep being your best friend. Keep loving you quietly.

“Wow,” Peter said softly.

You sat back on your heels, clutching the letters tightly. All this time, James had been carrying these feelings- for you- and he’d never said a word.

“See?” Sirius said, looking smug. “Told you this was worth it.”

Remus shot him a glare. “You’re not helping.”

You looked up, your heart pounding. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

Sirius leaned back against his pillows, crossing his arms behind his head. “Because he’s James bloody Potter. He’d face down a hundred Death Eaters without flinching, but one look at you and he’s a goner.”

The door to the dormitory burst open, and James Potter strolled in, looking thoroughly windswept from Quidditch practice. His broom was slung over his shoulder, and his Gryffindor scarf dangled loosely around his neck.

“Alright, lads, miss me?” he asked cheerfully, dropping his broom beside his bed. He glanced at Peter, who was still fiddling with his tie. “Wormy, mate, what’s that? A tie? You look like you’re about to slither off into the dungeons.”

Peter huffed, pulling at the tie. “It’s green with gray accents. She said it works.”

James’s laugh was loud and carefree, but then his gaze landed on you, sitting on the floor with a stack of letters clutched tightly in your hands. The open box on the floor beside you caught his eye, and his face immediately fell.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice suddenly sharp.

You froze for a moment but quickly regained your composure, hugging the letters closer to your chest.

“Reading,” Sirius said from his bed, his tone positively delighted. “Turns out, Prongs, you’re a regular Shakespeare. Real heartfelt stuff.”

James paled as he took a step toward you, his eyes wide with a mix of panic and embarrassment. “Put those down. Now. They’re mine.”

You stood quickly, holding the letters tight to your chest as if they were a treasure. “No, they’re mine. They’ve got my name on them.”

“{Y/N},” James groaned, his face turning a deep shade of red. He lunged for the letters, but you stepped back just in time.

“I don’t think so,” you said, grinning as you unfolded another letter. You held it up dramatically, clearing your throat. “Let’s see what this one says- ”

“Don’t you dare!” James exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly.

“Dear {Y/N},” you read aloud, dodging James as he tried to grab the letters again. “You’re going to kill me one day, and I’ll probably thank you for it. Today, you- ”

James groaned loudly, lunging for you again. “I mean it! Give them back!”

But you were faster, darting around Sirius’s bed and laughing as James scrambled to catch you. “Today, you laughed at my joke in Transfiguration, and I swear I forgot how to breathe- oh, that’s good, James! Real poetic!”

Sirius howled with laughter from his bed, clapping his hands. “Oh, this is gold. Absolute gold.”

Peter, wide-eyed, muttered, “Should we stop them?”

“No,” Sirius said quickly, waving a hand. “This is the most fun I’ve had all day.”

James was completely flustered now, his hair even messier than usual as he chased you around the room. “You’re impossible!” he said, his voice breathless.

“And you’re in love with me,” you teased, waving the letters in the air. Suddenly you paused, as if reality hit you. Your smile grew tenfold as you looked at the letters then to him with wide eyes. “Merlin, you're in love with me!”

That made him freeze for half a second, giving you just enough time to read aloud again. “You’ll never read this, but Merlin, I can’t stop thinking about you- ”

Before you could finish, James lunged and finally managed to catch you, his arms wrapping around you tightly. You squealed in surprise and delight as the two of you toppled backward into the open closet, the letters scattering around you.

James pinned you gently, his face mere inches from yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’re an absolute menace,” he said, though his tone was more fond than frustrated.

“And you’re a hopeless romantic,” you shot back, grinning up at him.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his hazel eyes filled with something intense and unspoken. Then, before you could say another word, he kissed you- soft and sweet at first, but quickly turning urgent and consuming.

You forgot about the letters entirely as his hands framed your face, his lips moving against yours like he’d been waiting for this moment forever. Your laughter melted into the kiss, your hands clutching the front of his Quidditch jumper as if to anchor yourself.

From outside the closet, Sirius’s voice rang out. “Bloody hell, Prongs, save some for later!”

James pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his face flushed and his smile wide. “Remind me to hex Sirius later,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips.

“Deal,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him again.

Sirius groaned loudly. “Merlin, they’re hopeless. Wormtail, fetch me a bucket; I’m going to be sick.”

Remus sighed, his tone amused. “I think we’ve just lost James for the rest of the day.”

[slutofpsh]

strip for me.

part three

pairings: hyungline x reader (sunghoon & heeseung)

synopsis: hyung line got you trapped in a situation that you can’t get away from.

wc: 6k

warnings: smut, minor dni, bullying (not promoting violence or bullying), degrading, dirty talks, curses, masturbation, hyung line being mean. this is not proof read.

note: next part will be fivesome with the hyungline so it’ll take time. be patient. please reblog and reply to. it is highly encouraged. thank you so much for your support. part one (here) ; part two (here)

slutofpsh 2024 © all rights reserved.

your grip over your phone tightens while a text message flashes through its screen. a one sentence text is all it takes for your whole system to feel thrilled.

‘i’ll see you at the locker's room after my morning practice.’ — psh.

that was all it says. sunghoon’s not the texter type. out of all of them, he’s the least you expect to appear on your messages and so to receive something from him makes your stomach churns.

it’s still very early and after you checked your phone, that’s the first thing you saw.

Park Sunghoon is the team captain of your school’s ice hockey team and every thursday morning, they have practice before going to class. today is that day.

you didn’t reply to him and honestly, you’re contemplating whether to go meet him or not. obviously, something like what happened yesterday may occur. And no matter how bad does it sound, a hint of excitement stirs at the depth of your mind.

despite it, worry and agitation overpowers you. sunghoon is a very mean guy. you’ve done it with the four of them, and he’s the roughest when he’s mad or if he’s trying to punish you.

jake mentioned yesterday that it was a punishment. jay may have didn’t mention it, but his odd behavior was enough for you to conclude that something’s going on.

you spent the whole night thinking of what did you do wrong, backtracking over the things happened the day prior today. even no matter how hard you strain your brain, nothing pops inside your head. nothing. none.

still in trance, a new message appears on sunghoon’s chat box.

‘don’t even think of ditching me or i’ll be seriously be pissed.’ — psh.

you can imagine his brows hardly furrowed, jaw clenched and eyes cold as ice burning through his phone screen as he tap those words to send you. that was enough to make you feel scared. sunghoon’s not very nice, what more if he’s pissed off?

so before you even get deeply caught into your thoughts, you pushed yourself up from the comfort of your bed and started preparing to go meet him.

on the other hand, the sound of skates sliding through the ice and nonstop smashing of hockey sticks echoes all around the auditorium. players chants and shouts at each other as they try their best to make a score. if you aren’t too familiar with the members, you’ll think they don't belong in the same group.

but they do. it was just a normal practice session, only park sunghoon, the captain and also the team’s ace, are a little bit more worked up at the moment. his eyes dark and his moves are more aggressive than usual.

his teammates that are currently on his team in this game cheered when he made another score. ice splatters as he abruptly tried to make a stop. he pants as he removes his head gear.

“come on,” one long slide and a newbie made it near him. he was panting so bad as he raises his arms. “its just practice man.” he says towards sunghoon.

the old members looks at him in horror, giving a hint not to say anything else as sunghoon faces him with a placid look on his face.

sunghoon kept silent before advancing towards the newbie. he stared right at his face for a while before grabbing him by his shirt, jaw clenching. the other varsities panics and starts to discard his hold, but he was too strong.

“if you can’t keep up with me then that’s not my problem.” he spat and gave this chilling gaze at the newbie. the obvious fear flickers through the younger’s eyes as his mouth hangs open, unable to utter a single word.

“sunghoon! that’s enough.” thankfully, their coach arrived just in time to stop the fight.

from the chairs outside the rink, one pair of eyes watches closely. his half-lidded eyes stares lazily at the scene unfolding, totally unbothered by it. his back rests at the chair and legs crossed, conveying so much dominance.

heeseung saw how sunghoon kept his grip on his teammates uniform, clearly being stubborn. he's not even surprised. typical sunghoon who never listens and always lets his temper control him.

sunghoon gave the poor boy one cold stare before pushing him off as he lets go of his jersey. he, then slides out of the rink.

“hoon.” heeseung calls that made the younger halt his steps.

he cranes his neck and look at him with blank eyes, waiting for what his hyung is about to say. heeseung trailed his gaze from the rink towards him.

“remember not to be carried away.” he reminds him.

“i know.” he shortly replied, still feeling so heated from the practice.

“and don’t hurt her.” he says in a very low tone.

sunghoon scoffs, “i won’t.” his eyes darkens as his lips stretched into a smirk, showing off his fangs. “at least not in that way.”

your head peeks slightly to look while the players are leaving their locker one by one. it’s been almost ten minutes since you arrived the school. as expected, there’s only a few around and the whole building is still vacant.

you’re still busy checking when the hairs on your neck raised, chills running down your spine. a presence can be felt from behind you. slowly, you craned your neck to look over your shoulder.

wide broad chest is what you saw first. you trailed your gaze upwards to see lee heeseung staring down on you with a deadpan look on his handsome face.

a light gasp escapes your lips and tries to step back once.

“u-uh,” you gulped and lowered your head to avoid looking at his eyes. “sunghoon asked me t-to meet him here.”

you have no idea why on earth are you explaining to him. it just feels right to let him know why you are currently here, early in the morning, when your class starts a bit hour later.

“i know.” he shortly replies.

of course he knew. is there something else that he doesn’t know? what you noticed from lee heeseung is that besides being a very reserved individual, he’s also very observant. if the other boys loves being the center of attention, this tall gorgeous boy prefers to be on the corner, watching.

you tried glancing if he’s still looking and after meeting his gaze for a split second, you folded and glanced away.

he sighs heavily, “you guys have at least 45 minutes until our first class starts. don’t be late.” he says under his breath and starts walking away to the direction of your building.

the further he is away from you, the more your breathing stables. something about him intimidates and makes you nervous as hell. even before you can look at him to check if he’s already far away, he talks again.

“y/n,” in a speed of light, you faced him with flushed cheeks.

“y-yeah?”

his blank eyes slightly softens, “he’s in a very bad mood. if he gets out of hand, calm him down.”

his words confused you right away. first, sunghoon’s out of mood most of the times. second, why is he saying these words like as if you know perfectly what to do?

“b-but how..?”

he kept a placid look before turning his back to start walking again, leaving with, “you know how.”

you’re left standing awkwardly. heeseung’s already gone and you haven’t moved an inch. his words echoes inside your head repeatedly. it still confusing you how there’s a hint of confidence lingering through his words.

a vibration from your phone is what snapped you back to reality.

‘come here.’ — psh.

that was your cue. without thinking twice, your feet moves like it has a mind of its own, walking and leading you towards the locker room of the ice hockey team. sunghoon’s lure.

it was quiet and slightly dark. when you made it to the far end, you saw him sat at one of the benches. his head didn’t even whip to look at your way when you arrive, like he was expecting you and nobody else.

his elbows bore on his knees as he was leaning, head hanging low.

“sunghoon?” you calls him using your soft voice.

sunghoon finally lifts his head and look at your direction. there you are. you look beautiful wearing the school uniform neatly, hair brushed and eyes staring at him with a hint of concern.

he didn’t show any reaction to his face that made you feel agitated. heeseung’s words flashes back on you, that he’s in a bad mood. it scares you even more, adding to the tension.

“why are you standing so far, doll?”

his husky voice slightly echoes inside the wide room. its just the two of you here and that thought was enough to make your heart race. his endearment for you stirs something in you. how he always love to call you doll, in a sexy and taunting way.

you trudges closer, but still keeping a safe distant.

his dark eyes burns as he run his stare over you in a very dangerous way. he looks so attractive wearing his just his sweats and a white plain t-shirt, hair still a bit damp from shower. even from a distance, you can smell his manly scent that always makes you dizzy in a good way.

“kneel in front of me.” he demands.

you can feel your knee wobbling as you make your way towards him. slowly, you kneeled down. sunghoon almost lose his mind by the sight of you like this. he almost lets out a low groan when you follow him without saying any words, complying to him. submitting.

he leans backwards, resting one hand to the bench support his weight, the other palming his hard dick. you can see the outline of his cock through his sweatpants and blood rushes to your cheeks.

“take my cock out.”

his request made you blink and look at him. this shouldn’t surprise you anymore. before you come here, you’re expecting that things can escalate like this. but the fear of one of his teammates walking on you, makes you hesitating.

“what if s-someone comes here?”

“i’ll kill them.” he says those words without hesitation that made your heart drop.

“sunghoon—”

“you know i don’t have much patience, right?” his tone stingy and the crease on his forehead tells you that he’s not very happy on you delaying him from getting his desired blow.

you decided to keep your mouth shut and slowly reaches to his pants to pull it a bit, freeing his hardened cock. it was so hard and the tip so red. the sight makes you blush even more. if someone is asked to describe sunghoon’s manhood, they will probably say that its as beautiful as he is.

“go on.” he spat.

you gulped and licked your lips once before leaning in to wrap your lips to his dick. sunghoon bit his lower lip at the feeling of your hot mouth around him. he misses this. he wanted to curse so loud and to just shove it into you, but he stopped himself from doing so.

“fuck, just like that.” he moans and tried to open his eyes so he can watch you bobbing your head, getting your pace.

he saw how your hair covers your pretty face from his view and so he raised one of his hand to gather them and hold them for you.

“i got you, baby.” he whispers that made your core twitch.

you continued bobbing your head and sucking his dick, tasting sunghoon in your mouth. it was a familiar one, something that got inside your mouth a lot of time. later on, you can feel him thrusting his hips, meeting you. he was always rough and loves abusing your throat. he doesn’t care if you gag, he would even love that.

“fuck, fuck, fuck...” he growls and roughly shove his dick inside your mouth.

“gonna use that fucking mouth.” he says, “so pretty. so so damn pretty.” his compliments rings, but you’re too occupied on sucking him good.

there’s something about the way sunghoon moans. his voice whenever you give him immense pleasure serves as music to your ears. it was so erotic and just how he utters dirty words adds up to everything.

when you feel him almost reaching his climax, you’re so ready to accept and take it all. just a couple more deep thrust, sunghoon shoots his hot cum in the depths of your throat. groaning and moaning out of pleasure.

he lets go of your hair and pants while watching you suck him dry, letting out a faint ‘pop’ as you let him go.

“let me see.” he whispers and you open your mouth to show him how you swallowed every bit of it.

“good doll.” his words sent direct tingling feeling to your core, making you rub your thighs.

“we’re not yet done.” he says and stood up from the bench. he grabbed your arm to make you stand and guided you to sit down.

“strip for me.” that familiar line again.

with trembling hands, you try to take off the buttons of your blouse. sunghoon, as a very impatient guy he is, he curses and yanked your uniform, causing some of its buttons to fly off.

“sunghoon, what the he—” your words got interrupted when he pushed your body flat to the bench, making you lay down.

“shut the fuck up.” he says rudely and hovers above you.

his hand searches for your underwear and you whimper when his finger grazes your clit. he smirks, feeling your wetness.

“so wet for me. you’re such a slut, aren’t you?” he taunts that you answered with a faint ‘no’.

you tried to look away and avoid his gaze out of embarrasment for actually getting aroused for such foul situation. he scoffed and roll his eyes before removing your panties aggressively.

“i’m going to fuck you until you’re unable to think straight anymore.” and he aligned his head on your hole.

your brows furrowed, eyes shutting tightly. he traces your slit using his head before finally sliding it all in one go, making you gasp.

“fuck, look at my cock disappearing inside you.” he said and even ask you to lift your head so to see.

he was definitely right. he is fully buried inside you, and the pleasure it too much. you feel so full with all of him. he started pulling it out, only to slide it all back in again.

“u-ugh,” you let out a moan that clicked something in him, making him rut his dick rough and fast.

“s-sunghoon,” you whimpered, lips shaking as he continues to abuse your hole. “p-please slow down.” you plead.

he didn’t listen. in fact, he acts like as if he cannot hear any of your words. he placed both of his hands on your side, face above you as he continue relentlessly fucking you. his silver necklace hangs out from his shirt and now started moving along with his movement, slightly slapping to your pretty face. his brows sexily furrowed, jaw clenching while he utters low curses.

“i’m going to fucking breed you. you want that, doll?” he asks in a taunting way that made you whimper even more.

he scoffed at how you look beneath him. trying so hard not to let out your moan, when he can clearly see how much you’re enjoying and feeling so good from how deliciously he fucks you deep.

“you already have four dicks to fuck you and you still can’t be contented? what a bad girl.” he clicked his tongue and you opened your eyes to met his. it darkens as he started to roughly fuck you.

“you just never learn.” he growls and you can see the hint of anger in his eyes.

it scared you and your hand held his arm in attempt to push him away. but he was too strong. he didn’t budge and yank your hand, dismissing any chances of stopping him.

“who’s my pretty doll?” his grin grew wider, eyes full of nothing but lust for you.

you kept your mouth shut while still looking him straight at his eyes, tears brimming your eyes. he’s dominating you from above and you look so helpless beneath him.

when he didn’t heard an answer from you, he halts his hip from rutting you that made you whine slightly. he gripped your arm tight that you’re so sure it will leave a mark later, eyes piercing.

“who’s my pretty doll, y/n?” he asks in a very low tone, like a warning.

“answer me.” he commands that sent shivers to your spine.

you whined, “m-me.”

a smirk spreads across his face and leans in to connect his red luscious lips to your swollen ones, giving you a messy kiss. a string of saliva stretches when he leans away.

“you belong to me. you belong to us.” his words with so much emphasis that you can really tell how serious he is.

“i will fucking kill whoever tries to take you.”

“sunghoon, wait...” you can see how he’s starting to move in faster pace, almost making you see stars. one of his hand moves and reaches for your neck, slightly choking you.

“hoon—”

“that fucker, who do he think he is?! he’s nobody!”

you gasp and tried to take heavier breaths, trying not to be too distracted by how much pleasure sunghoon’s dick is giving you.

heeseung’s words then flashes through your mind. he said you can calm him down. how? obviously, this is the right time to show that skill.

instead of feeling scared of him, you snaked your hand on his nape and pulled his face closer. his forehead touches yours as you glance straight to his eyes, trying hard not to roll them up due to the imminent orgasm you’re about to have.

sunghoon was caught off-guard at your action. his eyes widen while still rutting his hip deep and rough. you look so beautiful from this distance, your pretty eyes filled with tears, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. all because of him. all for him.

“i’m s-sorry.” you mumbled close to his face.

he was at daze, his movement getting slower but his thrust remains deep, reaching all the good spots of your insides. almost making you crazy. you trap your lower lip in between your teeth, getting totally distracted.

“i’m so s-sorry, hoon.” you repeat your words, this time a little bit more softer.

while your foreheads still attached, you placed a gentle kiss on his face then flash a smile.

“i’m here.” and you heaved a sigh, “i’m yours. stop being mad, please.”

and with that, sunghoon relaxes, his breathing becoming more calm and his eyes softening as they stare at you.

he leans away to drop a kiss at your forehead before connecting them again as he start fucking you roughly. he groans and kisses your lips from time to time, moaning your name along with your sweet whimpers.

“f-fuck, baby. i’m close.” he whispers.

“me t-too.”

sunghoon dicked you down even faster trying to chase that climax. he kisses you, tongue dancing with yours, salivas mixing up. both of you are unbothered, mind filled by nothing but your lust and want to release.

“shit.” he curses as he shoot his cum inside your dripping cunt, your legs starts to shake, cumming as well.

he continued sliding his cock in and out, chasing both of your highs while making out. he moves away and watched how his dick slides out of you. his stares wandered all over your body, eyes full of desires.

“i’m sorry.” he mumbles as he caress your arm that he hold too tight a while ago. it was so red, his hand left a print.

your mouth gapped in amusement. did you just heard thee park sunghoon say sorry? he’s not type to do that. and when did he ever talk in a soft tone?

“does it hurt?” he asks, using that foreign tone again.

you smiled a little, shaking your head to assure him. he stares right at your eyes for a while before dipping his head down for another kiss. your eyes shut as you accept his kisses with no complains.

the bell from the next building is what snaps you back to your senses. his kisses moves to your chin then down to your neck.

“h-hoon, its almost time for our class. we need to go back.” your fingers run through his soft hair.

you wait for him to hiss at you for actually touching it as you are well aware how sensitive he is when it comes to his hair. but none. no complain or side comments about it.

he gave you a few more pecks before finally letting you go.

“you broke my uniform.” your lips pursed while staring down.

he just finished cleaning you up and you’re making yourself look presentable when you remembered how he broke the buttons of your blouse after pulling it hardly.

sunghoon smirks and opens his locker. he retrieves a uniform then handed it to you.

“here, you can use mine.”

the boys and girl’s top uniform is pretty similar, the only difference is the girls are shorter. some even had theirs cropped to style it in their own preference.

you accepted it and removes your broken uniform. he trudges closer then gently took the blouse from your hand so you can wear his easily. his eyes watches you closely making you feel a bit shy.

he helped you wear his uniform. “thank you.” you said, blushing.

he smirks and dips his head for a quick kiss. you’re too surprised to even say anything. you’re just too shock how he's acting right now.

“let’s go. we’re already late. heeseung hyung will be pissed.” and he grabs your things to carry it himself.

you knocked twice at your classroom when you arrived. the two of you are late and you’re silently praying the teacher's not in a bad mood today.

she cracks the door open and your homeroom teacher scans you up and down. her strict eyes watches you, eyebrow raising.

“ms. y/n. you are late.” she says.

“i’m s-sorry, ma'am.”

she was left with no choice but to let you inside. everyone’s eyes are darted at you and its very uncomfortable. your hand unconsciously plays through the edge of your uniform— more like sunghoon's. they gave you a look of curiosity. why you’re late when you’re someone never late for a class and whose uniform is that? clearly, it wasn’t yours.

before you reach your chair, you have to walk pass jake’s. his piercing and playful eyes are darted at you, grin so wide because he knew exactly where you’ve been.

“lips so swollen, sweetheart.” he stated that made you blush even more. some students who seats near him, heard it and gave you this look.

“mr. park.” is what your teacher said the moment you sat down to your chair.

when you look over the door, park sunghoon walks inside at ease. not even bothered that he’s late. his bag hangs over his shoulder while one of his hand holds yours.

“practice.” he reasoned shortly before heading your way, not even sparing your teacher a glance.

he ignored the eyes watching him and focused his stares right at you. the three other boys shrugs their shoulder off and boredly face front. jake’s smirking, jay rolled his eyes and heeseung watches carefully

sunghoon placed your things on the side of your table and leaned down to look through your eyes.

“here, baby.” he says casually then messed your hair before walking to his chair.

lips of some girls from your class are gapped open at the scene they just witnessed. they cannot believe it and wondered what’s between you and park sunghoon. they are beyond surprise and you can’t help but to just shrug it off. what more if they finds out his three other friends are involve too?

the classes continued normally, or that’s what you try to make yourself believe. the stares from your classmates are often darted at you. still not over about the scene a while ago. it was slowly getting annoying.

while writing down on your paper, you heard a chair being dragged to your side.

“hey,” your head looked over jake who just sat down.

“yeah?”

he tilts his head, “did you have fun?”

your mouth hangs open, what happened a while ago flashes back to your mind instantly because of his question. jake saw it and he grins before scoffing.

“you did.” he touches your chin to make you look up, “your face says it all.” he added and grins, masking the emotion slowly igniting inside his chest.

you gulped and licked your lips.

“j-jake,” you called him.

he raised one of his brows, waiting for what you’re going to say.

“about beomgyu...” your word halts.

the instant change on his mood just proves you that he has something to do with how the boys are treating you. his eyes turned cold, jaw clenching slightly.

“what about him?” his stingy tone rings your head.

“its not what you think—”

“jake.” both of your heads whips to the direction of the voice who called him.

lee heeseung stood by the door, watching you both with his heated gaze. his eyes shifts to yours and it sent direct chills. your head lowering as an automatic response.

“y/n, can you grab these workbooks and help me take it to the student council office?”

envious eyes darted at your direction when he ask you that. you can even hear someone commented that why should it be you. his dark gaze he gave you indicates that you have no other choice but to follow him.

you stood up, jake's eyes stayed and never left you. he watch how you walks towards the table, near his friend. jay and sunghoon seems uninterested as they bicker over something he doesn’t care at all.

“which one should i carry?” you asked heeseung.

he used his chin to point the fewer stacks of workbooks, he took the heavier stacks. he’s the first one to leave the room and you stalked behind him. students in the hallways greets heeseung with amusement through their eyes. they don’t even notice you at all. they’re too focused on him.

when you arrived the student council office, he stops beside the door then glance at you with serious eyes. your stomach churns and suddenly felt agitated.

“place those books here so you can open the door.” he instructed that you obeyed right away.

he didn’t even budge from his position when you place additional weight to what he’s carrying. totally unbothered.

you opened the door for him and hold it so it wouldn’t be on the way. he smoothly walks inside and you remained standing by door, looking at him placing it neatly at the table.

his eyes trailed towards you.

“get inside and lock the door.” he says and you saw him loosening his school tie.

you gulped and instantly felt on edge. he watch how you closed the door and he only looked away after hearing the sound of the lock clicking.

“sit down here, angel.”

angel.

you blushed so hard and its a little crazy how one word affects you so much. the somersault inside your stomach added weigh on your emotions. his heated gaze totally not helping.

“heeseung, about beomgyu...” you started.

his face remained blank. unlike jake, he didn’t show any foul mood or anything. but that slightly bothers you more. heeseung is always calm, very reserved. his mysterious demeanor pulls you more into him, digging a bigger space for your curiosity.

“it wasn’t what you guys think. i know what’s happening these days is somehow connected to him.”

he sighed heavily and tilts his head, “we already warned you and sent him a message.”

the way he talks sounded so calm. like nothing can ever make him nervous or anxious. he never stutters and speaks with so much confidence. he knows what he’s saying and that’s makes him more attractive in people’s eyes. what’s sexier than a man who knows what he wants in life?

“he just told me that he’s sorry—”

“if he’s really sorry then he should just stayed away.” he cuts you off.

you licked your lips and was about to talk again when he lets out a strained sigh.

“enough.”

“i j-just—”

“strip for me.” your mouth hangs open and stared at his eyes.

he looked serious as usual. his eyes silently conveying a message that you’ll get in trouble if you don’t obey him right away. without much of a choice, you start to take off sunghoon’s uniform.

he looked at it with no emotion and brows slightly twitched at the sight of a bruise by your arm. it doesn’t really hurt, but it was evident.

“does it hurt?” his tone full of concern.

you’re quite amused at him, blushing.

“no. don’t worry.”

“he lost control, didn’t he?” his hand reaches for it, caressing it gently like it will aid it. he looks at your eyes, waiting for your answer.

“just f-for a short time...”

he sighs and nods his head. this isn’t the time to talk or think about sunghoon’s bad temper. he tilt his chin, asking you to continue. when you’re left with your underwears he stood up then stared down at you.

“lay down on the table.”

your eyes grew big, hesitant to his request.

“won’t they come here? i thought the student body are busy today...?”

he glanced on your eyes once and it was enough to shut your mouth then do as he says. he offered his hand for assistance. his hand are warm, unlike sunghoon’s. he helped you step on a chair so you can climb on the table.

it feels so awkward sitting on it and having heeseung stand in between your thighs.

“lay down. i want to eat you.” he said so casually that made your core twitch in so much anticipation.

you wanted to curse yourself for how your body reacts to them. this isn’t how it suppose to be. you should protest and tell them off. or even get mad because you thought they’re already interested to a different girl. but... why do you find yourself laying back on the table while lee heeseung is gradually taking your panties off?

“breath, angel.” he smirks and you glanced away feeling guilty. he knew you’ve been holding your breath since you climb to this table.

the feeling of being this naked in front of heeseung is so overwhelming, both in good and bad ways.

“eyes on me.”

his command made you lift your body so you can see him dip his head and spit on your already wet pussy. you pursed your lips, doesn’t want to let out a moan.

he lifts his hand and slide one finger inside. you can feel it so long and warm.

“did he stretch you enough for me?” he whispers so close to your cunt, his hot breath fanning to your wet core.

“heeseung...”

“shh.” he glared at you then added another finger.

“god, this pussy.” he groans and leans in attaching his lips, lapping your cunt.

“heeseung..” you moaned and covers your lips, feeling shy by how you whimper. it sounded pathetic.

the feeling of his hot long tongue grazing and slightly getting inside your hole drives you crazy. your thighs automatically closes, caging his head in between.

he looks at you over his eyelashes, one hand pushed your thigh open. he leans away, “keep it open for me, angel.”

he smirks and placed a kiss on the insides of your thighs, “i know it feels so good, but i want your legs open.”

he grabbed both of your hands, making you hold your legs. you whimpered, feeling frustrated that his lips are not latched on your aching core. he glanced at you and smirks after seeing your desperation.

“patience, angel.”

he then dips his head again and started eating you. it felt so good, he was doing it expertly, making your head all fuzzy.

“oh my gosh,” you moaned and throw your head back after feeling a knot forming inside your stomach.

“i’m c-cumming,”

“really? give it to me.”

and with that you released, legs shaking and eyes tightly shut. heeseung made sure he gets all of your juices, nothing spills. you tried to open your eyes to look at him and the scene was so erotic. heeseung put his lips on your hole and suck it.

“uggh.” your eyes shuts and lips shakes in so much pleasure.

he kept sucking and gave your slit one last long lick. after that, he stood up and wiped off his chin. he looked so satisfied. he helped you get up, head still all clouded with the intense feeling he just gave you.

he then took off his clothes and went to sit down at the sofa. the same couch where jay took you yesterday. he rests his arms and watch you intensely.

“ride me.”

with wobbly legs, you walked towards him. once in reach, he slides his hand on your waist and helps you to get in position. your straddle above him, knees bore at the sofa. he hold you and watch how you reach for his hardened cock. you gave it a few strokes before placing its head near your hole.

“oohh,” you can’t help but to moan.

“slowly...” he whispers, face already on your side. his lips grazes your ears dangerously.

the lust took over you completely, taking control of your mind and actions. you are losing it, just wanted to have him deep inside you. lower lip trapped in between your teeth you slowly sat on heeseung’s long thick cock, moaning as it reaches all the right spots.

“u-uhhh,” your stretched moan made heeseung grin. satisfied at how you’re so eager to have him inside you.

“move, angel. fuck my cock into you.” he whispered full of lust like hypnotizing you.

you started riding him, at first with slow pace until you feel more desperate for him. moaning and gasping as you continued bouncing, not caring if someone from outside hear your shenanigans.

“feel so good.” you mumbled.

“oh yeah? ride faster.”

you obeyed, but your poor stamina and the overstimuation makes you feel so weak. you slump on his lap, cock buried deep inside. your head rested on his shoulder, panting.

“tired already?” he asks softly that you responded with a short nod.

he chuckles and placed a swift kiss on your cheeks. “all right. place your hand on the sofa and lift yourself a bit, angel. i will fuck you myself.”

pulling yourself together, you do as he said. eyes half-lidded drowned in your own desires. heeseung watches with a grin and kisses you once at your lips before starting to rutt his cock to your cunt, his hips moving so fast that you make you a moaning mess.

“o-oh my gosh...” and your forehead rests on his shoulder.

“my baby so weak that he needs me to fuck you myself, hmm?” he bit your earlobe once that made you whimper.

the slapping sounds of your skins so erotic. enough to make you feel the knot inside your stomach once again. your grip on the sofa tighten along with your hole, making the man under you groan in pleasure.

“cumming already?”

you nod while biting your lips so hard. he smirks and kisses you eagerly, feeling himself reaching his climax as well.

“cum with me, angel.”

with a few more hard thrusts from heeseung, you came all over his length and not long after, he follows. groaning so hard while kissing you with furrowed brows. he kept fucking his dick in you while supporting you so you won’t fall.

he pulls away to focus on sliding his cock in and out as you rest your head on his shoulder, nuzzling at crook of his neck.

“you’re such a good girl for me. for all of us.” you heard him whisper before placing a sweet kiss at your forehead.

“okay class we will have a group research project and i want you to participate properly in your group. i don’t want to hear some complains.” your teacher in your last period said.

the class reacts and gave their own comments. some already rants, the others being happy to do a group project and even say the people they wanted to work with.

you, on the other hand is resting your head on your table. too tired to even give a care about it. thankfully, the teacher after the lunch break didn’t attend and so you had the chance to take a nap after what you and heeseung did.

the thought itself made you blush so hard.

you teacher started announcing the groups. you tried hard to listen, waiting for your name to be called.

“park jongseong, jake sim, lee heeseung, park sunghoon and (surname) y/n).”

you slowly raised your head, blinking while staring in front. confused if you heard that right. did she just call your name? whose your group mates again?

“damn, she’s so lucky. why does it have to be her?” one of your girl classmates whispered to her friend while giving you a glaring look.

you noticed that the class are now moving seats to gather around by groups. still spacing out, you glanced around. waiting for someone to call you.

jake sim then raised his hand while jay pulls a vacant chair near his. the four pairs of eyes darts at you.

“y/n, come! we’re partners!” jake says excitedly.

your mouth fell open slightly while eyeing their direction. jake’s smile is wide, jay’s smirking along with sunghoon while heeseung eyes you seriously.

‘oh no...’ you thought to yourself.

since you don’t want to be scolded by your teacher, you stood up and slowly head to their direction.

“we’re going to have so much fun...” jake stated meaningfully before winking at you.

tag-list:

@shawnyle @kpopslays

[neellscapsule]

My Heart — Part Six

summary | your family realizes how much they have missed. the problem is that you are a grown up by now, and terrible hurt by their neglect.

pairing | platonic yandere batfam x batsis!neglected!reader. conner kent x reader.

warnings / tags | angst, hurt/little comfort, y/n is mentioned as a female, trauma, family issues, mostly trust and daddy issues. they all love each other (PLATONICALLY) they just don't know how to feel it and express it correctly. it gets darker

angsty chapter and reader is NOT happy. it is not implicated in the text but the tea is ADULTERED totally drugged.

word count | 4.6k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :) please vote <3 dick is 28. jason is 23. reader will be 22 in a few months. cass is 21. tim is 20. duke is 18. damian is 13. conner looks 22 as well.

taglist | @cebrospudipudi @jjoppees @corvoqueen @nirvanaxx1942 @lilyalone @aixaingela @lettucel0ver @time-shardz @pix-stuff @galaxypurplerose @cupid73 @theproblemisthattimnotfictional @vanessa-boo @timebomb1101 @chemicalwindexbottle @chiizuluvr @ihavenomuse @mat5u0 @thismessyshe @lovebug-apple @myjumper @angwlart @esposadomd @nisarelle @mrmacwaffles @mazixxss @ememgl @naomi-xxi @bbmgirll @ash0-0ley @rowan-no-rizzz @hearts4mica @sillyheartmoonnyx @crumbs-and-covers @nininehaaa @ironsaladwitch @c4xcocoa @keyllsbk @welpthisisboring @redkarmakai @yuyuzi-ling @91-kya @mat5u0 @nymphzy0 @jeshomie @keysmashstuff @imsomniaccorner @rowan-no-rizzz @xoxoangellll @oliviaewl

previous. next.

It’s only been a few hours. Not even dinner yet. And your things — your life — are already bleeding back into the Manor like they never left.

Boxes stacked neatly by the stairs. Suitcases rolling in. Steph and Duke arguing softly over where to drop your art stuff. Cass ghosting through the hall, carrying your sketch portfolios like they weigh nothing. Tim? You don’t even know where he is, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he already hacked the Royal Resort, changed your room access code, and sent a digital notice of your “check out” to their front desk. Smug little bastard.

You aren’t even going to try fighting it. No one here listens to “no.”

Because the Waynes, God help you, never really ask for things. They consume them. They fold you back into the sharp jaws of their family, biting down until you realize that escape was never really an option.

You tend to forget you are a Wayne as well.

You stand in the middle of it all, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching them pull your belongings through the front doors like this is normal. Like they didn’t spend four years letting you stay gone.

“Annoyed?” Jason’s voice is far too entertained, standing beside you with a box balanced on one palm.

“Beyond,” you mutter, glaring as one of your easels is carried toward the stairs.

“You knew it was coming.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Jason smirks but lets it drop, wandering off with the box. You sigh, shoulders slumping, and turn toward the wing where your room still waits. Untouched. Too familiar.

And it is… different. Familiar in the bones of it, but stripped of its soul. The walls are bare where posters and paintings used to hang. The shelves mostly empty, save for a few stubborn relics that Alfred clearly refused to toss — old books, a cracked snow globe, a tiny bronze bust of Athena from your first Gotham art exhibit.

Damian’s already there. Of course he is. Smaller than the others, but somehow taking up more space than all of them combined, hovering at your side like a shadow that refuses to detach itself.

The kid hovers near your bed, arms crossed behind his back like a tiny, overly proper soldier on duty. His green eyes flick to you, guarded but… softer than usual. Like he hasn’t quite figured out how to stop being angry at the world when it comes to you.

“Need help unpacking?” he asks, tone clipped, but there’s hope there. The kind that coils tight in your chest.

You hesitate, torn between instinct and guilt, then nod, stepping inside.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Sure.”

He follows, eager despite his mask of disinterest, helping you tug open bags, sort clothes, stack books. For a while, it’s… weirdly peaceful. The steady rustle of fabric. The faint creak of the floorboards. Damian brushing past you without biting words, his fingers tracing over your old framed photos on the shelves — ones you left behind because they hurt too much to take.

You catch him pausing at the piano music sheets tucked beside your nightstand. His brows furrow.

“You still play?”

“Not often.” You shrug. “More painting now.”

Damian hums, thoughtful, gaze lingering. “You should’ve stayed.”

You freeze, the words hanging in the air like smoke. You glance up, meeting his eyes — so green, so much like Bruce’s it physically aches. But they’re not cold, not like your father’s can be. They’re… fractured. Full of sharp edges and careful walls, yes, but under that?

Longing.

Guilt gnaws at your ribs.

“Didn’t know you existed yet,” you say softly, fingers curling around the strap of an old bag. “Not really.”

His mouth presses thin. “That doesn’t change it.”

You exhale, standing, brushing invisible dust from your jeans. “I left the Manor, Dami. I didn’t just… leave you.”

“You left me,” he says, blunt, young enough to say it like a wound, like a scar carved too deep. “You all did. But you… You weren’t supposed to.”

God, you hate how your throat tightens.

The bitter ache behind your ribs.

You hadn’t been prepared for him — for this — when you came back.

Your fingers reach for another box, peeling it open just to avoid his stare, but it doesn’t help. His presence is overwhelming. Silent and sharp like his mother’s. Possessive like his father’s.

“I didn’t even know you,” you murmur, voice rough. “I knew… of you. Little headlines. Files. Cass tried to tell me. But I—” You pause, eyes shutting briefly. “I was so angry. I couldn’t even… I couldn’t come back.”

“Because of him,” Damian says. It isn’t a question.

You nod.

Bruce Wayne. The great Dark Knight. The man you once idolized, once bled beside as Huntress, as his partner. The same man who never quite looked at you the way he looked at the others. Not the way you needed. Never the way you begged for as a kid with bruised knuckles and desperate, reaching hands.

“Because of a lot of things,” you correct gently, placing your sketchbook aside, the worn leather cover heavy with memories. “But yeah… mostly him.”

Damian’s jaw clenches, the muscle ticking. His arms uncross, falling at his sides. He looks…

Small.

Despite the bravado, the stiff lines, the name of the Demon Head running through his blood… He’s thirteen.

Your baby brother. One of your younger siblings. The one you abandoned before you even truly met him.

You weren’t there for the first bruises on his knuckles. You weren’t there for the first nights he slipped into patrol. You weren’t there for his first real battle, the first time he realized that Gotham’s love is sharp-edged and cruel.

You weren’t there. You left.

And it’s starting to suffocate you— the realization that this boy, this brother, had spent years carving out his place in the family you abandoned, while you disappeared into the art galleries and the high-rise studios of New York.

You curse under your breath, stepping forward before you can overthink it, cupping the back of his neck gently, tilting his head toward you.

“You shouldn’t want me here,” you whisper, honest, broken. “I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

His eyes glisten for a second, the weight of his walls faltering. But only for a moment. His hands lift, fisting in your shirt, his brow pressing against your shoulder in a rare, vulnerable gesture he’d never admit to.

“You’re my sister,” he mutters, the words muffled but steel-strong. “I don’t care how long it takes. You belong here. You were the only one who was mine. Blood. Sister. Everyone else is just… attached.”

You swallow thickly.

Damian, for all his sharp edges and biting remarks, was still just a boy looking for someone who belonged to him in the same undeniable way that blood does. He wasn’t just a Wayne. He was yours.

“I’m here now,” you promise, voice soft, fragile. “For as long as I can stand it.”

He gives a sharp little nod, like that’s acceptable.

But you both know the truth.

It’s then, when you pull another box from beneath the bed, that you find it — old, dusty, edges worn, but unmistakable.

The Box.

The one that started this whole spiral, even if you don't know it. You pop the lid, heart stumbling when you see your old notebooks stacked inside. Your sketch journals. Poetry. Music sheets. Little scraps of yourself you never let them see.

Damian watches, sharp-eyed. “You wrote a lot.”

You smile faintly, fingers ghosting over the familiar covers. “Started around your age. Couldn’t… couldn’t really talk to anyone. So, I wrote.”

For a second, there’s something bitter in your throat. The weight of all those words that never reached the right ears.

“I saw that box,” Damian says, breaking your thoughts. His lips press thin, voice low. “Grayson and Father had it.”

Your head jerks up.

“What?”

He nods, glancing toward the door like they’ll appear at any second. “They read your letters. The invitations. That’s why some of those are missing.”

You frown, rifling through the papers. Sure enough… gaps. Missing slips of faded cardstock, soft with time. The ones with their names.

You straighten abruptly, box in hand.

“I’ll be back,” you say tightly, already halfway out the door.

Damian follows to the threshold, but wisely stays behind.

You stalk down the halls, passing portraits and shelves that mock you with their polished familiarity. Your boots echo over the marble. Your heart pounds heavier. The box is tight in your arms, fingers curled so hard around the edges your knuckles burn white. You don’t even hesitate when you reach your father’s study. You shove the door open without knocking, the hinges groaning under the force.

Bruce looks up from behind his desk, the same goddamn desk that’s always separated him from you. His eyes lift slowly, unreadable behind that ever-present mask of indifference.

“Y/N,” he greets simply, setting down a pen.

You march in, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling with the weight of it all, and slam the box down onto the dark wood of his desk.

“They’re mine,” you snap, teeth bared around every syllable. “The invitations. The letters. The pieces of me you ignored for years. Give them back.”

His gaze drops to the box, lids lowering slightly. Calm. Too calm. Always calm when you’re coming undone.

“You left them here,” he says quietly, like that’s supposed to be some kind of explanation.

“That doesn’t mean you get to—” your voice cracks— “to keep them. To— to read them like you suddenly give a damn.”

“I’ve always cared.”

The words are so simple. So detached.

It’s laughable.

You laugh— bitter, sharp, ugly.

“Yeah? You cared while I was bleeding under that Huntress mask? You cared when I was fourteen, fifteen, sixteen— when I was killing myself trying to be enough for you? I was practically breaking my ribs to breathe in this house, Bruce—”

You use his name like a blade.

And for the first time, his expression shifts. The faintest flicker of hurt behind those unreadable eyes.

“Don’t—” he starts, but you’re already unraveling.

“No, I’m talking,” you hiss, voice cracking with the sheer force of holding it together for too long. “I begged for your attention. I broke myself for your pride. I learned to throw knives before I learned to drive, I broke bones before I got my period, and the only thing I ever wanted—” your throat tightens, eyes burning— “was for my dad to fucking look at me like I mattered.”

His mouth parts— an interruption, maybe. You don’t let him.

“You looked at Dick,” you spit, pacing now, heat climbing under your skin, nails digging crescent moons into your palms. “At Jason. At Tim. Hell, you adopted half the city because they were broken and brave and you saw them. But me?” Your voice cracks, and it slices through the room. “I was standing right here. Your kid. Your first daughter. And you never— you never looked.”

“I saw you.”

The words fall from his mouth like they should mean something.

You stare at him, chest heaving, that dangerous, shaking, bitter-laced laugh creeping out of your throat.

“You saw me when it was convenient. At galas. On patrol. When I played the part. But you didn’t see me when I cried myself to sleep in this house. When I begged Alfred to remind me why I even existed in this family.”

“Y/N—”

“No!” Your fist slams onto the desk, rattling the box, the notebooks inside shuddering under the force. Your shoulders curl forward, that trembling, raw ache choking every syllable. “You read my words, Bruce. You read every pathetic, desperate thing I wrote to get your attention, and you didn’t say a damn thing. You just kept them. Like— like souvenirs of how badly you failed me.”

He stands now, slow, careful, like he’s trying not to spook a wounded animal.

“I kept them because they mattered.”

You flinch. Because that— that doesn’t make it better. That makes it worse.

“Then why didn’t I?” you whisper, voice cracking so thin it’s barely audible.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. And for once, Batman looks speechless.

The lump in your throat crawls higher, the weight of everything clawing through your ribs until you can’t stand it. Your vision blurs with unshed tears, the room suffocating, the walls pressing in—

Jason’s voice cuts through the static, smooth but laced with warning, not to you.

“Hey— hey, sweetheart—” His hand catches your elbow, tugging you gently away from the desk, away from the storm brewing in your chest. His eyes flick to Bruce, sharp, protective. “That’s enough.”

Your father doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t argue.

“Later,” he murmurs, tugging you. “Let’s not explode the whole house on your first day back, yeah?”

You let him guide you, too raw, too frayed at the edges to resist, the box clutched to your chest like it holds your last shred of pride.

He doesn’t take you far. Just out, through the side door, past the old stone threshold that still smells faintly of ivy and rainwater. The gardens stretch ahead of you, green and alive, overgrown in some parts, perfectly manicured in others. Like everything in this family — halfway wild, halfway curated.

The cold air bites when the door to the garden swings open. The scent of wet grass and the sweetness of the last lingering roses hit you like a ghost. The gardens haven’t changed. You could close your eyes and walk these paths blind, could still find the cracked stone where you used to sit, where you used to hide.

It shouldn’t affect you the way it does. But it’s been years. Years since your boots walked these cobbled paths. Since you brushed your fingers along the rosebushes, memorized the stone statues of long-dead Waynes, listened to the wind thread through the hedges and wondered if maybe, just maybe, you belonged here.

You stop by the little wrought-iron bench. The one you used to curl up on with a book or sketchpad when Alfred scolded you for pacing the halls like a restless cat. Your knees threaten to buckle.

Jason’s still beside you. Silent for a beat, his blue eyes scanning your face like he’s cataloging every fracture in your armor.

“You good to sit?” he asks finally, voice stripped of its usual cocky charm, softer, older, gentler.

You nod, throat tight, and collapse onto the bench. The box lands beside you, your arms falling limp at your sides as exhaustion crawls under your skin like a sickness.

Jason leans against the backrest, arms crossed, one leg kicked out lazily in front of him. But his gaze never leaves you.

“I thought you’d punch him,” he says after a moment, like it’s some normal conversation.

“I thought so too,” you rasp, voice barely holding steady. Your fingers twitch, nails biting into your palms.

Silence settles between you, heavy and humming with unsaid things. The garden is quiet, save for the rustle of leaves in the warm Gotham breeze and the faint chirp of birds that have somehow not abandoned this cursed place.

You bite your cheek, hard, tasting iron at the back of your tongue. The weight in your chest grows unbearable.

“He had no right to keep them,” you whisper, more to yourself than him. “Those letters—those words were mine, Jay.”

Jason nods, slow, his eyes dark with understanding. He tilts his head, letting the silence stretch, giving you room.

It cracks something in you. Your walls cave in on themselves, and the words spill out, raw and broken.

“You’re my family,” you breathe, voice cracking on the confession. “And I love you. I love all of you. But you’re— you’re terrible.” You swallow around the knot in your throat, eyes burning, vision swimming with tears you’ve tried so hard to swallow. “You’re all terrible.”

Jason’s brows pull together, faint lines creasing between them, but he doesn’t interrupt. He exhales slowly, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah. We are.”

“It’s not fair,” you choke, the sob clawing its way up your throat, unstoppable now. Your hands cover your face, shoulders shaking, breath hitching as it pours out of you, ugly and too real. “It’s not fair— I was here. I was here and I tried— I tried so damn hard to make him proud. And he— he just—”

You can’t finish the sentence. It shatters in your chest before it reaches your lips.

Jason exhales softly, the sound rough at the edges. Then, gently, he shifts, his hand reaching to curl around the back of your neck, tugging you toward him.

You resist for half a second, pride prickling. But you’re exhausted. Hollow. And there’s something in Jason’s touch — that stubborn, protective, reckless love he’s always carried for you — that breaks you down completely.

Your forehead bumps against his shoulder. You curl into him, tears spilling freely now, staining the worn fabric of his jacket. His hand stays at your nape, grounding you, his other arm curling protectively around your frame.

“I know,” he murmurs, chin resting against your temple. “I know, Birdie.”

“It’s not fair,” you croak, rubbing your palms over your eyes, as if that can stop the burning. “It’s not fair that I spent years begging for you all to see me, to just—just be there. And now you’re all here like you never left. Like you didn’t forget me.”

Jason tilts his head toward the sky, his lips twisting like he wants to argue, but he can’t.

You don’t let him. The flood’s coming now, and you can’t hold it back.

“You died, Jason.” Your voice sharpens, cuts through the garden like glass underfoot. “You died, and it ruined me.”

His head snaps down to you, breath caught in his throat.

“I was fourteen. I was fourteen and you were dead and no one—no one even noticed that it broke me.” You glare at him through the blur, the tears slipping, unwanted and hot. “And then you came back, and you—you didn’t come to me. You stayed away. You built walls. You left me behind again.”

Jason’s throat bobs. “I didn’t know how to come back to you.”

You shove your hands into your hair, tugging hard at the roots like it can ground you, like it can make you stop shaking. “I waited for you.”

“I know.”

“You were my favourite person,” you choke, the words ragged and small. “You were my brother and you were my best friend and you just—just left.”

His breath trembles out of him like a cracked apology.

“I didn’t mean to leave you,” he says, and his voice sounds like it’s breaking. “I didn’t mean to die on you.”

“But you did. I needed you,” you whisper, voice fraying apart at the edges. “I needed you and you— you just disappeared.”

Jason’s hand tightens slightly at the back of your neck.

“I know,” he says again, pained and low. “I’m sorry.”

You stay like that for a while. Your breathing slows, the storm inside your chest quieting to a simmer, though the ache never fully leaves. Jason lets you cry, lets you shake, doesn’t rush you to pull yourself together like the others always do.

hated myself for staying away from you when I came back. I thought—I thought you’d hate me for what I became. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Your breath shudders out, a laugh cracked in half by grief. “I’ve always seen you. Always.”

He finally, finally looks at you, really looks, his eyes raw, his walls caved in.

“You were the only one who ever really saw me,” he admits, a little too late, a little too soft.

Your ribs collapse under the weight of it. “And you left me anyway.”

Eventually, you straighten, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your sweater, sniffling quietly. Your throat is raw, your eyes glassy.

Jason watches you, patient, still.

“Not exactly the grand return I wanted,” you mutter bitterly, half a laugh, half a sob.

Jason snorts softly. “No one expected you to waltz in all sunshine and rainbows, Birdie. You’re still a Wayne.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch faintly, the first ghost of a smile threatening to break through the grief.

Jason taps the box at your side. “You keeping those?”

“Yeah.” You brush your fingers along the worn cardboard, the ache settling in your chest like an old friend. “They’re mine.”

“Good.” He pushes off the bench, offering his hand. “C’mon. You’ve caused enough drama for one morning.”

You hesitate, eyes flitting to the Manor behind him. The looming walls, the endless expectations, the memories stitched into every corner.

Jason squeezes your hand gently.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promises, eyes steady, blue and familiar. “I’ve got you.”

“. . . You’re not allowed to leave me again,” you mumble, voice raw.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

You kick at his boot, just enough to make him huff a little more. “Promise.”

His gaze flicks down to you, and there’s something fierce, something broken in the way he answers. “Promise.”

And you believe him. You have to.

Even if it’s not fair. Even if you still want to scream. Even if the ache never quite leaves.

You love them.

They’re terrible.

But they’re yours.

You don’t eat dinner with the rest. You don’t have the energy to push yourself into another room where their eyes would watch you like you’re some fragile puzzle they’re trying to solve. You don’t want to play at the table, pretend you belong there just yet.

The library is quiet, save for the low, steady crackle of the fire devouring its own weight in the hearth. Shadows climb the walls, curling over the spines of leather-bound books, tracing old portraits, creeping across the floorboards like they know this house better than anyone ever could. You don’t bother to look up when you hear the door open. You already know who it is.

The sketchbook rests on your lap, half-finished lines scrawled across the page—limbs bent in motion, a face tilted in anguish, the sharp angles of a cathedral stitched into human skin. You’ve been working on it for hours, your pencil dancing through the strokes like your hands know grief better than your head does.

Lines bleed from your fingers, chaotic and gentle all at once, spinning a face you can’t quite hold in your head, features that slip just as you start to form them. Maybe it’s Jason’s nose. Maybe it’s Bruce’s jaw. Maybe it’s no one.

Bruce says nothing as he crosses the room. His footsteps are quieter now than they were when you were a child. Lighter. Older. Worn thin by years of carrying everything and everyone but you.

You still don’t look up.

The cushion beside you shifts when he sits, the same space on the same old couch where he used to read to you, back when things were simpler. Back when you thought love came in the shape of bedtime stories and scraped knees bandaged with rough, clumsy hands.

A porcelain cup clicks gently against the coffee table. You glance at it, finally, the faintest twitch in your brow when you notice the color of the tea, the faint aroma curling toward you.

“Raspberry,” Bruce says quietly, settling back into his seat, eyes fixed on the fire. “Three sugar cubes.”

You stare at the cup, steam curling like ghosts into the dim light, and then at him. His jaw is sharp in the flicker of flames, his mouth set in that unreadable line. You don’t thank him.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence settles, heavy and familiar, stitched together with old tension and years of too much and not enough.

You sip the tea anyway. It’s perfect. Just how you’ve always taken it. It only makes you angrier.

Bruce leans his elbows onto his knees, watching the fire like it holds all the answers he never found in you. “You used to climb onto the piano bench before you could even walk properly,” he says, voice low, rough with memory. “Alfred was terrified you’d fall. But you never did.”

You don’t interrupt, fingers tightening around the sketchbook, pencil still clutched between them like a weapon.

“You’d sit there,” he continues, “banging on the keys with your little hands. No sense of melody. Just noise. But God, you looked… happy.”

Your jaw locks. You keep your eyes on the flames. Let him speak.

He exhales slowly, shoulders heavier than you remember them. “You always found ways to make your presence known.”

You laugh once, quiet and bitter. “Didn’t seem to work very well.”

You can feel his eyes on you, waiting, holding, but you keep your gaze fixed on the flame. You don’t want to see his face. You don’t want to see the weight he carries, because it’s the same one suffocating you.

“I do not forgive you,” you murmur, voice soft but sharp enough to draw blood. The fire crackles, swallowing the quiet like kindling.

His eyes don’t flinch. His mouth doesn’t twist. He just nods, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. “I know.”

The admission sits heavy between you, thick as the smoke curling from the hearth.

For a long time, the only sound is the breathing of the house itself. Old beams creaking. The pop of burning wood. The distant hum of the world outside, too far removed from this broken little moment.

Bruce’s voice, when it comes again, is quieter. Almost lost to the flame. “Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?”

You blink, startled by the words. His eyes drift back to the fire. “Alfred said that,” he adds, lips curving faintly at the memory. “When you were a baby. You’d cry in my arms and quiet the second I’d hold you close. Clung to me like you never planned to let go.” His throat works. “I didn’t know then how much I’d… ruin that.”

You stare at the flames, but your mind drifts elsewhere—to the old halls of this house, to the forgotten rooms and creaking stairwells, to the years spent watching the people you love blaze bright for the world while you flickered, silent, unseen.

The halls, the rooms, the garden paths—they carry your shape, your scent, the laughter you left behind. But it’s not you who haunts them. It’s them who haunt you, the people, the memories, the versions of yourself that used to dream inside these walls.

You are not a house haunted by a ghost. You are a ghost haunted by a house.

Every corner of this place still echoes with pieces of you. The forgotten toys buried in the attic. The old recital photos tucked between bookshelves. The faint scratch on the bannister from your first Huntress grappling hook, never sanded out, never fixed.

And yet, it was never your home the same way it was theirs.

You breathe in deep, the warmth of the tea settling in your hands, doing little to thaw the cold buried deep in your chest.

“I’m tired,” you say at last, the words stripped bare of all the fight. “I’m so tired, Bruce.”

His eyes soften. His posture shifts, the wall of Batman faltering, the edges cracking just enough to let the father show through.

“You don’t have to stay,” he tells you quietly. “Not if it hurts you.”

You snort under your breath, shaking your head. “You all made that decision for me already.”

His jaw clenches. You don’t let him argue.

The fire burns, and the house breathes, and for a little while, you both just sit there, surrounded by everything unsaid.

“He was right,” Bruce adds, voice low, fractured at the edges. “Nothing in my life has… undone me the way you have.”

Your chest twists, breath catching, vision blurring faintly at the corners. But your expression doesn’t break. Not in front of him.

You sip your tea again, letting the warmth sting your throat, drowning the lump rising there.

The room stretches long with silence. The fire burns. The shadows breathe. The ghosts stay quiet, for now.

Neither of you apologize. Neither of you move. But for the first time in years, you sit in the same room, quiet together. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

For now, you let the halls remember you again.

For now, you let the ghost haunt its house.

You blink once, twice, before your lids drop against your cheeks — exhaustion pushing you into silence, into sleep, into the soft surrender of someone who trusted again.

In the flicker of the firelight, you drift. Eyelids flutter as you realize you’re curled on the sofa — the sketchbook clutched loosely, the fire dimming, the tea unmoved. Bruce’s silhouette stands guard in the shadows, and you breathe — finally — like you’re safe.

[fuddaround]

CLINGY › juju watkins x fem!reader

summary : while hanging out with juju’s team she becomes extra clingy and doesn’t know how to not be touching you.

warnings : literally just fluff

word count : 4.2k

req

kay’s notes : i miss her💔 im sorry this took so long 🙁

juju’s been cleaning since noon.

playlist blasting, mop in one hand, swiffer in the other like she’s going to war with dust bunnies.

your hoodie’s drowning her frame, sleeves covering her hands as she moves around the apartment like it’s the day before an away game day.

she keeps tugging it over her fingers, lifting it to sniff the collar every so often like she’s trying to inhale you straight into her lungs.

her hair’s pulled back into her usual bun, curls bouncing as she bops around the kitchen.

she sways side to side while wiping down the counters, humming to the beat, all domestic and in her bubble.

every five minutes she pauses to glance at her phone, checking the time. then your name. then the groupchat.

the girls are supposed to come by around seven, and juju’s acting like lebron is coming over. she fluffed the couch pillows four times already and threatened to fight deuce any time he gets too close to them.

she set out snacks in bowls like a mom hosting book club. hot cheetos, gummy worms, fruit roll-ups, and those little frosted animal cookies you like.

you called her “extra” last night and she deadass took it as a compliment, “it’s not being extra if you love people,” she said, all smug.

and she does love you.

loudly. proudly.

especially today.

she tugs the sleeves of your hoodie over her hands again and exhales, standing in the middle of the living room like she’s about to present a thesis.

everything looks perfect. but something’s missing.

you.

so she grabs her phone, scrolls to your name, and sends three messages back to back.

then she flops onto the couch dramatically, hoodie sleeves covering her face. she’s not moving again until she hears a knock on the door.

the first knock on the door comes around 6:48.

juju pretends she doesn’t hear it, still curled into a dramatic pile of hoodie and couch. but then another knock, this time followed by rian’s voice—loud, dramatic, already clowning from the hallway.

“damn, y’all see how she ignoring us already? new era juju.”

juju rolls her eyes but drags herself up, hoodie still half over her face like a gremlin. she opens the door with one hand and a sigh, stepping aside so they can all pour in.

rian’s first through the door, grinning like she owns the place.

kayleigh and brooklyn follow right after, all giggles and inside jokes.

and then there’s otto—last as always, hoodie halfway off her shoulder, eyes already on juju like she’s reading a diary.

“finally,” rian groans, flopping onto the couch like she pays rent. “i was about to file a missing persons report.”

“you knocked for like five seconds,” juju mutters, kicking the door shut behind them.

“five seconds too long,” kayleigh says, grabbing a capri sun from the snack table juju spent an hour arranging. “ooh, you got the wild cherry ones. aw you really know me.”

juju shrugs. “figured y’all would drink them like usual.”

“figured your girl would be here by now,” rian says with a smirk, pulling a throw pillow into her lap.

juju’s entire face twitches. blink and you’ll miss it, but otto doesn’t blink.

she watches juju like a hawk. like a best friend who knows every tiny tell. like someone who’s seen her spend ten minutes trying to pick a message to send you, only to delete it and just say “hey :)” instead.

“she’s on the way,” juju says, trying to sound chill. like she wasn’t literally sprawled on the floor ten minutes ago texting “u okay?” for the third time.

brooklyn raises a brow. “so why you wearing her hoodie then?”

“i was cold?”

“you got heat. we all know you keep it on 75 like a grandma.”

juju glares but says nothing. she just tightens the sleeves over her hands again and tries to act normal.

she plops down on the floor, back against the couch, one knee bouncing.

the girls are already making themselves at home—snacking, flipping through the streaming apps, arguing over which movie to put on.

“nothing scary,” kayleigh says. “i’m not tryna pee myself in juju’s living room.”

“no romance either,” rian adds with a look directly at juju. “some of us are single and unbothered. we don’t need to see y’all staring into each other’s souls.”

juju throws a gummy worm at her. “you���re so annoying.”

“and you’re in love,” rian sings, catching the worm and popping it in her mouth. “look at you, all squirmy and shit.”

“i’m not squirmy,” juju lies. total lie. she’s practically vibrating.

otto climbs over the couch and lands next to her with a soft thud, her body warm against juju’s side. she doesn’t say anything at first, just rests her chin on juju’s shoulder.

“you good?” she murmurs, quiet enough for only juju to hear.

juju leans into her. “yeah. i just…”

“you miss her.”

juju nods.

otto smiles. “she’s literally ten minutes away.”

“ten minutes is a long time when you’re in love and dramatic,” juju whispers back.

“we know”

the opening credits to white chicks start playing and everyone cheers like it’s the first time they’ve ever seen it. brooklyn’s already quoting the lines before the characters even speak while kayleigh’s already halfway through her second capri sun.

juju tries to join in. she laughs when she’s supposed to. throws jabs back when rian teases her again. but india’s watching the whole time, clocking every time juju glances at the door.

“what if she changed her mind?” juju mumbles during the part where the twins first show up in disguise.

otto gives her a look. “be serious.”

juju shrugs, arms folded tight across your hoodie. “i’m just saying…”

“you’re not saying anything real right now.”

juju pouts. “okay therapist.”

“well no, just your best friend who watched you fall in love when you call yourself nonchalant.”

she says it so casually that juju actually stops breathing for a second. because it really was kind of like that. like a highlight reel that india studied. like every time you smiled at her, the world paused for just a beat too long.

“you’re in it deep,” otto adds, bumping her shoulder against juju’s. “like deep deep. like, if-she-broke-up-with-you-you’d-move-to-the-woods deep.”

juju laughs, loud and sharp. “no, i’d just cry for like a year.”

“same thing.”

“whatever.”

“you wore her hoodie, ju.”

“i like it.”

“you sniffed it earlier.”

“mind your business.”

“you sniffed it, juju. like a love-sick golden retriever who was left at home.”

juju groans and drops her head into otto’s lap, mumbling curses into the fabric. otto just laughs and pets her hair.

“i think it’s sweet,” kayleigh calls out from across the room.

“yeah me too,” brooklyn says. “let the girl be in love.”

“oh, she in it,” rian grins, pointing at juju’s curled-up form. “she’s literally the most clingy person when her girl comes into play.”

“i’m not clingy,” juju protests weakly, face still buried in otto’s hoodie.

“girl, you asked me if your breath smelled good before she came over,” otto says.

juju lifts her head. “because gum doesn’t always work—”

“you bought three candles just ‘cause she said she liked the vanilla one.”

“it’s called setting the tone—”

“you shaved your legs. and you’re wearing sweatpants.”

“you’re a traitor.”

“i’m your best friend.”

the girls are all cracking up now, the whole room filled with laughter and warm energy and the smell of popcorn and gummy candy.

but juju’s face is pink and her eyes keep darting to the door again.

it’s 7:06. you’re not even that late. but to juju, every minute feels like forever.

so she grabs her phone again, types out a text. stares at it. deletes it. types it again.

otto sees it from the side and gently takes the phone out of her hand, “she’s coming,” she says softly. “you know she is.”

juju nods, chewing her lip. then she hears it.

another knock.

and this time, she doesn’t play it cool.

doesn’t wait. doesn’t even try to act like she’s not absolutely losing it inside.

she shoots up off the floor like someone lit a fire under her and bolts for the door, almost tripping over rian’s leg.

the girls break into a fit behind her.

“there she goes!”

“run, juju, run!”

“act normal, damn!”

“she’s already smiling, look at her—damn simp.”

juju’s smiling so wide it hurts and she hasn’t even opened the door yet.

juju yanks the door open like she’s been held underwater and finally got to breathe.

and there you are.

standing in her doorway all soft and glowing, skin still dewy, hair slicked back, hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the bracelets she made you. you smell like vanilla and coconut and whatever body wash you stole out of juju’s shower.

juju freezes for a second.

her brain bluescreens.

then—

“hi, baby,” you say, all gentle and sweet like you’re saying a prayer instead of a greeting.

juju practically melts. she’s on you before you can even take a full step in, arms around your waist, nose buried in your neck like she’s trying to disappear into your skin.

“you’re late,” she mumbles, voice muffled.

“was doin’ an everything shower,” you say, rubbing her back. “you know the drill. shaved, exfoliated, deep conditioned, the whole routine.”

“took you eighty-five years,” she pouts, tightening her grip.

“took me two hours.”

“that’s eighty-five juju years.”

you laugh and kiss the top of her head, and that’s when the peanut gallery from the living room loses their minds.

“there she is, finally.”

“miss exfoliated and moisturized for ju.”

“thank you for showing up, juju needs her emotional support girlfriend. she was spiraling without you.”

juju turns her head but doesn’t move from your chest. she’s still wrapped around you like a backpack.

“don’t listen to them,” she grumbles.

“they’re not wrong,” otto calls out, not even looking up from the couch. “she made me check her breath like five times.”

you giggle and run your fingers up and down on juju’s back.

“my dramatic little baby,” you coo, rocking her side to side.

“don’t call me that in front of them,” she mumbles—but she’s nuzzling you now. completely unbothered.

“what? ‘my dramatic little baby’?” you repeat, louder.

the girls explode.

brooklyn wheezes into a throw pillow, kayleigh’s about to cry laughing, rian’s recording on her phone, and otto’s just shaking her head with the most told you so expression known to man.

juju groans into your neck. “i hate everybody.”

you kiss her cheek. “no you don’t.”

“fine. i hate everybody except you.”

“better.”

she finally lets you go just enough to pull you into the apartment, shutting the door with one hand while still clinging to you like you might vanish. you barely make it three steps before she pulls you right back into her arms.

“i missed you,” she whispers.

“i missed you more,” you say, brushing your nose against hers.

she scrunches her face and shakes her head, “not possible.”

“yes possible.”

“no one in the world has missed another person as hard as i missed you in the last hour.”

“you’re so dramatic baby.”

“you literally made me like this.”

the girls are still watching, still commenting, but juju’s tuned them all out now. it’s just you. your face. your hands on her waist. your lips brushing against hers in the tiniest, sweetest hello.

you tilt your head. “can i go sit down or you gonna keep me hostage right here?”

“you’re mine. i’m keeping you.”

“forever?”

“duh.”

you laugh and tap her nose. “c’mon, clingy girl. let’s go.”

you both walk over to the couch, hand in hand, and juju plops down first before immediately tugging you into her lap. she wraps her arms around your waist and rests her chin on your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“you not even gonna say hi to us?” rian teases.

“hi rian,” you call without looking away from juju. “love the bun.”

“i do look cute today, thank you.”

juju buries her face in your neck again. “you smell so good.”

“i told you. everything shower. that exfoliating glove did work.”

“mmm. gonna use it next time i’m over.”

“baby, you already got a toothbrush, bonnet, pairs of socks at my place, and so many outfits. at this point, just bring another drawer.”

“say less.”

brooklyn fake-gags from the other couch cushion. “they’re so in love it’s sickening.”

“like a romcom but with jump shots,” kayleigh adds.

“like a romcom where the main character almost cried ‘cause her girl was ten minutes late,” otto corrects.

juju flips her off without even lifting her head. “snitches get stitches.”

“i’m just saying,” otto shrugs. “you were about thirty seconds away from throwing on sade and staring out the window.”

you giggle and kiss juju’s temple, “don’t worry, baby. i’ll set a timer next time. i’ll exfoliate faster.”

“nah,” juju mumbles. “take your time. just start earlier.”

“you could’ve joined me,” you say with a soft smirk.

her whole face lifts up from your neck. “say less.”

the team collectively groans in unison.

“keep it PG!” rian yells.

“we’re literally watching white chicks, not euphoria,” kayleigh chimes in.

you laugh and press your forehead to juju’s. she looks at you like you hung the moon. like you invented air. like she’s never gonna stop staring.

“you good now?” you whisper.

“better than good,” she whispers back. “i’m yours again.”

“you’re always mine.”

“yeah but now i can see you.”

you brush your thumb over her cheek and smile, “love you.”

she exhales, so soft you barely hear it, “love you more.”

“not possible.”

“don’t start this again.”

you giggle, kiss her, and she just melts right there on the couch, arms wrapped tight around your waist, hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs tangled with yours like she’s trying to fuse you together.

“we still watching this movie?” brooklyn asks.

“yeah,” otto answers. “juju’s too busy cuddling to care, but the rest of us are watching.”

you and juju settle in as the scene picks up again, her fingers tracing little circles into your side.

she keeps whispering things in your ear—soft, silly things like “you’re so pretty” and “i’m never letting you go” and “please never exfoliate without me again.”

the girls keep teasing, but it fades into background noise. the lights are low, the snacks are half-eaten, and juju’s heartbeat is slow and steady against you.

and she’s smiling again. because you’re here. finally.

and for juju, that’s all it ever takes to feel whole.

the room is quiet except for tangled playing softly in the background. lanterns floating on screen, rapunzel swaying in flynn’s arms. the scene’s all golden light and soft music.

the floor’s a mess of limbs and blankets.

rian is fast asleep beside the couch, her hand loosely tangled with yours. she must’ve grabbed it mid-yawn or mid-laugh, but now her fingers are laced through yours like she paid rent to be there.

juju notices before you do.

and she’s not having it.

you feel her shift in your lap—just the tiniest squirm—and then hear her quiet, raspy voice, “um why is she holding your hand.”

you blink. “what?”

“rian.” she whispers, eyes still mostly closed, curls smushed into your hoodie. “she’s holding your hand. what is going on.”

you smile down at her, brushing her hair back from her face, “she just knocked out like that, baby. we were talking. she must’ve grabbed it on the way to dreamland.”

juju makes a noise. somewhere between a scoff and a pout. deuce lifts his head slightly, then settles again, unimpressed.

“do you want me to move my hand?”

juju doesn’t answer right away. she just tightens her arms around your waist and nuzzles further into your chest.

“ yes,” she mumbles finally.

you laugh, real soft, and carefully slide your hand free from rian’s without waking her.

you turn and rest it back on juju’s back, rubbing slow circles over her hoodie.

“better?”

“mhm.”

“you know you’re insane, right?”

“you love it,” she mumbles, kissing your collarbone.

“you’re just being so dramatic right now.”

“i’m not dramatic. i’m territorial.”

“oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

juju pulls back slightly so she can look up at you. her eyes are heavy, half-closed, but still sharp enough to give you a full baby-faced glare.

“you’re mine,” she whispers, lips brushing your chin. “not rian’s. not anyone else’s. mine.”

“always yours,” you whisper right back.

“so if anyone’s holding your hand while you’re watching disney movies, it better be me.”a

“yes ma’am.”

she smirks. “there we go.”

you snort and lean in, kissing her softly—barely a brush of lips, more air than anything, but she exhales like it fed her soul.

deuce lets out a little huff and shifts in juju’s arms. he’s perfectly squished between you two, warm and content and possibly more spoiled than both of you combined.

“he’s such a traitor,” juju mumbles, petting his ears. “he was mine first.”

“you said that about me five minutes ago.”

“because it’s true. i had you both first. now you’re bffs without me.”

“you’re literally in my lap.”

“and he’s in my arms. i just want everyone to know whose we are.”

you giggle and kiss her temple, “you’re so clingy right now and make no sense.”

“do you want me to be quiet?”

“no, i love you like this.”

she grins sleepily, “you baby me so good.”

“you make it easy.”

she hums again and squeezes you tighter, “you smell like the expensive body wash.”

“i used the expensive body wash. you said you like when i smell like a cupcake.”

“i wanna eat you.”

you laugh too loud, and kayleigh stirs slightly from the floor.

“shhh,” you whisper, pulling the blanket up a little higher around the both of you. “you’re gonna wake them up.”

“so what,” juju mumbles. “wanna tell the whole room i love you.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you said not to ruin your rep.”

“they already know. otto’s been giving me the look all night.”

“what look?”

“the ‘damn, juju’s whipped’ look.”

you glance at otto, who’s dozing with one headphone in, arm slung across a pillow. she’s not even pretending to be part of the conversation anymore.

“baby,” you whisper, “you are whipped.”

juju presses a dramatic hand to her chest. “and proud.”

you kiss her cheek, then her jaw, then the soft skin just beneath her ear.

she wiggles a little. “mmm, that tickles.”

“good.”

“you tryna put me to sleep?”

“trying to get you to relax.”

“i am relaxed. ive never been so relaxed.”

“or clingy.”

“same thing.”

deuce yawns. it’s big and dramatic and almost human.

“he wants to be the little spoon,” juju says, readjusting him gently.

“thought you were the little spoon?”

“no, i’m the medium spoon. and he’s the little spoon.”

you grin. “what does that make me?”

“the pot i’m tryna keep all to myself.”

you stare at her. “that didn’t even make sense.”

“shhhh. cuddle me.”

you do exactly that—tucking her tighter into your chest, brushing her hair back again, letting your fingers trail down her spine like you’re playing a lullaby.

her breathing slows even more. deuce wiggles, sighs, and gives in to sleep again.

the song on the tv changes. the lantern scene is fading.

and juju, just barely awake, whispers—“don’t let anyone else hold your hand, okay?”

“never,” you whisper back. “just you, baby.”

“’kay,” she sighs. “love you.”

“love you most.”

you wake up to sunshine slicing through the blinds and juju practically wrapped around you like a weighted blanket.

her arm’s across your stomach, her leg’s thrown over yours. her face is buried in your neck and her grip is tight like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she loosens it even an inch.

you wiggle a little.

nothing.

try again.

nope.

“baby,” you whisper, gently brushing her curls off your cheek. “i gotta pee.”

juju makes a low groan, somewhere between a dying animal and a dramatic soap opera star.

“no you don’t,” she mumbles, voice muffled by your collarbone.

“juju, i literally do. like literally.”

“hold it.”

“i’m not holding it.”

“then pee right here, i dare you.”

“what’s wrong with you.”

“you’re comfy. shut up.”

you laugh softly and try to shift again, but she tightens her grip like a clingy little koala, still half-asleep and absolutely unbothered.

you glance down at her — puffy eyes, sleepy pout, hoodie sleeves bunched at her elbows — and shake your head.

“you’re annoying.”

“you’re warm.”

“so is the sun, but i don’t see you clinging to that.”

“can’t kiss the sun.”

“would you die if you weren’t kissed?”

“yeah. but i would also die right here if you leave me.”

you groan and give in, settling back under the blanket with a dramatic sigh.

“good,” juju whispers, nuzzling your neck with a smug smile. “you learnin’.”

it’s quiet for a beat. then—

click click click.

little paws patter across the floor.

you lift your head just in time to see deuce trot past the couch, tail wagging, tongue out, absolutely no loyalty in sight.

“is that deuce up this early?”

juju groans and turns her head. “bro. not the walk of shame.”

you snort. “where was he even—”

“i watched him cuddle up with rian and brooklyn last night like he ain’t got a mama. a hoe.”

“he’s a dog.”

“he’s a male. not shocked.”

you both watch as deuce struts right past the people knocked out on the floor and pads into juju’s room like he owns it.

“oh wow,” juju mutters. “not him leaving me to go lay up with otto.”

you laugh into your pillow. “your son’s out here switching teams mid-movie night.”

“hoe behavior. can’t raise ‘em right.”

“you raised him to be clingy. just like you.”

juju gasps. “i am not clingy.”

you arch an eyebrow. “you wouldn’t let me go pee.”

she pauses. “okay. but i’m romantically attached. there’s a difference.”

“uh huh.”

“shut up.”

another pause. quiet now except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional sleepy sigh from the girls on the floor.

then, softly, “…i just hate being away from you.”

your heart tugs.

you glance down again — she’s still holding you, face soft now, less pouty, more vulnerable. voice smaller.

“like,” she adds, “not in a weird, codependent way. i just… i get scared sometimes.”

you run your fingers through her hair, gently. “scared of what, baby?”

“of waking up and you not being here. or you changing your mind. or just, you leaving.”

you go quiet. not because you don’t have words, but because you feel all of hers in your chest like a bruise.

“juju…”

“i’ve never had someone be my safe space before,” she whispers. “like, actually. not just fake-cute. i melt when you hold me. i breathe better.”

you press your lips to her forehead and let them linger.

“it’s not that i don’t trust you,” she says quickly, like she’s scared she’s said it wrong. “it’s just i trust you so much, it makes me afraid. like, if you left, i’d be lost. not ‘cause i can’t live without you. i can. i just wouldn’t wanna.”

you exhale slowly and pull her tighter.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

“promise?”

“promise.”

she nods and sniffles once, real soft. “okay. cool. that’s all i needed.”

you cup her cheek and tilt her face up toward yours, brushing your thumb gently across her skin.

“you’re my safe space too, ju,” you whisper. “you get that, right?”

she stares at you for a second, then leans in and kisses you like she believes it now.

like she feels it in every inch of her skin.

after a beat, she pulls back with a little grin.

“you still gotta hold your pee, though.”

you groan and fall back into the pillows.

“you’re the worst.”

“no? i’m the best. your best.“

“you’ve held onto me all night.”

“who cares?”

“you trapped me.”

“with love, pretty.”

“you play so unfair.”

she giggles and curls up even tighter, leg now fully wedged between yours.

“i’m not lettin’ you off this couch ‘til i get pancakes and more kisses.”

“what if i have to pee again?”

“pee after pancakes. priorities.”

you kiss her forehead again. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“i know.”

you both go quiet again. the kind of quiet that feels full, not empty.

and just when your eyes start fluttering shut again—you hear otto’s voice echo from the bedroom, “ju! why is deuce in here spooning me like i’m his mom?”

juju bursts out laughing into your shoulder, voice muffled and delighted, “that’s what she gets for taking my son.”

you giggle and pull her close again.

and in that moment — tangled blankets, scattered friends, a hoe dog, and your clingy, sleepy, annoyingly perfect girlfriend in your arms — there’s nowhere else in the world you’d rather be.

© fuddaround

[san8ny]

can you pls write nerdy ellie? it can be sfw or nsfw

HOT! HOT!

?: Ellie is alot of things: She’s well articulated, She’s liked around campus, but for the life of her, she cannot get laid. It’s gotten pretty embarrassing, maybe you can help? - NSFW - Excuse me for any spell checks!

!: My mutuals have really yummy fics about nerd!Ellie so please let me know if you’d like any recommendations. - Thank you for your anon, means sm to me baby

You stare at her with an incredulous expression, the sight alone being one of pure unbridled shock upon this new-found discovery.

“Never?”

“Never.”

She reaffirms after you, running a nervous hand through her auburn tresses to ease the silent tension in the air. Ellie Williams, all around “good at fucking anything,” is a virgin. The thought alone was something that poked curiosity and incredulity. You knew she was quite kept to herself, often times busying with books and videogames, but this was something you didn’t expect. I mean, she was with Dina at one point.

You don’t want to make her make her more uncomfortable than the topic is, so you give her some form of comfort; “It’s quite normal, honestly, I don’t even blame you in this society.”

That earns you a laugh and a slight snort from her, throwing her head slightly back. “Yeah?”

You return a chuckle, shrugging, “Yeah, but you’ve atleast kissed before, right?

She immediately quiets down, olive-toned cheeks flushing with a light wash of embarrassment.

Holy fuck.

If you weren’t shocked before, you were gawking now.

“D-don’t look at me like that, man..” She groans, tossing her glasses onto the coffee table as she buries her face in a nearby decorative throw-pillow. “No, no— I don’t mean in a bad way, just surprised.”

“Surprised?” She murmurs softly, staring at the dim dorm lightbulb that hangs above them, “That’s a first. Dina usually calls me forcibly celibate.”

You want to curse yourself at the noise you let out, eyes watering as you slap your mouth with a cupped palm. Ellie side-eyes you with a scoff as she gets up from her seat, “Yeah, Yeah, Alright—“

“I’ll be serious! I promise.” You call out, reaching for her wrist to sit her back down, to which she does.

“Have you ever, like, considered it, though?”

Her interest piques at this turn, reaching for her glasses back, “What? Having sex?”

Well, duh.

Ellie hums, thinking about it for a second, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it..” She trails off, wiping her lenses with the corner of her graphic-tee, before putting them on. “Only to someone I really like.”

“Aw, that’s actually really sweet, I actually had a friend once who—

“Which is why I want you to fuck me.” She bluntly puts, staring at you four-eyed.

. . .

“Come again?” You cock your head out, “You want me to..?”

She inches forward, nodding like a bobblehead, “Yeah! It makes sense. You’re my friend, and I like you, so it’ll work.” You sigh, shaking your head, “Ells, it doesn’t work like that. What if you regret it?”

“So you’d agree to it if I don’t regret it?” She smiles, tone a bit ecstatic as she sees you entertain the idea.

She really was putting you on the spot, huh?

You stare at her for a bit, studying her face. She seemed enthusiastic about getting the opportunity to even lay hands on your soft skin. Saying you were pretty was an understatement, you were the epitome of wet-dreams; She was head over heels pretty much in-love with you, and the idea of even losing such a prize position like her virginity to you symbolized things she could only dream about.

You roll your eyes as you both kneel on her mattress, her fiddling with your bra like it’s the most complicated thing. “This shit is a death machine, holy smokes.”

Holy smokes?

When she finally succeeds, she’s jittery and giggling to herself, scooting back into the pillows to get a good look at your beautiful breasts. “They’re so fucking hot, ohmygod..” Next thing you know, she’s cupping them softly, kneading the fleshy dough in circular motions, gaze fixed on the way your back arches ever so slightly, eyes fluttering. So she is doing something, right?

She leans her head down, giving your perked areolas experimental licks, opting to suckle them when you give her the green. Your hand finds itself buried in her hair, massaging her tender scalp while she works her tongue on your sensitive buds, closing her own eyes at the pure idea she might be making you feel good.

After a while, you pull her off your tits, pushing her down onto the sheets as she looks at you confused. Poor baby doesn’t understand sex is transactional because she’s too busy giving you her all. You smile softly, leaning over her, legs on each side of her torso as you give her a kiss on the lips, the brief ‘smooch’ sound music to her ears as she opens her heavy lidded eyes back again; they’re filled with neediness, a surge of wanting to be touched more.

By the time you’ve readied her for the real thing, littering her body in soft bruising marks, her voice slightly higher pitched with each ‘uhn!’ she lets out, brows scrunched together and lips slightly ajar, coated in a sheen of saliva from how you kiss her with reassurance you’ll take care of her— she’s telling you with pants, no, begging— “P-please, baby? ‘Can’t take it anymore..”

She means her bottoms, fabric cruely soaked and covered in her own arousal from all the attention you’ve been giving her; Ellie feels lightheaded, tears brimming her crinkled eyes when you thumb her through her boxers. However, words cannot explain the feeling that rushes through her when you lean down and lick a fat strip through the cloth, eyes locked on hers. She hiccups a gasp, shuddering as the cold air hits her mound when you pull the elastic band from the side.

“I wanted to eat it through it, but I think you’re a bit impatient for that, so i’ll cut to what you want.” You whisper, warm breath fanning over her sensitive pussy. By the time you dig in, she’s whining at volumes you literally need to reach up her torso and cover her mouth.

“Uhn! Uhn—! F-fuck—?”

What sorcery did you have on her? Genuinely? She can’t believe she’s been withholding herself from such pleasure, your tongue trudging through her gummy folds making her want to die and come back again. She can barely even think straight, letting out muffled wails against your hand, saliva seeping through and rolling down your wrist in dribbles. You’d be disgusted, but the sight alone boosts your ego, you had her whipped.

Was it mentioned she’s already orgasmed before you even went near her cunt? That’s right, she already came once while you two were kissing. You definitely knew she’d atleast finish early, but damn were you surprised when she shook against you, humming against your lips rhythmatically.

“Am I making you feel good, baby? Can you talk f’me?”

She could barely hear you, and here you were, asking damn questions. Nonetheless, she gives you a small huff in response; alluding that she was somewhat conscious.

Once you deliver her to cum, she’s shivering against the sheets, balling her fists up as you rip both a cry, and orgasm out of her. “A-Ahnnnn..?!.”

Rest of the night, you two went at it like animals; Ellie insisting you teach her everything there was to know about sex in a singular sitting— ..fucking? To say you both tired eachother out would be an underemphasis.

You ruined her.

When you both seemingly knock out, well, atleast you, she slowly sits up, biting her bottom lip in anticipation as she gazes around your naked body, you were gonna sleep over..

She seems more excited at the prospect you’ll stay the night than the fact you two have been literally keeping the entire female dormitory quarters up— likely going to be hit with a personal visit by the RA.

Who cares, not Ellie for sure. She’ll happily flaunt the fact she’s (finally) got some, just to show off.

God, was she a geek.

[leyavo]

Dad!141 & how they use their military experience on the kids.

John uses the year’s worth of being captain to his advantage. He’s the one to resolve silly fighting between his three girls, even it’s about wearing the other one’s top (he’s got years worth of the 141’s squabbling under his belt). He never raises his hand or voice, but he’ll sit his girls down and let them talk in turns. And when it’s been sorted out they each kiss his cheek and leave the table. The girls calling it the Captain’s court when they’re in their teen years. When he’s away he’s asking you the latest gossip about the girls.

He demands respect, but also knows that it’s earnt not given. Taking time to know each daughter, help them and encourage them to speak up when they don’t agree. Wants his girls to question everything and not be unprepared for men in the real world. He knows how horrible they can be.

Simon doesn’t realise how neat he is until he has kids and the only way he can get them to clean their room is to inspect them like he would the barracks. His daughter and son stood by their beds, sheets tucked under the mattress just like daddy taught them. He bites back the smile as his son kicks some dirty socks under the bed. “You forget to tuck teddy in?” He raises his brow at his daughter who’s still clutching the brown bear behind her back as if she tidied just as his footsteps were heard coming up the stairs.

He normally does it on the weekend, Saturday morning whilst they’re both in their pyjamas. The one day you get to lay in, whilst he checks the room and goes on a walk with the kids and dog. Doesn’t matter if it’s rain or shine they do it every Saturday. “Everything has a place Dad’.” His eldest son will say as they look for the lead, only to find out Rocky the German shepherd already has it in his mouth.

Kyle uses his military training to tire the kids out before bed. He’s even created a little set of exercises to get them moving, but it’s backfired because now they’ve made him do it alongside them (this also allows you free time to have a bath). Which also tires him out and sometimes he falls asleep before they do. Little fingers poking his cheek as they whisper goodnight daddy in his ear, followed by a wet kiss on his cheek or forehead. He chases them up the stairs, shouting orders whilst they giggle trying not to get caught. Then he tucks them in joking about how they can’t get up till 0600 hours. They get him up at five some days.

Gets in trouble with his mum, granny Garrick when they make her do the exercises before bed when they stay the night at hers. So he ends up making up an easier set just for granny’s. Also has a training schedule for the summer holidays which is more tailored for fun activities to do with him. Building an assault course for water gun wars is one of them.

Johnny has a gaggle of kids four, you yelling at them not to forget their homework or their packed lunch. It’s loud in the mornings and Johnny ends up treating it like preparing for a mission. Has a bell he rings to wake them up on school days, the youngest staying in bed till it’s her turn to brush her teeth.

Now the night before the kids pack their bags, hang them on their designated hook on the wall with their coats. There’s a bathroom schedule and an assembly line waiting for breakfast to be put on their plates. You smiling at him as he managed to give you an easier time. He also counts theirs heads before he gets in to the car for the school run. Sometimes miscounts on purpose to tease them. Calling their names in their seats along sure their all. “Eh, we’re all ere captain.” His kids are menaces they call him Captain Scotland, they ask him when his shield’s getting delivered. “Not that type of Captain.” “Nah Da’ used to blow stuff up!”

[Masterlist]

I’m dyslexic so there might be mistakes/errors. I do try to edit multiple time but still miss stuff - Leya 🫡

[dreamersparacosm]

i want jealous jungkook too...but do you know who i want him to be jealous of? BAM. I WANT OC AND BAM I WANT THEM

tpod!jungkook would absolutely be jealous of a dog. like he already fought to have you, now he has to fight with his own dog?? what kind of world is this?

the price of desire — epilogue blurb 1!

prompt ; in which jungkook’s biggest competition isn’t a man, but his own doberman.

warnings ; none!

Here’s the thing about Jeon Jungkook: when you’re in Korea, he simply forgets how to function like a normal human being.

Sure, he could go to rehearsals. He could hang out with the boys, lift heavy things at the gym, play with Bam at the dog park until one of them drops dead from exhaustion. He could — and does — have a life outside of you.

But unfortunately, that’s impossible to uphold currently. Because Jungkook, in all his stubbornness, has decided that when you are in Korea, you are his life.

So he waits, with the particular blend of patience and agitation that only the hopelessly devoted can manage.

He waits while you sit through endless meetings in the Seoul office where he assumes you're probably reshaping the course of fashion history. Meanwhile, he — professional idol, household name, literal global phenomenon — spends his entire afternoon fluttering around the house like an overgrown golden retriever preparing for your arrival back.

When you finally do appear, hours later than you promised (”just a quick check-in meeting,” you said, like a liar), he’s orchestrated the perfect welcome. There’s even some of your candles lit that you got from the market the other afternoon.

He made sure to put on that stupid grey hoodie you once said you liked, the one that makes him look especially ‘boyfriend-coded’ which is insane because he is your boyfriend, but whatever, he’s trying to a better man for you.

There he stands in the entryway as your keys jiggle in the lock, heart metaphorically cupped in his hands like an anxious teenager, waiting for the moment your eyes find him after a day at work.

The door swings open with comedic timing.

You enter, still clad in your professional clothes, designer bag hanging from your shoulder. Your gaze performs a quick sweep of the space, a radar searching for something that’s not him.

Somehow, impossibly, you miss the tall international superstar practically vibrating with anticipation directly in your line of sight.

It’s too late; your attention has already locked, with laser-guided precision, onto what is apparently the actual love of your life.

"Bam!" You gasp, the name ripping from your throat with the same intensity usually reserved for reunion scenes in war movies. His dog doesn’t fight it, just wags his tail and pants excitedly when he realizes you’re home.

Just like that, Jungkook experiences the unique displeasure of watching himself become irrelevant.

He stands, a bewildered expression on his face, as you drop your bag, drop your coat, drop your body at Bam’s unsuspecting feet. Within seconds, you've transformed from fashion industry powerhouse to someone talkimg in a baby voice to a dog on his entryway floor. “Oh my god, Look at you, you handsome boy! Did you miss me? I missed you so much, mwah!”

You're now kissing the dog. Not polite little pecks, but full-on, emotionally-invested mouth kisses, as if you've spent your entire day in meetings plotting how to most effectively transfer your affection to this four-legged creature while breaking his owner's heart.

Jungkook watches this betrayal unfold, holding a spatula, like he’s someone who's just realized he's accidentally enrolled in the world's most elaborate third-wheel masterclass.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He clears his throat once.

Nothing.

He shifts his weight to his other foot.

Still… nothing. No passing glance.

Sprawled on his floor in complete surrender, you’re essentially involved in an impromptu romance with his pet. Jungkook — who has spent the last three hours committing culinary crimes against rice and desperately channeling his mother's cooking spirit — stands frozen.

It’s fine. Completely fine. Absolutely, one hundred percent acceptable.

Except for the tiny detail that he’s mentally drafting adoption papers for Bam.

He clears his throat again, louder this time and pointedly.

Finally, as if emerging from a trance, you glance up. “Hi, baby," You chirp, lips puckering in his direction, clearly expecting him to bridge the gap.

As if he's some lovesick sitcom husband whose entire world revolves around whatever affection you decide to toss his way. (Which…alright. Maybe he is. But acknowledging that would undermine his current position.)

Jungkook stares back at you, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a flat line.

Your eyebrows furrow, lips still suspended mid-pucker. When his statue holds firm, you slowly lower your mouth into a frown.

"...Hello?" You venture from your position on the floor, blinking up at him.

"Hi," He returns.

You narrow your eyes into little slits, hands still rubbing Bam’s head. "Come here."

"No."

"Why?"

"You kissed the dog," He announces petulantly.

You blink again. And then, because you are exactly the kind of woman who built a million-dollar career off smelling blood in the water, you grin.

“Oh my god,” you say, already laughing. “Are you—?”

You dramatically disengage from Bam, remaining on your knees but pressing both hands to your chest in a theatrical gesture. “Are you jealous? Of Bam?"

Jungkook's jaw flexes. He glares at some fascinating invisible point approximately six inches to the left of your head.

“I'm not jealous," He mutters, hands clasped behind his back as he avoids your gaze. (Which is exactly what someone jealous would say.)

"You're jealous of your own dog," You whisper, tone faux sympathy.

You shift your weight back, settling onto your heels, craning your neck to study him like he's a fascinating psychological case study.

Bam, however, is blissfully unaware of his central role in this drama. He wags his tail so hard that his whole butt is moving side to side like a windshield wiper.

"I leave for a couple of hours," you observe with fascination, "and you've already picked a fight with a literal puppy."

"He's not even a puppy anymore," Jungkook snaps back instantly, as if the classification of his ‘competitor’ is somehow the most pressing issue in this standoff.

You gasp, one hand flying to clutch at imaginary pearls. “Oh my god. You're calling him old? You're losing it, Jeon."

"I'm not losing it," He grumbles defensively.

The evidence suggests otherwise.

You rise to your feet slowly and saunter over to him. He stands there, arms still crossed, watching you approach with a suspicious squint.

You stop inches in front of him. Looking up through your lashes with innocence that wouldn't fool a toddler (but still somehow works on global superstars), you deploy your sweetest, most saccharine tone: "Baby," you murmur, "Love of my life."

Your hands slide up his chest, fingers toying with the neckline of his hoodie. The very one he selected for your approval, now weaponized against him.

"Don't tell me you're scared," you whisper with mock concern, eyes wide. "That Bam's gonna steal me away?"

His response surpasses non-verbal communication: silence paired with a scowl.

You grin evilly, and you lean forward until your lips brush against the shell of his ear. “He does have better hair than you," you tease.

Jungkook jerks back like he’s been electrocuted, mouth falling open in outrage.

"I knew it," he declares. "I knew you liked him better!"

Your laughter echoes throughout the whole room. His expression remains fixed in accusation, still treating your interaction with Bam — who has now abandoned you two to roll on his back in blissful oblivion — as a mortal enemy who must be defeated.

You wipe under your eyes dramatically, pulling yourself together with exaggerated effort before tilting your head.

"It's okay, baby," you console with insincerity. "Some men just can't handle the competition."

The scowl on his face deepens.

You nod solemnly, caressing his bicep. "Maybe you should work on your wagging. And your fur. I mean, Bam's coat? Impeccable."

Jungkook's mouth drops open again in shock.

You heave a long-suffering sigh, the sound of someone burdened with the great responsibility of being with a ridiculous man.

“God,” you roll your eyes, stepping into his space and grabbing a fistful of the front of his hoodie. “You’re so dramatic.”

And before he can launch into another argument, you yank him down and press your lips to his. Firm, no-nonsense, entirely fed up, but still soft because, unfortunately, you’re obsessed with him. (But he’s obsessed with you right back.)

He smiles against your lips, the ones that taste like some coconut lip balm you always wear.

Of course, though, he can’t leave it alone. Has to get the last word in, even when his hands are sliding up your sides and his chest is rumbling with happiness.

“You taste like dog,” He mumbles into your mouth and when you pull back to glare at him, he grins wider, looking downright pleased with himself.

masterlist + request

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The Eltingville Club has a crush

Bill/Josh/Pete/Jerry x fem!reader

warning : The four losers have a crush on you and can't handle it, no use of y/n, fluff (as far as this is even possible with them)

info : Welcome my dear readers to the latest fandom I opened, the four losers are just disgustingly cute, hope you like it and as always have fun reading :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bill

The moment he dreamt of you, when his beautiful, lustful Star Trek dream was interrupted by the sight of you. A sight that shouldn't have thrilled him so much when he saw you in that short red uniform...a dream that showed him you out of all people.

Bill would hold his tongue, not daring to tell the others. The bad thing was that he couldn't ignore you, you were in class and you were only a few seats away from him.

But his eyes couldn't stop looking at you, he'd long since finished his algebra exercises and he just couldn't bring himself to read a comic book, he was too absorbed by you.

Worst of all your smile had turned his cheeks red with anger and shame, how dare a normal boring person look at him, the leader of the club. But the beating of his heart was not out of anger, when he heard a click at the end of the hour and saw your pen drop, his body seemed to move on its own.

He didn't have to look up to see you, he stood in front of the centre of your body and hastily turned his head away, ,,Your pen" he pressed out and flinched as your fingers brushed his, ,,Thank you Bill...nice major violence t-shirt" he heard you say and looked at you in disbelief.

A female being...a female being knew comics?! Wordlessly grabbing his things and swearing he heard the shouts of his friends, but he didn't dare turn round because then he would see you again and that damned smile.

Bill had a never ending denial phase but with a little time who knows maybe you'll bump into each other in the library and you'll engage him in a conversation about comics well maybe from now on it will be a repeat meeting just the two of you and maybe two hearts beating for each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Josh

He couldn't explain it, but for some time his searches for action fugues and collectible figures went in a female direction, not unusual when he wanted to see his sexist B-movie stars in skimpy clothes...what was unusual though was that they all started to look like you.

A realisation that left him breathless as if after a short sprint as he looked at the figure in a pink top and tight jeans with red lipsticked lips, ,,No-No this can't be true!" he shouted at the figure he had fetched from the mailbox. An outfit he would recognise anywhere.

It was the same outfit you wore last week, an outfit that had drawn his attention to the wearer. He hadn't been able to get you out of his head, this beauty that hardly any figure could portray, a body that was so much more flexible than any figure he had.

At school he sat a few seats away from you, the assignments long finished and Josh hoped for the break when he could go to the club room with the others. A room they went to after the bell rang and he suddenly saw you coming towards him.

To his amazement, he saw a 1981 Wonder Woman figurine in your hands with the glowing exclusive laso of truth and stopped in front of you. ,,Where did you get it?" he asked, his voice almost breaking and barely hearing his volume, not seeing his friends looking at him in anger and confusion as he almost crushed you.

Her answer of ,,I collect heroine figures for the film club I make stopmotion films with them" left his mouth hanging open before his expression became one of excitement. ,,New possibilities!" he shouted hastily, touching the figurine hurriedly but carefully, feeling the warmth of his fingers on hers as he ran back to his friends.

But the next day he sneaked into your club, having brought his own figures to shoot action-packed scenes for the camera. They were the best when it came to shooting and moving the characters, but most of all it was the hours they spent together and besides the films, their feelings seemed to come together like a film.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pete

Lost in his horror films he hadn't noticed it at first, he had looked through his collection so many times and it only occurred to him now when he looked at the cover for Bloody Wednesday, ,,By the machete of Jason" he said surprised when the woman on the cover looked too much like you.

A resemblance he had noticed as his gaze lingered rather obviously on the top, the way the bright colour hugged the torso and that amused look as you chatted with your friends, Pete was a simple horror fan and the idea of seeing you in a zombie apocalypse was just thrilling.

His love of horror seemed to be spreading, at least his heart wasn't beating from the excitement of a Twin Peaks marathon, but from seeing you at lunchtime. His wide grin, the just-too-exuberant look in his eyes, he knew he was going to be the first with a girlfriend.

Of course he had to be the first, his charm and perverted nature he just had to be the first. Of course, at the next club meeting there was a fit of laughter from the others who made fun of both his hope and his misconception.

After all, no clear-thinking female being would be willing to put up with a horror freak like him, would she? At least he wouldn't give up hope, even if it meant that he would be pulled back down to earth. Not taking his eyes off you at school, he waited for the ‘right’ moment.

A moment just before the end of the break, he came up to you in a b-movie ripe moment he let himself stumble and dropped a few of his best horror films and characters in front of you, ,,All good? Nice horror collection" he heard the anxious little question and saw that she was already starting to pick up his things.

,,It's all right now, beauty" he winked, his voice almost carrying over as their hands touched and he saw the smirk on her lips. But this cinematic meeting seemed to turn into a horror film date after school. Maybe he would be the first one with a girlfriend after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jerry

On the floor of his room were dice, books, maps, and trading cards from the latest set for his next campaign, which he was preparing. But his eyes didn't leave the card of the fairy princess, because this painted beauty looked a lot like you.

Of course he had seen the fairy princess many times before, but the more he looked at the card, the more captivated he became. ,,How did you escape me?” he wondered, placing the tip of his finger on her hand. She looked exactly like his classmate Dain.

A realization that his friends, however, rather dismissed as his imagination and a bad hope when the four of them had retreated into the shade of the schoolyard to read comics and hope that school was finally over so they could join the club. But Jerry, Jerry's gaze was not on the speech bubbles, his gaze was on his fairy princess.

A princess who sat alone on a bench, nibbling on a muesli bar while enjoying the sun. She looked so pretty, a delicate creature, a future queen of the mystical realm of the forest to which he would send his friends in the next campaign.

The break was over, however, and just as they rose, a gust of wind blew and with a shrill scream, Jerry hurried after his fairy princess card that had been blown out of his hand. ,,Come back, my holiness!” he called angrily and saw his fingers close around the card you had snatched out of the air.

Puzzled and cautious, he stopped a few meters away from you, his tousled blonde hair slightly blocking his view as he saw you coming towards him. ,,The fairy princess, future ruler of the realm, an outstandingly pretty card” your words left him speechless as he felt your gentle hand on his for a moment when you returned it to him.

It was only a brief meeting, one that seemed destined to be short-lived, but it was a meeting that would become many. Jerry could always hear his beating heart when he had his elf princess in front of him, her voice reporting cards and the princess finding her prince more attractive than any other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~