#and will nose her way into things at times

[fushiguho]

roommate! choso is being awfully mean! maybe he’s just jealous that you’re seeing other people after you’ve let him cum inside you how many times? </3

warnings dom! choso, fem! reader, mean/bully choso, breeding, possessive, unprotected sex, mentions of cheating, mentions of impregnating the reader and keeping her forever, implied free use, spitting in mouth, choso has a filthy mouth

“where are you going now?”

briefly, you glance up from the makeup palette in your hand. choso’s hard, darkened gaze catches yours in the mirror of your vanity. he leans against the wooden frame of your bedroom door with his arms crossed over his chest, eyeing you silently as you doll yourself up. you smile cheekily, patting your cheeks with blush.

“on a date.” you hum.

“with that loser?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes at his predictable bitterness. what a jealous fuck, you think as you turn away to fish for a tube of lipgloss. his feet patter softly as he creeps further into your girlishly ornamented room. an enervated sigh parts your lips when he plops a seat at the edge of your bed, sitting adjacent to you.

“is that what you’re wearing?” he muses. something unreadable mars his face as he reaches over, tugging at the thin fabric of your tiny silk dress. “bit much for a second date, huh?”

god, he is just so painfully in love jealous that it’s ripping him in two. he hates the way you smell, the way you do your hair, the way you giggle at everything. he almost can’t stand to watch as you play dress up for a man who doesn’t even fuck you properly—not to choso’s standards anyway.

after the first date you brought the man home, and much to both of your dismay, you were greeted with choso’s unwelcoming presence—a slender and shirtless frame sprawled across the couch like the damn man of the house. he held a can of soda and a glowering snarl that he hoped would ward the loser off.

but later that night, he could make out the sounds of your pleasureful cries as they bled through your bedroom walls. he felt sick to his stomach, but then he could hear the way you mistakenly moaned his name instead, and it ruined him. he stroked his poor, aching cock so angrily that night, nothing evident but you.

that loser wouldn’t push you up the bathroom sink and yank your panties down. he wouldn’t whisper horrible things into your ear while fingering that pretty, aching pussy. definitely wouldn’t rub your clit so sloppy that you’re begging to feel his cock instead. choso knows he’s the only man that will fuck you the way that slutty cunt deserves.

“does he know that you let me fuck you like a slut?” choso asks offhandedly. he’s mindlessly twirling one of your makeup brushes between his fingers, chin resting within the palm of his opposing hand. “and that you begged me to cum inside of you like what… an hour before your first date?”

you smooth your hands down your dress, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. choso is brash and bitter and impolite and you made the honest mistake of falling for him; now you can’t seem to get rid him. you’re addicted and he knows it—knows he’s the only one that’s ever made you cum, the only one that’s seen the way you really like to fuck.

“you should tell him,” he’s closer now, button nose pressed to your cheek, inhaling. “think he’d stay with you if he knew that his new little girlfriend was letting her roommate cum inside of her pussy, huh?”

“c— choso, he’s on his way, please.”

“he’ll just have to fucking wait then, won’t he?”

a big, cunning hand is spreading your thighs and cupping your bare pussy. choso gasps, utterly staggered by the sudden warmth of your sticky arousal and how it’s drooooling down the palm of his hand. you can’t help but to bite your lip, swallowing the pathetic little whimper that sits in your chest.

“were you gonna let him fuck you in this?” as one of his big hands trail beneath the fabric of your dress, you nod. “yeah? were you gonna let him pull your dress up like this and fuck that pretty little pussy?”

“yes,” it’s only a breath as you roll your hips into his hand, chasing that warm, delicious friction. “but i want it to be you… wan’ you to f-fuck me. he doesn’t touch me right.”

“i know, baby,” he coos, holding out his hands for you. “he’s a fucking loser, isn’t he?”

a loud, assenting whimper leaves you as you clamber over to him. choso grins widely, something wicked flickering in his darkened gaze as he pulls you onto his lap. he audibly inhales your scent before groaning into your skin. warm, calloused hands creep further up your dress, silky fabric bunching around your waist. you’re dizzy off of his touch, head spinning like a record as you arch into his embrace. god, you’re perfect like this.

this always feels so right and you hate it. you hate the way he smells, the way you let him touch you, the way he makes you feel. you hate how the palpable thud of your heart beats somewhere much deeper, much more aching. and you hate that he knows how to get you so fucking wet that you’re crying to feel his big, pretty cock inside of you.

“please just fuck me,” you’re just whining so perfectly for him while you impatiently fist the waistband of his sweats. “choso, please?” you sound hungry, much like your gaze and eager hands as you successfully bare his long, pretty shaft. “i want it… wanna feel your cock before he gets here.”

“yeah? you want me to ruin that pussy before you go? you’re so wet for it,” the entirety of his palm is sliding between your swollen, glossy lips and you shudder. “you missed my cock, huh?” the smile that cracks along his face is unmistakably possessive.

your arousal drips from his fingers like honey as he grips the base of his hooked shaft, indulgently slathering your essence down to his balls. another big hand claims your hip, forcing you up to hover over the glistening head of his cock, slick dripping. choso slaps his sticky tip against your sloppy entrance thrice before sinking deeeep inside of your cunt in one, mean thrust.

he holds you still, toned arms wrapped near possessively around your body so that he can fuck you in place. you’re swallowing all of his long, intentional thrusts, that pretty pussy sucking him in so fucking deep that you’ve forgotten why you even wanted to move on in the first place.

choso lets off a deep, gutteral moan while grazing his teeth over the column of your throat. he licks your skin hungrily, his tongue so hot and wet that it makes you tighten around him in a horrendous need. arousal drips from your perfectly stuffed cunt down to the fat of his balls as they slap against your ass in loud, audible plaps!

“you’re mine,” choso breathes, fingers latching to the nape of your neck. “forever, you hear me? you’ll never escape me,” he’s forcing your head back to mark up your throat. a hand pulls you closer, deepening your pretty little arch. “don’t care how many fucking men you bring over here… you’ll just have to explain to them why you’ve already got someone else’s cum inside of you, won’t you?”

you gasp, brows furrowing in arousal. “cho, you’re s-so mean,”

“and he’s too fucking nice… you don’t like nice guys, they don’t fuck like this,” choso’s thumb drags over your aching clit and you whine into his ear. “he will never fuck you the way i do. god, does he even know that you like to get fucked like a w-whore, huh?” his lips settle against the warm spot that pulses below your jaw. “do you beg him to fuck you harder? deeper?”

“n-no, fuck… c— chosooo,”

“probably fucks you like you’re made of porcelain—too scared to break you but little does he fucking know.”

choso’s hand closes around your throat and you moan, pretty eyes threatening to cross like such a slut. he squeezes the sides of your neck, slender fingers creeping up your jaw. the pad of his thumb is prying your mouth open and rivulets of drool cascade down his hand. he kisses you sloppily, groaning into your honeyed mouth while tasting your saliva. for a moment he pulls away, a shiny wisp of spit tethering your bottom lips together.

“open your mouth,” he mutters, squishing your cheeks.

and you do, that wet, pretty tongue lolling out so obediently while you wait for his next command. choso’s fingers are threading throughout the hair at your nape, drawing your head back. his darkened gaze catches yours, holding the cruel contact while spitting into your awaiting mouth. a nasty, guttural sound leaves him as he begins to suck on your tongue, kissing you hungrily.

you’re a wreck, crying and whimpering around his cock like such a nasty girl while he fucks you from beneath, muttering nothing but filth into your ear. he’s stretching you out completely, his long, curved shaft fucking to the very back of your sloppy cunt like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. and his hand are everywhere—wrapping around your throat, pulling at the fat of your ass, spreading you apart, and grazing over your hard, sensitive nipples.

“i wanna cummm,” you whimper. a cloud of dizzying arousal swirls in your tummy, your wet, aching pussy tightening around his cock so desperately. “wanna cum with you, please? choso, wanna feel your cum while i cum…”

“yeaaah, you want me to breed that pussy?” his cock throbs when you nod to him, balls tightening unbearably. “should just knock you up and keep you here forever… bear all my fucking kids, huhhh?”

the thought of bearing his children alone is what has you gushing down the length of his cock without warning. you’re gone, rutting your hips and arching your back like the greedy little thing he knows you are. you’re making such a mess, arousal trickling down to his balls, and it’s the feeling of your sloppy orgasm that has choso spilling a hot, syrupy load inside of your pulsing cunt.

“take it, take it… take all of my f-fucking cum, baby,” his hips stutter, breath hitching as he stuffs his face into the crook of your neck, hungrily biting your skin and growling. “you’re allll fucking mine—mine to fuck, mine to breed, mine to use whenever i want, yeah?”

choso nods your head for you, fingers digging into your cheeks while forcing your head up and down. pleased, he slips himself out of you to set you onto your bed, kindly pulling your dress back into place. a cruel smile plays his lips as you press your thighs together, knowing that his cum is leaking from your pretty little hole and surely staining the silk of your dress.

a loud knock at the front door makes you gasp, choso smiles.

“tell that loser i said hey.”

[yueebby]

the bet — jason todd

synopsis. it’s harder to keep your relationship with jason a secret from the world greatest detectives than you thought. aka 3 times each wayne family member tries to prove that you and jason are together and 1 time they actually do.

notes. ooc. tooth. rotting. fluff. like 3k words of it and im sick. my first time writing for jason ever yay!

“You know, if you stare any harder, you might actually burn a hole through her head.”

Dick’s teasing voice slices through the comfortable silence between the two brothers, save for the distant sirens and the low hum of Gotham’s never-ending nightlife below them. They’re perched on a rooftop across from an upscale bar, the neon sign casting a soft glow on their suits. Through the massive glass windows, you sit at the bar, leaning in with an easy, disarming laugh as the suspect, some sleazy drug trafficker falls right into your trap.

Jason, crouched beside Dick with his elbows on his knees, grumbles beneath his mask. “I’m not staring.”

Dick lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. Then I must be hallucinating.”

“I thought we got you checked out for that already,” Jason shoots back, his voice sharp.

Dick winces, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Low blow.”

“It was pretty funny.”

Dick doesn’t argue, just settles into a knowing silence, watching as Jason’s hand unconsciously flexes against the holster at his hip.

Jason exhales through his nose, his jaw ticking. “I don’t understand why she has to flirt to get intel. We could just beat the answers out of these guys. Hell, we’d probably get it faster.”

The older vigilante shakes his head. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘covert op’ like bashing heads through walls.” His voice is light, but his eyes flicker to the way Jason’s fingers tighten around the grip of his gun. “Relax. Your sweetheart can handle herself.”

Jason freezes, but only for a fraction of a second. His heart, though, does that annoying thing where it skips a beat, both traitorous and stupid.

Your sweetheart.

Not that anyone knew. Not that anyone could know. As much as he wanted to grab you by the waist and kiss you breathless after missions, he wasn’t about to hand his family more ammunition for their relentless teasing.

Dick, for one, was proving exactly why this relationship stayed a secret.

The silence should have been Jason’s first warning. The way Dick just sits there, absently swinging a batarang between his fingers, watching the bar with an all-too-pleased expression.

“You know,” Dick hums, as if lost in thought, “it’s important to let that special someone know how you feel. Your twin flame. That one person you’ve been pining over since– oh, I don’t know, your youth.”

Jason doesn’t move.

Dick pauses for dramatic effect, then casually props his chin in his hand, his gaze flicking to Jason. A slow grin tugs at his lips.

“Hm. You’re blushing.”

Jason’s breath stills. His eyes snap to Dick, but his head remains stubbornly forward.

“I am not blushing.” His voice is gritted steel. “And I haven’t been pining over her for that long.”

Dick tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Huh. Funny.” He leans back with an exaggerated stretch. “I never said who.”

Jason’s fists clench.

Damn it.

His mask covered his whole damn face. There was no way Dick could have seen a blush, no way he could have known.

Jason grits his teeth as realization dawns.

He walked right into that.

Like a lovesick fool.

The next time Jason’s nearly caught is at one of Bruce’s galas.

Jason had grumbled and rolled his eyes when you insisted on attending—something about not wanting to spend the night in a “stuffy ass ballroom pretending to care about Gotham’s elite.” You had countered that it was for a good cause, something you actually cared about, and that Bruce would appreciate the support. Begrudgingly, he agreed.

But, of course, he couldn’t just let you go without making things complicated.

“Matching colors,” Tim observes, arms crossed, his sharp blue gaze flickering between you and Jason.

You school your expression into something neutral. Jason, standing entirely too close to you, does no such thing.

“What a coincidence,” Tim drawls, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“It really was,” you force out a laugh, silently screaming at Jason for his careless mistake.

He had seen your dress before the gala, made a gruff noise of disapproval, and then—without a single word—had left only to return an hour later with a tie in the exact same deep shade of red.

You had almost thrown a shoe at him.

As endearing as the gesture should have been, it was infuriating. He was the one insisting that your relationship remain under wraps, but he was awful at hiding it.

Right now, you can practically feel his warmth radiating onto you, his fingers twitching at his side, itching to settle on your waist. His entire presence screams possessive, yet he’s standing there trying to play it cool.

“Right, Jay?” you prompt, hoping begging he plays along.

“Total accident,” he deadpans.

You mentally facepalm. He is not selling it.

Tim’s smirk deepens, thriving off Jason’s obvious discomfort.

“Well then,” Tim shrugs, barely suppressing his amusement. “If she’s not your date, do you mind if I steal a dance?”

Jason’s shoulders tense. His jaw clenches so tight you’re surprised his teeth don’t crack.

“Go ahead.”

His tone is flat, but you know better. His hands may be in his pockets, but you can see them clenched into fists. His entire body is rigid, like he’s forcing himself to not grab your wrist and pull you back to his side.

You want to laugh. It’s so obvious.

Tim takes your hand and whisks you away onto the dance floor before Jason can change his mind.

He’s is a smooth dancer, you’ll give him that. He moves with confidence, leading you effortlessly through the slow, sweeping steps of the waltz. The ballroom around you is a blur of glittering gowns and dark suits, the music swelling in a soft, romantic rhythm.

You try to focus on the dance, but you can feel Jason’s stare.

It’s burning into you from across the room, a weight against your spine that makes your pulse spike.

Tim notices. Of course, he does.

“I know I have a grand total of one song before your guard dog comes back,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly as he spins you. His fingers press lightly against your back, his mouth close to your ear. “So, between you and me… you can just tell me if you’re dating.”

You groan. “Why is everyone so obsessed with this?”

Tim pulls back just enough to give you a pointed look. “Because the two of you have been dancing around each other for years. I’m in pain just watching.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “Buzz off and focus on your own romantic life, Drake.”

Tim just grins. “Yours is so much more interesting.” He spins you gracefully, his smirk growing as he catches sight of Jason still watching. Still fuming.

He tugs you back in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “So tell me… are the two of you together? Because I’ve been sensing–”

“You’ve been sensing jack shit, Drake.”

The voice is low, sharp, and pissed.

You barely have time to process Jason’s arrival before you feel a hand—his hand—on your waist, warm and grounding and claiming.

Tim barely gets a breath out before Jason smoothly steps in, seamlessly taking his place as if he had planned this from the start. His movements are precise, natural, possessive. The transition is so smooth it’s like the dance was meant to end like this—with you in his arms.

Tim watches, looking utterly delighted.

“Wow,” he muses. “Not even a full song? Possessive much?”

Jason doesn’t acknowledge him. His grip on you tightens, and you feel his breath against your temple as he leans in just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You should step back. You should do something to break the illusion.

But you don’t.

Because his hand is on your waist, his other hand holding yours just right. His body is solid and warm against you, moving with you effortlessly like he was made for this. The scent of leather lingers on him, comforting and intoxicating.

He is looking at you like you are the only person in the room.

And you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until he speaks.

“I don’t like how low his hands were.”

The words are gritted out, low and quiet, meant just for you.

Your heart stumbles. You should not find that as attractive as you do.

“Jason–”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “He knows. He’s just trying to het under my skin.”

You blink up at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “Jay, it was just a dance.”

His fingers flex against your waist.

Your breath catches in your throat. The words send something electric through you, something dangerous. You don’t have time to respond.

Because Tim, damn Tim, is still standing there, watching the whole exchange with way too much satisfaction.

“Well,” he muses, rocking back on his heels. “That was interesting.”

Jason finally acknowledges him by glowering in his direction.

“Get lost, Drake.”

Tim grins. Because while he may not have gotten a confession, he definitely got confirmation.

After your encounter with Tim, you and Jason had agreed to lay extra low. No unnecessary risks, no slip-ups. No feeding into their suspicions. That plan, of course, went up in flames, quite literally when you almost lost a damn arm.

Jason had nearly lost his mind.

Now, standing in the training room with Cassandra, you tug absentmindedly at the hem of your sleeve, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your arm.

Cass, however, does not.

“That’s one nasty burn,” she winces, crouching slightly to get a better look at the angry, blistering wound.

You shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny. “It’s nothing, really,” you say, waving a dismissive hand. “I was just reaching into the oven to grab some muffins, and my arm accidentally hit the hot rack.”

Jason, standing beside you with his arms crossed, snorts.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Told you to be careful this morning.”

The second the words leave his mouth, his body goes rigid. His eyes widen slightly, realizing his mistake.

Shit.

Cass doesn’t even blink before zeroing in.

“What was that?”

Jason schools his expression into mock confusion. “What was what?”

“Don’t play coy, Todd.” Cass’s voice is sharp, her dark eyes locked onto him with an intensity that could crack glass.

Jason ever so stubborn and entirely unwilling to admit defeat, doesn’t back down.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He doesn’t flinch.

Cass tilts her head, unconvinced. “I heard the two of you were on patrol pretty late last night.” Her gaze flickers between you and Jason, noting every shift in body language, every subtle tell. “So tell me, Todd… what were you doing with [Name] this morning too? Did you, perhaps, sleep together?”

Silence.

The tension in the room thickens, settling over you like an impending storm. Your pulse spikes. Jason’s jaw locks. Cass’s eyes remain unmoving, sharp as a blade.

The stalemate stretches too long.

Before Cass can press further, you jump in.

“What Jason meant,” you say quickly, forcing an easy laugh, “is that our patrol ended at around six in the morning. I invited him over for a snack, is all.”

You will her to believe it.

Jason exhales subtly beside you, relaxing ever so slightly at your quick save.

Cass, however, is not satisfied.

“You never invite me over for snacks,” she states, arms crossing over her chest.

You frown. “I’m sorry, Cass. How about next time?”

She considers for a moment, expression unreadable, before nodding.

“I’ll be there at sunrise.”

You smile, nudging her shoulder. “It’s a deal.”

Cass eyes the two of you for another long second before finally, finally, grabbing her bag and exiting the room.

The moment the door clicks shut, Jason lets out a heavy breath.

Without warning, his large frame topples over yours, his solid weight pressing against your back as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he mutters, lips brushing the sensitive skin near your ear. His voice is low, gravelly, full of something raw and unguarded.

His arms encircle you, pulling you flush against him.

You bite back a smile, leaning into his warmth.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” His lips graze the nape of your neck, lingering.

“Not nearly enough,” you murmur.

It’s a lie.

Because Jason tells you every single day.

If not with his words, then with the way he looks at you. With the way he touches you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. With the way he freaks out over every little injury, over every near miss, like the thought of losing you would be enough to unmake him.

And God, if he wasn’t so damn obvious about it.

Your charade finally comes to an end on a rare night. The entire family gathered around the Wayne Manor dining table. It had taken weeks of convincing, countless rescheduled plans, and Alfred’s unshakable will to make it happen. You silently applaud him, watching as he moves seamlessly around the table, topping off glasses and making sure everyone eats.

The conversation is lively but controlled, an unspoken agreement hanging in the air: no fights. Bruce was actually eating rather than brooding, Damian had only thrown out two insults so far, and Tim was at least half-awake. For a Wayne family dinner, this was practically peaceful.

No one notices that you and Jason are sitting a little too close, they’re all too engrossed with the hearty meal and a rare opportunity of having a civil conversation with each other.

Jason, ever the attentive boyfriend, wordlessly reaches for the serving platter and places another thick slice of roast onto your plate. Then, he carefully spoons asparagus onto your dish, making sure it’s coated just enough with hollandaise sauce just the way you like it.

“Eat up, sweetheart.” His voice is low and smooth, meant just for you.

Your heart does a little flutter at the name, and your lips tug into a smile as you pick up your fork.

But then a familiar voice turns the entire night around.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Damian’s voice cuts through the table, as sharp as one of his throwing knives, “but doesn’t ‘sweetheart’ have romantic implications?”

Silence.

A few forks hover mid-air. Bruce pauses as he cuts into his steak. Dick, who had been talking to Cass, freezes mid-sentence. Tim, who had been half-heartedly scrolling through his phone under the table, suddenly looks very awake.

“No, you’re absolutely right,” Dick leans back in his chair, grinning like he just hit the jackpot. His eyes flicker with amusement as he clasps his hands together. 

Jason’s chewing slows. Your eyes flicker to his face, trying to gauge his reaction. This was it. The moment he always dreaded.

“Todd just called [Last Name] ‘sweetheart,’” Damian supplies, ever helpful, pointing at the two of you with his fork.

Cass and Tim share a knowing glance, both nodding in quiet confirmation.

Dick gapes. “In front of my salad?”

Jason, rather than looking panicked, looks entirely unbothered. Too unbothered. His jaw moves as he stuffs another carrot into his mouth, chews deliberately, and then–

“It’s our one-year anniversary next month.”

Chaos erupts.

“WHAT?”

“I KNEW IT!”

“Called it.”

“Took you guys long enough!”

Tim smacks the table, rattling the silverware. Dick throws his hands in the air. Cass laughs silently, shaking her head as if she’s just been vindicated after months of waiting.

Stephanie, meanwhile, grabs Tim’s arm and shakes him. “You owe me fifty-bucks, Drake.”

Bruce, to his credit, looks unfazed, save for the slight twitch of his eyebrow. He sets his knife down and looks at Jason with a measured expression.

“Well done, son.”

Jason stares at him for a moment before giving him a single nod, as if they’re discussing business strategy rather than his romantic relationship.

You’re still flustered under the sheer weight of all the attention, but then Jason’s fingers interlace with yours under the table. Warm. Steady. Protective. He gives your hand a light squeeze, and just like that, your nerves settle.

The chatter continues, voices overlapping.

“I suppose that means I won the bet?”

The room stills.

Jason’s head snaps up. “Wait. What?”

Tim, not even looking ashamed, shrugs. “Technically, nobody won. We all knew already.”

Damian scowls. “The condition was that someone had to prove it. I did that tonight. Therefore, I win.”

Jason straightens in his chair, voice dangerously low. “Hold on. You had a bet?!”

You grimace, bracing yourself as the night takes a turn.

Tim leans back in his chair, smirking. “Oh, yeah. This has been going for months.”

“How much?” Jason demands, his eyes narrowing.

Dick, grinning, raises his glass. “A hundred bucks.”

Jason turns to you, betrayed. “Did you know about this?”

You shake your head furiously. “I would’ve rigged it to win if I had.”

“Unbelievable,” Jason mutters, rubbing his temples.

But then he feels your thumb brush gently over his knuckles, and suddenly, the noise fades into the background. He turns to you, the frustration melting from his features as he takes in the warmth of your smile, the way your eyes are only on him.

You squeeze his hand. “Well,” you say softly, just for him. “At least we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

Jason exhales a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning to you fully. There’s adoration in his eyes, open and raw and entirely unguarded. His lips form the silent words, ‘I love you,’ and though no sound escapes, you hear it in the way his eyes soften, in the way his fingers tighten just slightly around yours. Your breath catches, warmth blooming in your chest, and without thinking, you smile radiantly, mirroring the love on his face.

thank you for reading! comments n reblogs are appreciated 💋

[humanjarvis]

good heart

synopsis: zayne wonders if he’s mean. you reassure him otherwise.

tags: fluff. comfort. zayne is self-conscious and cute  pairing: zayne x reader word count: 641

a/n: surprise (not rly) first zayne fic :] it’ll be interesting seeing how i want to write him since i’m probably the most similar to him irl #neurodivergence. also posting the most depraved and fluffiest things i’ve ever written in the same week who said versatility

“Darling, have I ever been…mean to you?” Zayne asks hesitantly.

You’re cuddled on his sofa with your knees resting against him, halfheartedly watching a nature documentary. Brilliant rays of afternoon sunlight pour in through the floor-length windows, drawing most of your attention away from the grasslands and toward the trio of squirrels leaping over leaves in Zayne’s backyard. At his question, you raise your head from its place on his shoulder, squinting at him playfully. 

“Hmm,” you draw out, as if actually taking the time to consider his question. He blinks at you. “Nope! A little impassive, sometimes, sure,” you grin, poking his adorably neutral face. “But never mean.”

He forces out a weak smile at your teasing, gently lowering his gaze to your intertwined hands. 

When you don’t receive the usual politely packaged retort, you furrow your brows in worry. “Why do you ask? What’s wrong?” 

Still fixated on your interlaced fingers, Zayne clears his throat. “At the hospital today,” he starts, “one of the younger patients said I was…mean.” He bites the word out as if it tastes bad, the mere association of it with his character destabilizing his being. 

Perplexed, you unclasp your hand from his to lift his chin. “What happened?” 

“All I did was tell her that if she wants to feel better, she’ll need to take her medicine daily.” Now it’s your turn to blink at him. “Perhaps it was the tone I used, I’m not sure. I haven’t encountered this before.” 

Deep in thought, he moves to bow his head again, unconsciously avoiding your gaze out of unwarranted guilt. With a frown, you grab his face between your hands before that can happen, climbing over his lap to straddle him. 

“The Zayne I know is worried that doing his job makes him mean?” you ask, peering into his startled hazel eyes. “C’mon, Zaynie, she was probably just being stubborn. You of all people should know what it’s like to avoid taking medicine.” Lifting his top lip as if to inspect his teeth, you drive your point home when he flinches away. As his face flushes pink, you feel his cheeks warm under your hands.

“I’m aware that children…and adults…are hesitant to follow doctor’s orders at times,” he says, clearing his throat. “But I also know I'm not the most…expressive of people. I’ve gotten so used to behaving freely when I’m with you that I wasn’t monitoring my mannerisms in the pediatric ward today. I must have appeared quite intimidating to a vulnerable child. The thought made me uncomfortable. It made me wonder if…I’d ever made you feel that way as well,” he grimaces.

With a fond sigh, you tilt his face up to yours to kiss his nose. This time, his blink is slow and confused. 

“The only one you're being mean to is yourself,” you start, pinching his cheeks lightly. “No matter what’s on your face or in your voice, I know what’s in here,” you say, placing a firm palm over his chest. “You wouldn’t be Dr. Zayne without your directness. You wouldn’t be my Zaynie, either. And I happen to like both versions of him very much.” 

As you press another kiss to his nose, the corners of his full lips quirk up. “I suppose I should be nicer to him, then.”

“You’d better. Or else he’ll have to write ‘I am nice. I am kind. I have a good heart’ over and over again until he understands. Surgeons don’t have time for that.” 

“I'm sure I possess the cardiovascular fitness to work it into my schedule,” he quips. “I have a good heart, after all.”

As the joke lands, you give him an exaggerated wince, removing a hand from his smiling face to fake a retch. “Okay, maybe I was wrong. Subjecting me to that? That was a little mean.”

[hottiesforhockey]

“you have my whole damn heart, take it, it's yours.”

this is just so jack ! even if they are already together, he sees her doing something adorable in his eyes or even watching her wake up cuddling with him and he just melts saying it

Jack wakes up to the sound of soft breathing and the feeling of something warm tucked against his chest. The early morning light filters through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. He blinks a few times, adjusting to the brightness before his gaze lands on you.

You're curled up against him, one arm draped lazily over his torso, your face buried in the crook of his neck. Your hair is a mess, a few stray strands tickling his skin. He feels the slow rise and fall of your chest, the way your breath fans across his collarbone, and he swears he's never seen anything more perfect in his life.

Jack doesn’t move—not yet. He just watches, memorising every little detail. The way your lashes flutter slightly, the way your fingers twitch in sleep, the way you let out the softest sigh when he shifts just a little closer. His heart clenches in the best way possible, an overwhelming rush of affection washing over him. It’s moments like these—quiet, unfiltered, and entirely yours—that remind him just how lucky he is.

He brings a hand up carefully, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. His fingers linger against your cheek, tracing the soft curve with a gentleness that feels almost reverent. He loves you so much it almost aches, the weight of it sitting heavy in his chest, in his bones, in every part of him that beats only for you.

“You have my whole damn heart,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. He brushes a kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he’s sealing the words against your skin. “Take it, it’s yours.”

You stir slightly at the sound of his voice, your nose scrunching up in that way that always makes him smile. A sleepy hum leaves your lips as you nuzzle closer, your fingers instinctively gripping his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll move away.

“Mm, ‘kay,” you mumble, voice muffled against him.

Jack laughs softly, the warmth of it pressing into you just as much as his arms do when he holds you a little tighter. “Yeah? You sure?”

“Mhm.”

His chest tightens at the hum, the simplicity of it, the absolute certainty. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything sound so right before. He shifts slightly, rolling just enough so that he can properly see you, his nose brushing against yours.

You blink up at him, still half-asleep, eyes filled with the kind of softness that makes him weak. Your lips part slightly like you’re about to say something, but instead, you just smile—a slow, sleepy curve of your lips that knocks the breath from his lungs.

Jack reaches out, running a thumb across your cheekbone, drinking in the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. “You know you ruin me, right?” he murmurs, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “I’m absolutely done for.”

You let out a sleepy giggle, pressing your forehead to his. “Guess you’re stuck with me then.”

He pulls you even closer, burying his face against your neck, pressing a lingering kiss there. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And that’s all he needs. He closes his eyes as he lets himself get lost in the feeling of you—of this. Because if there’s one thing Jack knows for certain, it’s that he’s never loved anyone the way he loves you.

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ᴍᴇʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪɴ

…𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶

angst, fluff, slow burn, friends to lovers, melatonin addiction (metaphorically), jealousy, showering together, please just communicate already, pining, tension, oblivious

word count - 8k

The drive from the airport is quiet, the kind of quiet that isn’t exactly uncomfortable but isn't exactly comfortable either. Just… there. Chris has one hand on the wheel, the other tapping absentmindedly against his thigh. Every so often, his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for the volume knob, but he never follows through.

“You can play your music if you want,” she offers, just to break the silence.

Chris exhales, kind of amused, kind of relieved. “Yeah? You’re not too tired?”

She rolls her eyes. “Please. You act like I haven’t been forced to listen to your music in Matt’s car a million times.”

That earns her a little laugh, but he scrolls through his phone anyway, puts on something easy, something familiar. The first notes of a Mac Miller song hum through the car. She lets her forehead rest against the window, feeling the warmth of LA’s night air pressing against the glass.

When they finally get to the house, Chris grabs her suitcase from the trunk, nodding toward the door. “Come on, before I pass out on the driveway.”

Inside, the house is quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge. Matt and Nick must already be asleep. Chris hauls her suitcase down the hall, stopping outside his room.

“Alright, so, you can take my bed,” he says, rubbing his face like the exhaustion is finally catching up to him.

“What? No, it’s fine, I can take the couch,” she protests.

“Nah, the couch is ass,” he shoots back immediately. “I fall asleep on it all the time, I’d know.”

“Then where are you gonna sleep?”

Chris shrugs, already walking into his room and grabbing some sweats from the dresser. “I’ll just go up to Matt’s.”

He says it so casually, like it’s no big deal, but she hesitates. “You really don’t have to—”

“Dude, I’m literally in my own house. I think I can find somewhere to sleep. Matt doesn’t mind.” He disappears into the bathroom, voice muffled as he brushes his teeth. “Besides, I wouldn’t get any sleep in here anyway.”

That makes her pause. “What do you mean?”

Chris spits out toothpaste, rinses his mouth, then leans in the doorway, running a hand through his hair. He looks tired. More than tired.

“Eh,” he shrugs. “Dunno. Just been sleeping like shit lately. Stress or whatever.”

She doesn’t push, but something about the way he says it, like it’s normal, sits weird in her chest. He disappears again to change, still talking.

“Swear to God, I was sleeping in Matt’s room the other week, and I got sleep paralysis. You ever get that?”

She wrinkles her nose. “No, thank God.”

“Shit’s terrifying,” Chris mutters. “I always see some nightmare-looking thing, and I get stuck in these weird lucid dreams.”

She makes a face. “Alright, well. Sweet dreams.”

Chris just laughs, tugging his hoodie over his head. “Yeah, yeah.” He throws a pillow onto the bed for her, yawns into his sleeve, then heads for the door.

She watches him go, then, on impulse, grabs the remote and turn on the TV. The glow fills the room, casting soft shadows on the walls.

Chris stops in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Watching some youtube.”

Chris squints at her, then at the screen. “You don’t even like my recommendations.”

She shrugs. “I always watch youtube before bed.”

Chris scoffs, but he’s already walking back toward the bed. He kicks off his slides, plops down on the mattress, and grabs the remote from her hand like he was always planning on staying.

For a while, it’s just the two of them, bathed in the glow of the TV, flipping through videos, making fun of whatever’s on the screen. He stretches out next to her, close enough that she can feel the warmth of him, even though neither of them acknowledge it.

At some point, one video blurs into the next, the voices on screen turning into white noise. Her eyelids grow heavier. Chris mumbles something about closing his eyes for a second.

Neither of them mean to fall asleep. But you do.

Sunlight leaks through the blinds, spilling over tangled sheets and the forgotten remote. She stirs first, half-aware of the weight pressed into the mattress beside her.

Chris is still asleep, face smushed into the pillow, hoodie slipping off his shoulder. His breathing is deep, even. Peaceful.

Then, slowly, he shifts, stretching like a cat before cracking one eye open.

He blinks at her. Then at the TV. Then back at her.

“You didn’t kick me out,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

“You didn’t leave,” she points out.

Chris hums, rolling onto his back. His gaze flickers toward the ceiling, thoughtful.

Then, soft, barely there, “Damn. I haven’t slept that good in forever.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. So she doesn’t say anything.

Chris yawns, then turns his head, shooting her a lazy grin. “Guess you’re like melatonin or something.”

She rolls her eyes, pushing his arm. “Don’t be weird.”

Chris just laughs, stretching again before flopping dramatically onto the pillow.

“Whatever, dude. I’m just saying,” he mutters, already half-asleep again.

And for some reason, that weird feeling from last night settles a little.

Slowly but surely, an accident became a routine.

The next night, Chris was talking to her before heading up to Matt’s room, just like before. She had started a video, some dumb commentary channel she liked, and he had sat on the edge of the bed, watching over her shoulder, pretending like he wasn’t actually interested.

Somewhere between one video and the next, he had stretched out beside her, claiming it was more comfortable than craning his neck. And then, at some point after that, he had fallen asleep. She didn’t mind. She fell asleep soon after.

The next morning, he stirred awake to the feeling of warmth beside him. His room smelled different…cleaner, softer, like her shampoo. The sheets rustled, and when he opened his eyes, he saw her lying there, still half-asleep.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Chris blinked at the ceiling. He hadn’t woken up once last night. No tossing and turning, no staring at the walls until exhaustion took over. Just… sleep. Real, deep sleep. He turned his head toward her, voice groggy.

“I take it back. I think that was the best sleep I’ve ever had.”

She huffed a small laugh, rubbing her eyes before reaching for her phone. “Good to know I make an effective substitute for melatonin.”

He grinned, shaking his head, but didn’t argue.

By the third night, he didn’t even try going upstairs.

He still made a show of pretending he was just there to talk, of course. He’d walk in, plop down onto the bed, ask her some dumb question about whatever video she was watching. She’d answer, play along, knowing exactly what he was doing. And when she eventually switched the screen off, pulled the blankets up, and turned off the lamp, he was still there.

Neither of them said anything about it.

And if, over time, he started inching closer, if she stopped sleeping with her back to him, if they eventually woke up tangled in the mornings, well… no one had to know.

Except Nick did find out.

He had barged into Chris’s room one morning, complaining about something random, only to freeze mid-sentence. His eyes flicked from Chris’s arm slung around her waist to the way her face was pressed into the pillow, and then back again.

Chris blinked, barely awake. “What?”

Nick made a face. “Dude.”

Chris groaned, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Nick crossed his arms. “It looks like you’re spooning our best friend.”

Chris scoffed, sitting up. “I was not spooning her.”

Nick raised an eyebrow.

Chris glanced over. She was still curled up, half-asleep, completely unbothered.

“Okay, maybe I was,” he admitted, voice low. “But it’s not a thing. We’re just friends, you know that.”

Nick didn’t look convinced. “Wait till I tell Matt. He’s gonna think it’s weird.”

Chris flopped back onto the pillows, sighing. “Matt thinks everything is weird.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s weird too.”

Chris waved a lazy hand in the air. “Then don’t think about it.”

Nick stared at him for another second, then exhaled, shaking his head. “Whatever, dude.” He turned to leave, muttering, “You’re weird.”

Chris ignored him.

But later, when he found himself awake before her again, when he saw the way she had drifted closer in the night, how easy it was, how natural, it made his chest feel tight.

He didn’t know what that meant. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

That afternoon, as she rummaged through her suitcase, Nick casually tossed her a shirt she’d been eyeing for the party later. "You good?" he asked, his voice light, but the concern was still there.

She paused for a moment, throwing a glance at him. "Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?"

Nick crossed his arms, gaze softening just a little. “You sure? ‘Cause you’ve always had a soft spot for Chris, and now you two are… I just—” He sighed, glancing away for a moment before looking back at her. “I know how you get when you start liking someone. Just don’t want you to get hurt.”

She scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s not like that.”

Nick gave her a knowing look, clearly not convinced. “Alright. Just making sure, okay?” His voice was gentle now, like he wanted her to know he was looking out for her, even if she didn’t want to hear it. “I just don’t want you falling for someone who’s not gonna catch you, you know?”

Her stomach twisted slightly at his words, but she refused to show it. “I’m fine. Really.”

Nick gave a small nod but didn’t look entirely reassured. “Just be careful. Alright?”

She didn’t respond right away, too caught up in the knot of emotions Nick’s words had caused. She forced a smile. “I will.”

That night, she found herself in conversation with a guy she’d just met. He was nice, easy to talk to, and she was enjoying herself. 

That was, until Chris appeared beside her, sliding an arm around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her breath hitched. Her heart both soared and sank.

She turned slightly, looking up at him. “What are you doing?”

Chris shrugged, gaze locked onto the guy in front of her. “Just saying hey.”

The guy hesitated, glancing between them before offering a small smile. “I should, uh, grab another drink. Nice meeting you.”

She watched him go, then turned back to Chris, who was still standing way too close. “Really?”

Chris just grinned, unfazed. “What?”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t ignore the way her body betrayed her, leaning the slightest bit into him despite herself.

The night air was cool, but she felt warmth against her skin, and she stirred in her sleep, confused for a moment as to why she wasn’t alone. It took a moment before her groggy mind registered the weight of Chris’s arm draped over her waist, his chest pressed lightly against her back. The soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing filled the silence of the room.

Her shirt sleeve had ridden up, and his lips were warm against her bare shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against the exposed skin. It was gentle, almost like he was unaware of what he was doing, but the sensation sent a jolt through her.

She didn’t know how long he'd been there, how long this moment had been unfolding, but everything inside her froze. She could feel his heartbeat against her back, his presence so familiar yet unsettling all at once. Her chest tightened. She didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know where they stood. Didn’t know if this was something real or just another moment she was reading too far into.

His lips brushed against her skin again, and the tension in her body grew, her mind racing, trying to sort through the haze of sleep and confused feelings. She liked it. She liked it more than she should.

She gently shifted, trying not to disturb him, but the movement made her heart race even more. Her hand found the edge of the bed, and she slowly started to sit up, trying to slip away from him without waking him. She could feel his arm loosen slightly as she moved, but his grip still lingered, not quite enough to stop her but enough to remind her that he was there.

She carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing up and pulling her sleeve back down, her mind still racing, her chest tight with something she couldn’t quite place. The room felt colder now that she was standing, the emptiness of the space around her only making everything seem more unclear.

Chris shifted behind her, the faint sound of him mumbling something in his sleep, but he didn’t wake. She paused, glancing over her shoulder at him, his face still relaxed in slumber. There was no way he knew what had just happened.

Her hand hovered over the door, but she stayed there for a moment longer, watching him. She wanted to say something, to wake him and tell him how she felt, how everything seemed so messy between them, but the words were stuck in her throat.

Instead, she turned away and left the room quietly, closing the door behind her with a soft click, leaving him alone in the bed. An early morning would do her good.

Chris, still half-asleep, didn't notice. He mumbled something else, shifting slightly under the covers, a frown tugging at his face, but nothing seemed amiss to him. The effect of melatonin can stay in your body for 4 to 10 hours.

The movie had just finished, and the soft hum of the credits filled the room as the others began to stretch out. Nick yawned, glancing at Matt. “I’m heading up. You coming?”

Matt nodded, not looking up from his phone. “Yeah, I’ll be up in a minute.”

Nick tossed a quick “night” in their direction and headed upstairs, his footsteps fading as he disappeared into the hall.

Chris stretched his arms out, the tiredness from the night creeping in. He looked over at her, still curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over her legs. “You ready for bed?” he asked, his voice low and casual, as if the idea was just a natural extension of their evening together.

She blinked, looking up at him from where she was snuggled into the couch. “Um,” she started with a half-smile, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m comfy here. Think I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

Chris hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. He took a small step toward her, his tone softening. “You sure? You okay?”

She froze for just a beat too long. The words were there, right on the tip of her tongue—she wanted to tell him everything, how confused she felt, how much she cared—but nothing came out. Instead, she gave a quick nod and forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just need some space.”

The words left her mouth a little too quickly, the awkwardness hanging in the air. She could see it in Chris’s eyes, that flicker of uncertainty. He didn’t push it, but there was a slight pause before he spoke again.

“Okay,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’ll be downstairs if you change your mind.” He stood there for a second longer, glancing at her, but she didn’t say anything else.

With a quiet “g’night,” Chris turned and headed for the stairs, the sound of his footsteps growing faint as he descended to the lower floor.

She stayed on the couch, the silence of the room wrapping around her like a blanket. Her chest felt tight again, but she didn’t want to go to him. The night passed slowly, and despite her intentions, she didn’t sleep as soundly as she hoped. There was an uneasy restlessness that lingered beneath the surface, something she couldn’t quite shake. She wasn’t sure what it was… maybe it was guilt, or the weight of her own emotions… but the pull she felt for Chris, mixed with the walls she kept building around herself, left her feeling both disconnected and deeply conflicted.

Meanwhile, Chris lay awake in his own bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying the same conversation. He didn’t quite understand what had just happened, but something felt different. She’d never said anything like that before, and it bothered him more than he was willing to admit. He buried his face in his pillow, hoping that inhaling the scent of her would give him even a fraction of the calming effect she had when she was in his arms.

Sleep didn’t come easily for either of them that night.

She sleeps on the couch again the next night. And the night after that. 

It’s almost five nights before the new routine is interrupted.

She was already half asleep when Chris appeared, his figure casting a long shadow over the couch. She barely stirred, but when his voice broke the silence, her eyes fluttered open.

“I can’t sleep,” Chris murmured, standing at the edge of the couch, his tone low and full of exhaustion. “My bed smells like you... miss you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the way his words felt too familiar. She tried to stay still, pretend like everything was fine, but something in his voice made her want to respond, to comfort him. It was easy to let him in like this, so easy to slip into the warmth he offered, but tonight felt different. She couldn’t ignore the way her mind was racing.

“Take some melatonin, Chris.”

“Already did an hour ago. Didn’t do shit.”

Before she could say anything, Chris climbed onto the couch beside her, sliding down next to her with a small sigh of relief. She didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she let herself relax just a little, the tension in her shoulders softening as he settled beside her. His arm slipped around her, pulling her a bit closer, and she let him.

His face was so close to hers now, and she could feel his breath as he spoke, his voice quiet and soothing. “I just... I don’t know. I miss having you around like this. It’s been easier with you here, you know? It feels right. You’re my melatonin.”

Her heart ached at his words, but her stomach twisted in knots. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to find the courage to say something, anything, but the warmth of his touch, his gentle presence, was almost overwhelming. She didn't want to ruin it, but she couldn't ignore the heaviness in her chest either.

He shifted closer, resting his head against hers, a soft smile on his lips. “I’ve missed this. Missed you. Being close. Not having to say anything, just being.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, the softness of his words crashing into her like waves, tugging at her heart. Her chest felt tight, and she took a slow breath, gathering her thoughts. She knew she couldn’t keep ignoring this, ignoring the way her heart was reacting to him, but also how much she was hurting.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not now.

“You’re my best friend.” he murmurs.

Finally, she sat up, her body tense as she pulled away from him slightly. Chris looked at her with a furrowed brow, his hand reaching out instinctively as if to pull her back to him, but she shook her head gently.

“Chris, we need to talk,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended, but firm enough that he knew this was something serious.

His brow furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t move. “What’s wrong?”

She took a steadying breath. “You can’t keep doing this to me,” she said, her voice thick with the weight of everything she had been holding back. “You show up, and you pull me in like it’s nothing. And I let you. But I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel something... something more.”

Chris’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but she pushed on, needing to get it out.

“I can’t keep doing this, Chris. You’re taking advantage of me, messing with my head.” Her voice wavered for a moment, but she kept going, her words becoming clearer, stronger. “I don’t even know where we stand, and… I just, I need space. I need time.”

He stared at her, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, there was only silence between them. The space that had been so filled with warmth and affection now felt distant, uncomfortable.

Chris finally spoke, his voice soft, confused. “Wait… You’re serious?”

She nodded, her chest aching, but her resolve growing stronger with every second. “Yes. I care about you, Chris. A lot. I just don’t think I can keep letting this go on like it has.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. His eyes were locked on hers, searching for something, anything that might explain her words. But all he found was the certainty in her gaze, and it seemed to deflate him. Slowly, he sat up, his face crumpling with an emotion she couldn’t quite name.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He didn’t argue, didn’t ask for an explanation, just accepted her words with a quiet sadness in his eyes.

The silence between them was heavy, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if she had made the right choice. But she knew she couldn’t keep ignoring her own heart. She needed space, even if it meant breaking things off with him for good.

He stood up and walked toward the door without saying another word, leaving her there on the couch, her heart torn but her mind finally clear.

Chris avoids her. Doesn’t so much as speak to her for the next three days. Not that she doesn’t try. She doesn’t want to lose her friend, no matter how much he confuses the shit out of her.

When she wakes up that morning, she leaves a text: “I’m sorry for what I said. I hope things aren’t weird between us.” It’s simple, non-confrontational, just her way of reaching out. She waits for a reply, but it never comes.

She sees him in the kitchen later, his back turned as he scrambles some eggs. She stands in the doorway, chewing on her lip, trying to find the right words. But when he doesn’t even acknowledge her presence, she feels her heart sink. She clears her throat, and the words finally spill out.

“Hey, uh… I’ve been thinking about everything, and I just,”

He doesn’t turn around. The sound of the pan sizzling is louder than her voice. She bites her lip, swallowing the lump in her throat, and finally walks away. It stings, but she tries not to let it show.

She tries again, finding him lounging on the couch, eyes glued to the TV. It’s not like he doesn’t know she’s there. She’s in his line of sight. She stands in front of him, arms folded over her chest.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says, her voice a little too quiet, but loud enough for him to hear. “Are we seriously doing this?”

He doesn’t look at her. His eyes stay locked on the screen. The silence stretches out until she’s almost ready to walk away.

“Chris,” she says, a little more forcefully this time. “Please just say something.”

He sighs, leaning back on the couch, eyes still on the TV. “I’m not avoiding you.”

She can feel her frustration bubbling up, but she forces it down. “Then what’s going on? You’ve barely looked at me in three days.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and she can tell he’s weighing something in his head. Finally, he shifts, glancing at her with a look that says he’s tired of this conversation before it’s even started. “You said you needed space, right?”

She blinks at him, feeling a sudden tightness in her chest. “Space?” She repeats, as if she didn’t hear him right. “Oh. Right.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice flat. “You said you need some time. So I’m respecting that.”

She swallows hard, blinking back the sting of tears. “Fine,” she says, the word feeling hollow. “If that’s how you want to be.”

But before she can turn away, he adds, almost too quietly, “You’re the one who made it… complicated.”

“It’s been complicated for a while now,” she mutters under her breath, not even sure if he hears it. When she does turn to leave, she hears the TV volume go up slightly.

The kitchen was unusually quiet on the fourth morning, the usual chatter drowned out by the tension hanging thick in the air. She sat at the breakfast table next to Nick, absentmindedly stirring her coffee. Across from her, Matt was flipping through his phone, and Chris sat diagonally, his gaze fixed somewhere near her, but not directly on her. She could feel the weight of his eyes, but she kept her focus on her mug, pretending not to notice.

Matt, ever the oblivious one to the mood shifts, broke the silence. “So, any plans tonight?” His tone was casual, but she could sense the underlying curiosity.

She paused for a beat, the question feeling almost too loaded now. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to confront the situation in front of everyone, but the words slipped out anyway. “I’ve got a date.”

The room seemed to freeze.

Chris immediately went still, his posture rigid, his eyes narrowing in a way she didn’t dare acknowledge. His jaw clenched, and she could feel the tension building between them like an electric current. But she couldn’t look at him. She just couldn’t.

Nick shot her a playful smile. “Oh, a date, huh? Who’s the lucky guy?”

She forced a small smile, shrugging. “Just someone I met at that party. Nothing serious.”

Matt gave her a curious look, but said nothing, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Meanwhile, Chris’s gaze hadn’t left her, though she kept her eyes down, deliberately avoiding his. She could feel his stare burning into her skin, but she refused to acknowledge it.

The silence stretched, the clink of silverware against plates sounding louder than it should. She stole a quick glance at Chris, but when their eyes met, she immediately looked away, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t deal with it. Not now.

Nick, thankfully, broke the quiet with a cheerful comment, completely unaware of the tension he was helping diffuse. “Well, I hope he’s worth the hype!” he teased, nudging her lightly.

She managed a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We’ll see,” she muttered, the words hollow.

Matt cleared his throat, his gaze flicking between her and Chris, but he didn’t push further. He wasn’t one to press, but the quiet stillness felt uncomfortable, like everyone was just waiting for something to break.

Chris’s hand tightened around his mug, but he didn’t speak. His eyes never left her face, and she wondered if he could feel the space growing between them. She could.

The rest of breakfast passed in strained silence. Every word felt too loud, every movement too deliberate. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the dynamic between them had shifted, irreparably.

The afternoon light was fading by the time she made her way to Nick’s room to get ready. The door was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open, laying her clothes neatly out on the bed, everything set for the night ahead. She’d spent a while picking out her outfit, wanting to look good for herself… no one else. The soft fabric of the dress she’d chosen made her feel a little lighter, a little more like herself.

She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her dress, taking a breath. She wasn’t sure what kind of energy she’d need tonight, but she was determined to go into it with confidence. The tension from breakfast was still hanging over her, but she tried to shake it off. She wasn’t going to let it mess with her plans.

The door to Nick’s room opened behind her, and he stepped in with a grin. “Hey, you look great!” His voice was genuine, the usual cheer in his tone. “That guy’s so lucky.”

She smiled at him, appreciating the support. “Thanks, Nick.”

Nick gave her a quick thumbs up before leaning against the doorframe. “You’re gonna crush it, as usual. Go have fun.”

She nodded and straightened her dress one more time. “I will. See you later.”

As she walked past him to head out of Nick’s room, she spotted Matt sitting on the couch in the living room. He glanced up when she entered, his face lighting up with a smile.

“Look at you!” he said, his voice full of warmth. “You clean up pretty well.”

She chuckled, feeling the genuine platonic affection in his words. “Thanks, Matt.” She liked that he never tried to make things weird. It was always just easy with him, no strings attached.

“You’re gonna kill it,” he added, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Tell him I said hey, though.”

She gave him a thumbs up, her heart lightened by his words. His support was always comforting. It was simple. No pressure.

But as she reached the door, ready to leave, she couldn’t help but notice that Chris wasn’t around. She hadn’t seen him at all, not since breakfast, really—only heard the faint hum of music from his room a few times, the silence between them unspoken but heavy. She tried not to think about it, but as she looked over the room once more, she realised he was still nowhere to be found.

Her chest tightened just slightly, but she shook it off. No time for that now.

With a deep breath, she turned back to the front door and pulled on her jacket. It was time to go. She didn’t look back.

The house was quieter now, with the soft hum of the evening setting in. Matt was still lounging on the couch, flicking through something on his phone. He looked up when he heard footsteps approaching, and his gaze shifted to the hallway just as Chris appeared from his room.

Chris was wearing a relaxed look, his hair a bit messier than usual, clearly just having pulled himself out of his space after being holed up for most of the day. He paused in the doorway, looking around before his eyes landed on Matt.

“Has she left yet?” Chris asked, his tone careful but tinged with something Matt couldn’t quite place. It was almost like he’d been waiting for the answer, his fingers tapping on his jeans nervously.

Matt glanced up from his phone, taking a beat before nodding. “Yeah, just left a few minutes ago.”

Chris stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening ever so subtly. There was a moment of silence, and Matt noticed the way his younger brother’s gaze shifted downward, as if weighing something he wasn’t ready to say. His lips parted, like he was going to ask something else, but then he closed them again, a deep breath escaping him.

Without saying another word, Chris took a step toward the stairs, his movements slow and deliberate. He hesitated at the base of the stairs for a second, then turned, walking past Matt with his head slightly down.

Matt watched him go, furrowing his brow, something in the air now feeling just a little heavier. Chris didn’t look back, heading straight up toward Nick’s room, his footsteps steady but lacking the usual confidence he carried with him.

“I swear, man, I can’t fucking sleep. Not at all.” Chris’s voice was tight with agitation as he ran a hand over his face. “It’s like something’s just… missing. My brain just won’t turn off.”

Nick, who had been scrolling on his phone, looked up at him with a sharp look, setting the phone aside. “Yeah, I wonder what’s keeping you up, Chris. Could it be the fact that you’ve been pushing someone away for the last couple of days?”

Chris froze, a flash of annoyance flickering across his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Nick’s voice was low and steady, but the frustration was there, raw beneath the surface. “You’ve been messing with her head, man. And you’re not even realising it.”

Chris’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. “What are you trying to say?”

Nick pushed off the bed and stood up, his stance more confrontational now, stepping closer to Chris. “You’re pushing her away, and I don’t think you even realise how much it’s affecting her. You know she’s had a thing for you for a long time, right?” Nick’s words were like a punch to the gut for Chris. “And now, she doesn’t know what the hell you want from her.”

Chris opened his mouth to respond, but Nick wasn’t done. “You’ve been hot and cold with her. One minute, you’re all over her, next minute, you’re ghosting her. She’s confused as hell. Heck, Matt and I are confused as hell.”

Chris’s throat tightened. He didn’t want to hear this. He wasn’t ready to confront it. “I’m not doing anything to hurt her,” he muttered, more to himself than to Nick.

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not trying to hurt her, but you are. You can’t keep doing this to her, man. She’s been nothing but there for you, and you’re just gonna keep running hot and cold on her like it’s nothing?”

Chris’s frustration built, and his tone turned sharper. “It’s not like that, Nick. I just—” He faltered, unable to finish the sentence. He didn’t have an answer.

Nick wasn’t backing down. “Then what the hell is it? Do you like her or not?” His voice was louder now, his frustration spilling over. “Because, from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re stringing her along.”

Chris’s pulse quickened, his breathing coming in short bursts. The words were hanging in the air, and he didn’t know how to answer. The truth was, he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he felt. He hadn’t let himself think about it. But now, with Nick pushing him like this, it was all too much.

“I don’t know!” Chris snapped, the words coming out harsher than he meant. “I haven’t thought about it. Not properly. I don’t know what I want, okay?” He ran a hand through his hair again, pacing the room like he was trying to escape the pressure building inside him.

Nick was unrelenting, his voice low but sharp. “Well, you better figure it out, Chris. You’re both just tiptoeing around something, and it’s not fair to her. It’s not fair to either of you.”

Chris finally stopped pacing, looking at Nick with a mixture of frustration and guilt in his eyes. He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell Nick that he didn’t mean to mess things up, but the words wouldn’t come. The guilt in his chest was too heavy, and he knew Nick was right. He was confusing her.

“I’m not trying to hurt her, alright? I don’t even know what’s going on with me right now,” Chris muttered, his voice softer, more vulnerable. “I care. About her, I do. Really. But I can’t just... I don’t know how to fix this.”

Nick sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “You’ve already hurt her, Chris. Do you want to keep doing it? Keep messing with her head, or do you want to figure it out before it gets even worse?”

Chris paced slowly, trying to distract himself with anything, getting a soda, checking his phone, anything that would stop his mind from spinning. But it was no use. All he could think about was her.

As he opened the fridge, the front door creaked open, and he froze for a moment. He knew she was back.

He grabbed the pepsi without even thinking about it and turned, casually leaning against the counter. His eyes landed on her almost immediately as she walked in, looking effortlessly stunning despite the exhaustion in her eyes. She was still wearing the outfit she’d worn for her date, and the glow of happiness she carried with her made his chest ache.

He couldn’t stop staring at her.

She was smiling, genuinely smiling, the kind of smile that didn’t belong to someone who’d just had an awkward, disappointing evening. She looked happy, and it made him feel something sharp. Something that didn’t make sense. He didn’t like it.

She walked past him, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it over the back of the chair. She was humming softly to herself, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside him.

“How was it?” Chris blurted out, almost without thinking, his voice low but with an edge to it.

Her smile faltered for just a second before she answered. “It was alright. He was nice,” she said, taking her shoes off as she leant against the dining table. “He paid for the date, said he wouldn’t mind seeing me again.”

Chris stood there frozen, his fingers tightening around the bottle. He didn’t know why her words made him feel this way, jealous, frustrated, irritated, but it did. She wasn’t his, she could date whoever she wanted, but hearing that made something twist inside him.

She caught the briefest flicker of something in his eyes, a weird mix of discomfort and something else… maybe… jealousy? But it was gone before she could fully process it.

There was a long silence. Neither of them seemed to know what to say.

He was the first to break it. “Are you gonna sleep on the couch again?” His voice was low, too soft, and when he asked, it sounded like something he didn’t want to ask at all.

She nodded, biting her lip slightly. “Yeah… I’ll just shower and then probably pass out.”

His chest tightened at the thought of her sleeping on the couch, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. He set the pepsi down with a soft thud, the frustration he had been holding in all day finally spilling out.

“Please,” he began, his tone almost pleading as he walked towards her. “Can we just go back to the way it was between us? I can’t... I can’t do this. I can’t sleep without you around, especially not when my bed still smells like you. I need you.”

Her eyes flashed at his words, and for a moment, she stayed silent. She hadn’t expected him to say that, but hearing it made her feel a mix of frustration and confusion.

“You’re being unfair, Chris,” she finally said, her voice sharp as her anger started to rise. “You’re taking advantage of the fact that I care about you, and I’m sick of it. You’re pulling me in one moment and pushing me away the next. You don’t do that to someone you care about. You don’t do that to your friend. And all this time, you’ve been acting like it’s nothing, like you don’t care how much you’re messing with my head.”

She was getting louder now, her words tumbling out in an angry rant.

“You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t see the way you act like I’m just supposed to keep waiting around for you to figure out your shit? It’s exhausting!” She stepped back, pacing slightly, her frustration boiling over. “If you can’t man up and ask me out, or just tell me how you feel, then I’m done. I’m going to shower, and then I’m going to sleep. On the couch. By myself. And you can figure out what the hell you want. By yourself.”

The silence that followed was thick. Chris was staring at her now, wide-eyed, shocked by her words. But there was something else in his gaze, something that told her he knew she was right.

“Please,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper now, his tone softer. “I didn’t mean to hurt you... I just…”

But she shook her head, cutting him off. “You’re not hearing me, Chris. You have to figure it out. Because I’m not going to keep doing this, okay?”

She walked away without another word, her shoulders stiff, her eyes resolutely forward.

Chris stood there for a long moment, his chest aching with something he couldn’t quite place. Regret, maybe, or guilt. 

He couldn’t let her walk away. He couldn’t let this be the end. Not like this. The intensity of the situation was too much, the longing too real. And before he could even think about it, he was pulling her back towards him, his lips crashing against hers.

She gasped in surprise at first, but her body reacted almost instinctively,her lips parting slightly, her hands gripping his shirt. She moaned into the kiss, a soft sound that echoed in the quiet house.

He pulled her closer, his hands slipping around her waist, and before they knew it, they were walking together, still tangled in each other’s arms, down the stairs towards his room. She stumbled slightly as her feet were lost in the rush, and he caught her effortlessly, guiding her backwards through the door and onto the bed. She fell onto it with a soft thud, and he was on top of her, kissing her with a desperation that mirrored his own.

It was all so overwhelming, everything that had built up between them, all the confusion, all the pain and frustration. And for the first time, Chris felt like it was finally real, finally happening.

But at some point, the kiss slowed, the urgency giving way to something softer. Their breaths mingled in the quiet of the room, and Chris pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, his heart pounding in his chest.

There was a long silence between them, thick with unspoken words. Chris’s fingers lightly brushed over her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw as he gazed at her, searching her face as if trying to find the right words.

"I don't know how to say this," he murmured, his voice quiet but steady. “But I think I’ve liked you for so long. I didn’t even realize it at first, but I know now. I know it’s been obvious, and I know I’ve been an idiot for pretending it wasn’t. But I can’t keep pretending anymore. Not with you. Not with the way you make me feel."

Her heart thudded in her chest, and for a moment, she couldn’t say anything. She simply stared up at him, still processing the weight of his confession.

He took a deep breath, sitting up slightly to adjust his position, still looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the room.

“I didn’t know what to do with all of this, okay?” he continued, his words tumbling out faster now, as if he’d been holding them back for far too long. “I’ve been running away from it, pushing you away, and then I got confused because I didn’t know if you felt the same. And the thing is,” He paused, his eyes softening. “The thing is, I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t want to mess with your head. But I’m so scared of being vulnerable. So scared of screwing this up. But now… now I know that I’m not scared of you. I’m just scared of losing you.”

His voice broke a little on the last word, and for the first time, she saw the depth of the uncertainty in his eyes. He was just as scared as she was.

"I... I can't sleep without you," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "I was serious when I said you’re like my melatonin. You’ve been in my head, all the time, and I keep pretending like it’s nothing, like it’s fine, but it’s not. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t pretend like I’m okay when I’m not. I need you."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with truth. He reached for her hand, gently taking it in his. "I care about you. I care about you so much, and I don’t want to mess this up anymore. I just... I want you to know that. I want you to know how much you mean to me."

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a long moment, she didn’t know what to say. Everything he’d said was so much, so real, and it was more than she'd expected him to admit. Her heart swelled with everything he had said, and for the first time, she felt like they were on the same page. 

She leaned up, pressing her lips to his, softly this time, as if sealing the promise he had just made.

She sighed, a small, almost sad smile playing on her lips before she leaned up and kissed him once more—lightly this time, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of both forgiveness and longing.

Pulling away, she stood, brushing herself off. "I need to shower," she said, her voice quieter now.

Chris immediately pouted, the playful expression softening his features. “You can’t just leave me like this,” he muttered, reaching for her hand, his thumb brushing over her skin.

She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I’m not leaving, just going to shower.”

He tugged her closer before she could escape, kissing her again—softer this time, tender. “Please... let me shower with you. I just want to be with you, okay?”

She paused, unsure, her heart still trying to catch up to everything. But there was something about the sincerity in his eyes that made her nod. “Okay, but only if you promise to be gentle. No funny business.”

His face lit up with a grin, and he pulled her towards the bathroom, his hands on her waist. Once inside, he turned the shower on, the warm water hissing as it began to pour down. They stood there for a moment, both of them still catching their breath, before Chris gently ran his fingers through her hair.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Let me wash your hair,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. He was so careful with her, as if handling something fragile, every movement soft and deliberate. As he massaged the shampoo into her hair, the tension slowly drained from her body, replaced by warmth and the gentle intimacy of the moment.

The water cascaded down their skin, but it was more than just the warmth of the shower—it was the feeling of being with him in a way she hadn’t let herself be before. They weren’t just two people in a messy situation anymore. They were together, and somehow, that felt like everything.

Chris’s hands continued their soft motions, fingers running down her arms, her back, every touch carrying a tenderness she hadn’t expected from him.

As she closed her eyes, leaning into him, she allowed herself to fully feel this moment. For the first time in a long while, everything felt right. Even with all the mess and the confusion, this felt real.

The quiet hum of the night surrounded them, only the soft sound of their breathing filling the space between them. After everything, after the confessions, the uncertainty, the words they’d finally spoken, it felt like nothing else mattered. Sleep was calling to them.

Chris gently pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as they both settled into the bed. There was no more confusion now, no more second-guessing. Just the peaceful, steady rhythm of their hearts beating in sync. It wasn’t about rushing or rushing through anything. It wasn’t about labels, or anything they weren’t ready for. It was about being there, together, in that moment, with nothing but the comfort of each other’s presence.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer, and she nestled her head on his chest, the warmth of his body providing a sense of calm she hadn’t realised she’d been craving. They both let the silence wash over them, the weight of the day melting away. There were no more questions, no more what-ifs.

It was the kind of intimacy that didn’t demand anything more than just being—being present in each other’s arms, feeling the steady beat of their hearts, and letting the world outside slip into oblivion.

Her eyes fluttered shut as he kissed the top of her head softly, whispering something she couldn’t quite make out, but she didn’t need to hear it. The comfort of him was enough.

She fell asleep with the faintest smile on her face, and Chris stayed awake a little longer, his mind swimming with everything that had happened. With everything that was still unfolding. He had never been more sure of anything in his life. When he finally did fall asleep, it was on his own terms, smooth and steady, comfortable.

No melatonin needed.

thank you to rose for the dividers!! much love, @bernardsbendystraws <3

a/n: this is for gabs :>> i hope ur sleep schedule improves!! SPEAKING OF WHICH, i need to go tf to sleep.

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @hazedsturns @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @sturniolo101 @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz @strnilolover comment to be added!

till next time <3

[kxsagi]

i’m so obsessed with your writing, it’s not even funny. Especially the way you write sae, it has me on a chokehold ughh😊🙏

“𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐝, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫”

a/n: OH YOU LEMME SQUEEZE YOU IN A TIGHT HUG THROUGH THE SCREEN??? THANK YOUUU!!!

just for that, you’re getting this: 

sae really thought that he was going to have a baby boy. 

after all, he had a brother, and the rest of his family were mostly boys, too (a/n: not canon but wouldn’t be surprised if it was). 

so when the OB/GYN hands over your newborn baby to him, his eyes almost pop out of his sockets and his pumping heart nearly breaks the sound barrier when he sees that he’s now the father of a girl. he has a daughter. 

“awww were you hoping for a boy?” you joke, playfully teasing your husband. 

“i was expecting a boy, but i’m not complaining.” you watch a small smile form onto his lips, a proud sign of an exciting new beginning. 

a year has passed and your baby girl’s features are becoming more prominent. 

her teal eyelids, very tired-like but still pretty, are framed by long bottom eyelashes, identical to her dad’s. everything else, from her skin to her hair, looks like you. 

“sae-kun, she’s so pretty!” sae’s manager, girolan, exclaims, as he holds up your baby girl in his arms like that one scene from the lion king. 

in response, sae only scoffs and side-eyes him. he can’t help it, he’s overprotective of his daughter and is getting uncomfortable by the second. 

your baby girl just stares at girolan, before doing the same, exhaling a puff of air, turning her chubby face, and side-eyeing him. 

girolan is baffled and immediately hands your daughter back to you. “did… did she just –” 

you’re breaking out into laughter, cutting off the overthinking man who is now afraid to hold your daughter again. 

your baby girl only scoffs, turns her head, and side-eyes him again, and you’re laughing harder than you have ever had in your entire life, your baby girl wondering why her mom is shaking like crazy. 

“what?” sae asks you. “what’s so funny?” 

“she’s doing the same thing you do!” 

“huh?” 

your baby girl notices the laughter and does the same thing to girolan for a third time. 

“the scoff, head turn, and side-eye!” you laugh, holding your baby girl closely and nuzzling your nose with hers in a fit of giggles, contagiously spreading to her and now she’s doing the same. 

“oh so she learned from sae…” girolan sighs. “so sassiness is a gene after all...” 

sae gently pinches his daughter’s chubby cheeks. “picking up on my attitude already, princess? you really are my daughter, aren’t you?” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[navybrat817]

Behind Closed Doors

Pairing: Local Figure!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky didn't have a great day, so you help him unwind.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Established relationship, implied sex, light fluff, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by an ask from @yenzys-lucky-charm, so I'm also submitting this for her Cranky, Grumpy, Stabby! Oh, My! Challenge (🗡️ A: Smoothing out the crease in Cranky’s frown while straddling their lap B: Cranky character melts, pulling them in for a kiss). ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky tossed his jacket away and loosened his tie the moment the front door shut. In public, he had to maintain an image of confidence and controlled passion, carefully toeing the line between showing too much or too little emotion on the issues at hand. When things didn’t go his way, he couldn’t lash out or show defeat. Behind closed doors, he could allow himself to be a bit cranky. He didn’t have to put on a show.

With you, he didn’t have to put on a show either.

“Go sit, and I’ll make you a drink.” It wasn’t a suggestion. He didn’t drink often, but it was a rough day and you sensed that he needed one. If the drink wasn’t enough to help him unwind, you were sure you could think of something else.

Bucky kicked his shoes off before he took a seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Town Hall meeting should've gone off without a hitch, but Nick just had to show up and run his mouth.” His hands curled into fists when he grumbled, “Fucker.”

Bucky was never a fan of Nick Fowler. The man had a way with words and had experience, he’d give him that, but the guy wasn’t trustworthy. Too many secrets, too many people in his pocket. Some would say Bucky wasn’t trustworthy either since he was also a local figure, but he cared about his town and only wanted the best for everyone who lived there. He couldn’t say the same for Nick since he was only out for power and would step on anyone to gain it.

“It was rocky at times,” you said carefully, pouring him a glass of whiskey. Being overly optimistic would’ve been an insult, and he valued honesty since it was sometimes difficult to know who was telling the truth in his line of work. “But it ended on a high note.”

“He still proposed to cut funding for the library, and people agreed with him. It’s struggling as it is, and it needs the money,” he muttered, his steel eyes softening when you brought his drink over. “I swear he only proposed to cut funding to piss me off.”

Education was important to Bucky. The library, in particular, held a special place in his heart. It strived to create a welcoming and inclusive environment for the community, offering free resources to all. More than that, it was a space where history was preserved, and where people could feel valued and respected. It brought people together.

“And it’s working,” you pointed out, running your fingers through his soft caramel hair once you sat down and earning a sigh in response. “I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to let him get under your skin.”

Nick getting under Bucky’s skin meant he was losing, and Bucky wasn’t a man who lost.

“I’m trying,” he promised, taking another large sip and drawing your attention when he licked a drop from his lips.

You had to blink so you wouldn’t let his sexiness distract you from making him feel better. “Don’t forget, you have a fundraiser right around the corner,” you reminded him. There were people who would love to make a contribution to one of his passion projects, including the library.

His shoulders relaxed the more you played with his hair. “That’s true.”

“And listen, if I could get away with it, I’d wear my ‘I READ BANNED BOOKS’ shirt when I attend just to make you happy,” you teased.

That got a chuckle out of him. “That shirt got my attention.”

Going to that Town Hall meeting was one of the best decisions you ever made. “If you think that got your attention, wait until you see the dress I’m wearing.”

Closing his eyes with a groan, you had no doubt he was imagining it. He had an amazing suit picked out and you got something to not only match but something to drive him wild. “As long as John doesn’t show up and hit on you,” he tried to joke, but there was an edge to his voice.

As if the meeting wasn’t enough to put your man in a bad mood, bumping into John Walker after was the icing on the cake. If there was someone Bucky couldn’t stand more than Nick, it was John. The arrogant public worker rubbed him the wrong way, demanding respect and trust when he hadn’t earned it.

“We both know he wouldn’t stand a chance,” you said. Gorgeous looks aside, Bucky had you hooked from the beginning because of who he was. No one else could compare.

“If he tries anything…” Bucky could cut men down with a mere look, but people like Nick and John liked to push.

Taking the glass from his hand and setting it aside, you slowly straddled him. “You’re still cranky.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he whispered, resting his hands on your hips. Of course, he wasn’t. He wasn’t the kind of man who liked to dwell in any unpleasant headspace or emotions.

“I know. You had a rough day, and you have every right to be cranky. But I also know that the smile I love is in there somewhere,” you smiled. Bringing your hands to his face, you smoothed out the creases in his frown. His body went lax beneath yours when you did it again. “I just need to find it… Ah! There it is.”

Something you loved about Bucky was that he smiled in different ways before his mouth moved. He did it with his eyes, something so warm and loving that only you could see. Some days you heard it in his voice, in the tone he used and the words he chose. Even the way his body relaxed with you was a smile, happiness blooming from his core.

And Bucky was smiling when he pulled you in for a kiss.

Your heart tried to beat right out of your chest when he hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Tasting the whiskey when his tongue slipped past your lips, you moaned. The kiss was full of hunger, eager to take what you were willing to give. There was a hint of desperation, like he was trying to use your mouth to chase his bad mood away. Above all, it was vulnerable, a side of himself he trusted you enough to show.

“You’re too good to me, sweetheart,” he whispered, rolling his hips up and making you moan again. “But I’m still a little cranky.”

“Is that right?” you smiled, rocking your hips teasingly just because you could. Making the powerful man hard made you feel powerful. “Are you proposing that I do something about that?”

The fingers on your waist flexed. “I’ll make it worth your while if you do.”

“Promises, promises,” you teased.

“I keep my promises,” he pointed out. In a world of liars and cheats, Bucky was a man of his word.

“That’s true.” You pretended to think about it when he thrust his hips up with a small growl, heating up your core more. “Okay, fine. Rest back so I can make the crankiness go away.”

And knowing Bucky, he’d make sure you felt nothing but bliss, too, before the night was over.

I know, lovlies, I don't need more AUs, but I would give him everything and more. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[jupote]

This one got away from me but I had a ton of fun writing this!

Human were so useless that you could find no use for them aside for your little toys. You'd taken blood bags and lovers both, most of the degenerates weren't picky to which they were. A cute plaything here, a roughish boy toy there. Sometimes multiple at once, just for some variety. Never had they produced offspring, with your rather poor constitution you figured it was impossible to do so.

So imagine your surprise when you smell your scent wandering the streets. You had to pause, debate whether this was some kind of trap to lure you out.

It wasn't until you heard a sniffle, the tiniest sound you've ever heard, that you ventured after the smell. After your smell. As you followed the trail, you could smell the difference in it. While it wasn't yours entirely, the other scents were completely overpowered by yours.

As you followed the trail, it led you to an alleyway. A dirty, disgusting, trash filled, sex smelling alleyway. But still you went on, wrinkling your nose and finding the trail.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment you saw her as one second you were staring straight ahead and the next, you were face to face with a familiar set of eyes. Ruby red almond shaped eyes stared at you, unshed tears providing a glossy finish to the orbs.

"You, child," you spoke, voice commanding attention. "Why do you smell like me?" You asked.

The child, so tiny you could hold her with one arm, looked away and gave a small shrug. "Where are your parents? I demand to speak to them." You ordered, watching the child flinch from under you.

"Pa 'ied m'nths ago." The little thing mumbled, words slurred. "'ama lef' days ago. J'st Apa now."

"Apa w'nt be 'lone 'ny more?" The child asked, head burying itself in your neck.

You stared at the dirt covered, sickly pale child in front of you. You could kill it, quite easily in fact. Nothing could stop you from sinking your fangs into the tiny neck and having a little snack before heading home.

Scoffing at the idea, you grabbed the child and held it against your chest. There was barely enough blood to support the child, much less fill you with anything but boredom.

With the child resting on your elbow you found that yes, you could easily hold it with one arm. The thing couldn't have weighed more than 30 pounds, if even that. "Well that won't do. Come with me, I shall get you cleaned up, fed, and then we will discuss why you look and smell like me." You said, even as the child all but slumped against your shoulder.

You hesitated to answer, though ultimately you knew what it was. "No. Apa won't be alone anymore. Apa won't ever be alone again," you promised as you brought the sleeping child back to your home.

---

It was hours later that the child woke up again. In the time, you took a rag and wiped away all the dirt from her face, neck, arms and legs. You'd rather not have any dirt brought into your house but waiting for the child to wake up was the best course of action, lest you set off any kind of reaction with her.

So wait you did, meditating on the chair next to the bed you laid the child on. It was quiet, almost peaceful. If it wasn't for the insistent stare glued onto your form, you could even call it the most restful meditation you've had in years.

"Why must you stare at me." You asked the owner of the stare, opening your eyes to see the child fully.

She sat huddled under the blanket, forming a cacoon around her with only her big eyes pearing through. "Who 're you?" She asked, words less slurred although there was still a hint of exhaustion.

"My name is-" you paused, wracking your brain for your name. You hadn't heard the word in years. Your little playthings had taken to calling you master, so much so that you gave up trying to get them to call you your name after the first couple of years. "Cyrus. You may call my Cyrus."

"Why'du stop?" She asked, eyes curious is the mischievous way only a toddler can have.

"I hesitated because I forgot my name." You explained, standing up from the chair and dusting yourself of invisible debris.

"Why'du f'rg't your name?" Another question left her as she followed you with her eyes.

"No one has called me by my name for years longer than your bloodline has been alive. Speaking of your bloodline, who were your parents?" You asked, standing in front of the child and staring down at her.

She seemed to shrink in on herself at the question, lowering her eyes away from yours. "Papa 'ied wh'n it was cold cold. N mama w'nt to get Apa food wh'n Apa said she was hungry. Apa made mama go 'way." Tears filled the childs voice as she hiccuped the last few words.

You stared at the child as she shook in grief. Judging by how skinny and dirty she was when you first picked her up, she'd been alone for more than a few days. Either that, or they were already in a shitty situation to begin with.

As a centuries-old vampire, you thought you'd grown detached from humanity, not caring about its ultimate fate. That is, until you learned that you had a single living descendant, a child whose parents had just died. Turns out you do care.

[halfmoonaria]

he doesn’t know

pairing: sub!tara carpenter & dom!female reader

summary: every sunday, she finds herself in the backseat of your car instead—legs shaking, breath hitching, and trying to keep quiet.

warnings: smut (18+), cheating, secret relationship, oral sex (tara receiving), strap-on sex

author’s note: never done this so tell me if it’s too much.

Tara wasn't ashamed. She never had been.

When she was four, she decided she wanted to wear her fairy costume to preschool—not for Halloween, not for a special event, just because she felt like it.

The glittery wings were bent from being stuffed in the dress-up bin too many times, and the tulle skirt was a little too short after a year-long growth spurt, but she didn't care. It made her feel pretty, so she wore it.

Her mom tried to talk her out of it, and Sam sighed like she was already embarrassed on her behalf, but Tara had been stubborn even then.

She had marched out the door, wings bouncing with every step, and refused to acknowledge the weird looks from other kids.

It was the same when she cut her own bangs in the first grade.

She had gotten bored, found a pair of dull craft scissors, and decided she wanted a change. The result was uneven and way too short, a jagged mess that made her mom gasp when she saw it. Sam winced and tried to smooth it down for her, saying she'd regret it when she looked back at pictures.

Tara just shrugged. It was her hair. If she didn't care, then why should anyone else?

That was how she had always been—bold, impulsive, never second-guessing herself. She wasn't reckless, not really, but she never understood the point of worrying about what people thought.

Her parents didn't know where it came from.

Sam was careful, always weighing her choices, always thinking ahead. She cared about things like reputation, about saying the right thing and making the right impression. She was the responsible one, the one who took after their mom, the one who fit into every expectation placed in front of her.

Tara was different.

She did things because she wanted to, because they felt right in the moment. She never thought too hard about whether she should. And when people questioned her, when they looked at her like she was weird or childish, she never let it get to her.

When she was eight, she declared that she was going to be a superhero for career day, no matter how many times her teacher told her to pick something realistic.

And when she was ten, she ran straight into a fight with a kid twice her size because he made fun of her friend's lisp. She had come home with a bloody nose and a proud grin, and Sam had scolded her the whole time she was pressing an ice pack to her face.

"You don't just fight people, Tara," Sam had said, exasperated. "What if he had really hurt you?"

"He didn't," Tara had replied. "And he won't make fun of her again."

That was what mattered to her—doing what she felt was right, standing by the choices she made, never letting anyone make her feel small.

And shame? That wasn't something she carried.

When other kids went through awkward phases, blushing at old photos or cringing at past decisions, Tara barely blinked. She had no regrets, no embarrassment. She never understood why Sam stressed over things like reputation or what people might whisper behind her back.

Tara didn't let people's opinions shape her. She never had. She was bold, confident, completely sure of herself in a way that most kids weren't.

But that didn't mean she was immune to normal things. Crushes, for example.

Her first celebrity crush had been Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You. She was barely old enough to understand what a crush was, but she knew she liked watching him. He had that effortless charm, that mischievous smile—she figured that was what people meant when they said someone was attractive.

But as she got older, that crush faded.

She expected another one to take its place. That's how it worked, right? You grew up, your tastes changed, you found someone new to fawn over.

Except... she didn't.

At least, not the way she was supposed to.

Because when she rewatched the movie, waiting for that familiar feeling to settle in at the sight of Heath's smirk, it never came. Instead, she felt something entirely different—something she didn't understand—when Julia Stiles appeared on screen.

It wasn't just that she admired her. It wasn't just that she thought she was cool. It was the way her stomach flipped at the sharpness of her voice, the confidence in her posture. It was the way she suddenly found herself hyper-fixated on the little things—her smirk, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the sharp glint in her eyes when she delivered a cutting remark.

And it wasn't just her.

It was the girl in her chemistry class with the pretty hands. The soccer captain who always had her hair in a messy bun. The stranger she saw at the mall, dressed in a leather jacket and looking effortlessly cool.

But she didn't get it.

Because that wasn't supposed to happen.

She had always been confident in who she was. She never questioned herself, never second-guessed her choices. But this? This threw her off. It didn't fit into the version of herself she had always known.

So, for the first time in her life, she did the one thing she never thought she would.

She ignored it.

At least, she tried to.

But it was impossible to ignore something that followed her everywhere. Her eyes drifted—unintentionally at first, but then with growing awareness. The girls in her classes, the ones at the mall, the cashier at the grocery store. It wasn't just about noticing them, either. It was the way her stomach tensed when a girl laughed in that soft, pretty way, or the heat that crept up her neck when one of them brushed past her too closely.

And then there were the movies.

She used to argue hard whenever Mindy and Annika suggested a rom-com over a horror flick. But lately? She still huffed, still acted annoyed, but the protests weren't as strong as before. And when a sex scene came on, she didn't roll her eyes or fake gag anymore.

Because the problem was, she was watching.

Not the man. Never the man.

Her focus lingered elsewhere—on the curves of a woman's body, the softness of her skin, the way her lips parted on a moan. Tara didn't mean to stare, didn't mean to feel anything, but she did.

And that terrified her more than any horror movie ever could.

Not because she thought it was wrong. Tara hadn't grown up in a religious household, where being gay was condemned, or in a place where she'd been taught to believe it was unnatural. Her family never gave her any reason to think she couldn't be whoever she wanted, love whoever she wanted.

She had lesbian friends, gay friends. Mindy was out and proud, never hesitating to call a girl hot in the middle of a conversation. No one ever looked twice. It was normal. Accepted. Fine.

So why didn't it feel fine for her?

She knew it wasn't wrong—she wasn't stupid. She'd never side-eyed anyone for being into girls, never thought twice when someone came out. But somehow, when it was her—when the label curled around her throat and squeezed—it felt different.

Tara had spent her whole life knowing exactly who she was. She had never been unsure. She was bold. Confident. Unapologetic. She cut her own bangs with safety scissors when she was six and shrugged when Sam gasped at the mess she made.

She wore her Halloween costume from last year to school in the middle of March because she liked it. When she made a decision, she stuck to it, never second-guessed herself, never hesitated.

But this? This wasn't something she chose.

It crept up on her, slithered into her brain like an unwanted thought, a splinter she couldn't pull out. And it was infuriating, because she had never questioned herself before—never felt like she had to.

And yet, here she was.

Staring too long at girls in her classes, feeling her chest go tight when a woman laughed a certain way, blinking too fast at the TV whenever a female character undressed.

This wasn't supposed to happen to her.

It was okay for other people to be gay. She never questioned that. It was fine, normal, good for them. But when she looked at herself, at the thought of admitting it, of saying it out loud—it felt impossible. Like it didn't belong to her. Like the rules were different for her, even though she knew, logically, they weren't.

Maybe that was what scared her the most.

That for the first time in her life, she wasn't sure of herself.

That for the first time in her life, she felt ashamed.

She hated it. Hated how it made her feel like a stranger in her own skin, like she had something to hide when she had never hidden anything in her life.

And the worst part? Mindy was starting to notice.

Or maybe she wasn't. Maybe she was just being Mindy, teasing for the sake of getting a rise out of her like she always did. But Tara felt exposed all the same, like she was standing in the middle of a room with a spotlight on her, like any second now someone would call her out and she wouldn't have a damn thing to say in return.

It started small.

It started with little things. A smirk when a pretty girl passed by. A knowing look when Tara stumbled over her words around someone attractive. A casual, So, you got a thing for brunettes now? when Tara glanced at someone for half a second too long.

It was nothing. Just jokes. But every time, Tara felt a spike of panic she couldn't shake.

Because she wasn't used to this—this hesitation, this awareness of herself. Normally, if someone called her out on something, she'd just own it. Shrug it off. Yeah, so what? But now, the idea of admitting anything made her stomach twist.

She could play it off, roll her eyes, throw a sarcastic comment back. But Mindy wasn't stupid. And she wasn't letting it go.

One night, they were walking back from a party when Mindy casually nudged her side and said, You totally froze up when that girl talked to you.

Tara scoffed, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets. I did not.

You did. And you were blushing.

I don't blush.

Mindy had just grinned, like she had already made up her mind. Uh-huh. Sure.

Tara had let it go, pretended it didn't bother her. But later, alone in her room, she caught herself replaying the interaction in her head, her chest tightening with frustration.

Why did she care so much?

Why did it matter what Mindy thought?

Maybe because deep down, she wasn't entirely sure Mindy was wrong.

And if Mindy could see it, then who else could?

That was what scared her the most. Because Mindy wasn't wrong. That was the worst part.

And whenever Mindy made comments about it, Tara would scoff, roll her eyes, shove her shoulder, mutter something about reaching—

But every time, her pulse would quicken, her ears would burn, and she'd feel the panic rise in her chest like a tidal wave.

It wasn't just the waitress at the diner, the one with the dimples and the low-cut uniform. It wasn't just the girl in her sociology class, the one with the raspy voice who always showed up with a cold brew and a half-smirk. It was everywhere.

At the gym, when she caught herself watching the way a girl tied up her ponytail, the smooth shift of her muscles.

At the grocery store, when she found herself staring just a little too long at the woman reaching for something on the top shelf, her shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of her stomach.

At movie night, when she no longer protested the romance movies Mindy and Anika picked—because she didn't mind watching them anymore.

That was the real problem. Because she still hated the cheesy dialogue and the unrealistic plotlines, but whenever there was a sex scene, whenever a woman undressed, Tara wasn't looking away.

She didn't want to.

And that terrified her.

Because it wasn't just a thought anymore, wasn't just something lurking in the back of her mind that she could ignore. It was becoming real, something she couldn't control. She started feeling like people could see it—like it was written all over her, like she had a neon sign above her head flashing Tara Carpenter likes girls.

And maybe nobody actually noticed. Maybe nobody gave a damn. But it didn't matter because she felt exposed anyway, like someone could call her out at any second. Like Mindy's teasing wasn't just teasing anymore—like it was an accusation.

It was in the way people looked at her, in the way her own skin felt too tight, too obvious. She started overthinking every little thing—how long she looked at a girl, whether she was staring, whether her voice sounded different when she spoke to someone pretty. Whether she was acting different.

And the worst part was that she didn't even know if she was right. She didn't know if people actually saw something in her that she hadn't seen before, or if she was just losing her mind over nothing. But it didn't matter. The fear was there, real and suffocating, and it was eating her alive.

So she did the only thing she could think to do.

She got a boyfriend.

Or, more accurately, she asked Chad out.

It wasn't some grand realization. It wasn't even a well-thought-out decision. It was desperation. Panic. Like a reflex, like slamming the brakes at the last second before a crash.

And Chad just happened to be there.

And in a way, it made sense. She'd known him forever. Before high school, before college, before parties and liquor and sneaking out when Sam wasn't looking. He was familiar. Safe. He liked her. Everyone knew that.

Ever since sixth grade, people had whispered about it. Girls in their class used to giggle and nudge each other whenever Chad so much as looked at her. It was obvious.

He was the guy who always found excuses to talk to her, who laughed a little too hard at her jokes, who got weirdly competitive when she dated someone else, even when there was no reason to be.

So when she asked him out, there was no hesitation.

He said yes before she even finished the sentence.

And that was supposed to be it.

She had a boyfriend now. That was supposed to fix everything.

It was supposed to make things go away—the butterflies in her stomach, the heat crawling up her neck whenever a girl smiled at her, the way she noticed things she wasn't supposed to notice.

It was supposed to make Mindy shut up.

It was supposed to be easy.

But it wasn't.

If anything, it only got worse.

At first, she told herself it was working. That it was fine. She had a boyfriend. She was in a relationship. If people had questions before, they wouldn't anymore.

And it wasn't like she hated Chad. He was sweet. Affectionate. A little too eager sometimes, but that wasn't new. And for a while, she let herself believe that this was how it was supposed to be.

But then he kissed her.

And it wasn't bad. There was nothing wrong with it. His lips were soft, his hands were warm, he knew what he was doing. But for some reason, Tara felt wrong.

Like she was trying to force something that wasn't there.

And maybe that would've been fine if it was just the kissing. If it stopped at making out on his couch, at him pulling her into his lap at parties, at his arm draped lazily around her shoulders.

But it didn't stop.

And that was when the real problem started.

Because the first time they had sex, she didn't feel relieved.

She felt nothing.

No spark, no excitement, no rush of pleasure or warmth curling through her stomach. Just the uncomfortable realization that she was waiting for it to feel like something more.

And it never did.

She knew what sex was supposed to feel like—what it was supposed to do to her. But with Chad, it was just... there. Mechanical. Predictable. And all she could think about was whether it would be different if it were a woman.

Would a woman's lips feel softer than Chad's? Would her moans be louder? Would Tara's own moans sound different—less forced, less careful—if she wasn't holding back, if she actually wanted it?

Would the right spots be hit without her having to guide him there?

Would she ache for it the way she was supposed to?

She didn't know.

But she wanted to.

And THAT was the worst part. Because she wasn't supposed to be thinking about this. She wasn't supposed to be comparing. But every time Chad touched her, every time his hands slipped under her shirt, every time he pressed her into the mattress and murmured her name against her skin, she found herself wondering.

Would it feel better?

Would it feel right?

And once that thought was in her head, it wouldn't leave.

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she wanted to be normal, it wasn't working.

And with every day that passed, she started to realize—maybe it never would.

That thought alone should have terrified her. Should have made her try harder to make things with Chad work, to prove to herself that this was just a phase, a weird glitch in her brain that she could push through.

But instead, it just made her angry.

Because she had done everything RIGHT. She had played by the rules, followed the script, done exactly what she was supposed to do. And yet, here she was, stuck in her own damn head, questioning things she shouldn’t be questioning.

And it didn't help that you existed.

You weren't someone that necessarily stood out in a crowd—not in the way Mindy did, always loud, always on, impossible to ignore. But Tara knew you.

Everybody did.

Because you weren't just out, you were openly out. Unapologetically. The kind of gay that didn't need to be announced because it was just there. The way you dressed, the way you carried yourself, the way you talked about girls without ever hesitating.

Mindy was the same way, sure, but Mindy was Mindy. She had always been that way—loud, cocky, the self-proclaimed expert on all things queer.

But you? You weren't loud. You weren't in people's faces about it. You just were. And for some reason, that made it so much worse.

Because it meant Tara couldn't ignore you.

And she had tried.

God, had she tried.

But no matter what, her eyes always seemed to find you at parties, leaning against a wall with a drink in hand, laughing at something someone said. Or in class, when you stretched in your seat, the hem of your shirt riding up just a little. Or when you passed by in the hall, chatting with Anika about some girl you had hooked up with the weekend before.

It made Tara's stomach twist in ways she didn't understand.

Because she wasn't jealous. Not really.

So then why did she care?

Why did it bother her so much?

Why did she hate how easy it seemed for you? How you never hesitated, never stumbled over your words, never had to second-guess every single thing you felt?

Maybe that's why she had looked at you that night at the party.

Maybe that's why she had kept looking.

And maybe that's why, when she finally realized you had caught her, she couldn't bring herself to look away.

The party had been the same as every other frat party—loud, overcrowded, the air thick with cheap beer and sweat and the distant scent of weed. The living room was packed, music shaking the walls, bodies pressed together, some dancing, some just using it as an excuse to grope each other. The kitchen was worse, sticky floors and an overworked fridge stuffed with liquor bottles, people shouting over each other as they took shots, beer pong cups scattered across every available surface.

It wasn't Tara's scene. Not really. But Mindy had dragged her out, Anika too, and after a couple of drinks, the haze had settled in just enough to make it bearable.

And then she had seen you.

She hadn't even known you were going to be there. But one second, she was standing near the edge of the living room, half-listening to some guy rant about his business major, and the next, her eyes had locked onto you—and everything else just faded into background noise.

Because you weren't just there.

You were hot.

Tara had always known you were attractive in the way someone KNOWS things without really thinking about it. She had eyes. She wasn't blind. But that night, it hit her. It knocked the air from her lungs, settled thick and heavy in the pit of her stomach, made her pulse in places she shouldn't have been thinking about.

The alcohol made it worse.

She should've been angry—angry that you were here, that you were making her feel things she didn't want to feel. But she wasn't.

She was just staring.

Her grip tightened around her cup, her lips parted slightly as she took you in—your outfit, the way it hugged your body in all the right places, the effortless confidence in the way you carried yourself.

You weren't wearing something basic, like a black cat or a schoolgirl outfit. No, you were dressed as something that exuded confidence, something cocky—mafia boss style, but with a spin that made it impossible to ignore.

A fitted black blazer, tailored to perfection, cinched at the waist with a sleek belt. Underneath, a deep-cut silk blouse, the first few buttons undone just enough to tease, the fabric clinging to your frame in a way that made it hard not to look.

The skirt was short—really short—hugging your hips before stopping dangerously high on your thighs, paired with sheer black stockings that ran smooth down to your heels.

A fake cigar rested between your fingers, just for the effect, and a thin gold chain sat against your collarbone, glinting under the dim party lights. The whole look screamed power, control— trouble.

Tara's body reacted before her brain could catch up.

Her stomach tightened. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, and she felt a rush of heat spread through her—low and needy and completely out of her control.

Because you weren't even trying. You weren't flirting with her, weren't giving her any special attention. You were just existing—laughing with your friends, a drink in hand, head tilting back slightly as you said something that made them all grin.

And yet, Tara felt like she was the one being hunted.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't normal.

And the second you turned your head, the second your eyes met hers, the smirk that tugged at your lips was enough to make her stomach drop.

Because Tara had never expected you to actually notice her.

She had been staring, sure—longer than she should have, more obviously than she meant to. But the idea of you catching her? The idea of you actually seeing her? That hadn't even crossed her mind.

She was frozen for a second, unsure if she should look away, pretend she hadn’t been blatantly checking you out.

But before she could decide, you were already moving—pushing off the counter with an effortless kind of confidence, weaving through the crowd like you had all the time in the world.

And you didn't hesitate. Didn't stop. Walked straight up to her like you had known her for years, like there was no question about it, like this was something that had always been meant to happen.

For a second, she thought you were going to say something cocky. Something teasing, something about the way she had been looking at you, something that would make her panic spike even higher.

Instead, you had just said her name.

Like it was obvious. Like of course you knew who she was.

Tara didn't even remember what she had said back, because her mind had been caught on you. On the way you leaned in a little when you talked, the way you smelled like expensive perfume and vodka, the way the room was too loud but she could still hear you.

And the worst part? She could barely even keep her gaze up.

Her eyes kept drifting—down to the smooth skin of your collarbone, the gold chain resting against it. Lower, to where your silk blouse was open just enough to show a teasing amount of cleavage.

She had snapped her gaze back up quickly, hoping you hadn't noticed.

You had.

After that, she didn't remember much. At least, not in detail.

She remembered you handing her another drink, remembered the feeling of your fingers brushing hers. She remembered how your lips looked around the rim of your glass, how you licked a drop of alcohol off your bottom lip without thinking. She remembered how close you stood, how the warmth of your body practically wrapped around hers, even though you weren't touching.

And she remembered that the second she was with you, she stopped thinking about HIM.

Chad was somewhere—probably off doing some stupid drinking challenge with his teammates, yelling over a game of beer pong, flexing or showing off or whatever the hell he and his sport-obsessed friends did. But the important thing was that he wasn't here.

And Tara didn’t care.

He didn't cross her mind once. Not when you leaned in to say something against her ear, your breath warm against her skin. Not when you laughed at something she said and touched her arm, your fingers grazing her through the sleeve of her jacket. Not when your eyes flicked down to her lips and back up again, slow, deliberate.

And definitely not when she found herself tilting her head, when the alcohol made her bold enough to not overthink, when she kissed you before she could stop herself.

That part was hazy.

All she knew was that one second, you were standing close, and the next, her lips were on yours. And she didn't regret it. Not even a little.

She didn't know who pulled who. Didn't know how it had escalated so quickly. All she knew was that at some point, your fingers curled around her wrist, and she let you guide her through the crowd, past the bodies pressed together, past the couples making out in dark corners, past the booming music.

And then you were in a bedroom.

And that was where everything really started.

Tara barely remembered how you got there. One moment, the party had been a blur of flashing lights and pounding music, the heat of bodies pressing in on her from all sides.

And then, suddenly, it was just you. Just the two of you, the noise of the party fading behind a closed door, leaving nothing but the sound of her own breathing and the pounding of her pulse.

Fuck.

She should have hesitated. She should have thought about Chad. But she didn't.

Not when you were this close, your scent filling her nose—something dark and sweet, like vanilla and smoke. Not when your fingers brushed her wrist, sending a spark up her arm. Not when your gaze flickered down to her mouth like you already knew exactly what she wanted.

And then your lips were on hers, and—fuck.

It wasn't like kissing Chad. With him, it had always been easy, predictable. She knew what to expect, what it would feel like. But this? This was something else entirely. Your lips were softer, but the way you kissed her was anything but. You didn't just kiss—you took. You grabbed her, pulled her into you, kissed her like you owned her.

Tara barely even noticed when her back hit the door. Not when your hands slid beneath her top, fingers ghosting over her ribs, dragging up her sides. Not when your knee pressed between her thighs, making her suck in a sharp breath.

She had never felt like this before.

With Chad, she had always been able to keep a part of herself detached. But with you? There was no thinking. No overanalyzing. Just the sharp, intoxicating press of your body against hers, the way your mouth trailed down her jaw, her neck, biting just hard enough to make her gasp.

Her hands moved on their own, slipping beneath your blazer, pushing it off your shoulders. She barely had time to register the sound of it hitting the floor before her fingers were on the buttons of your shirt, fumbling as she pulled it open.

And then she saw you.

The smooth curve of your shoulders, the way the dim lighting cast shadows along your stomach. The black lace of your bra, barely covering your chest. She couldn't stop staring. Couldn't stop wanting.

You grinned like you knew exactly what was going through her mind, and then your hands were on her thighs, gripping tight as you lifted her onto the dresser. Her legs parted without hesitation, wrapping around your waist as your lips crashed back against hers.

Tara didn't remember how her top came off, only that suddenly she was half-naked, her back pressed against the mirror, your hands roaming her body like you needed to touch every inch of her.

And then you were lowering yourself, trailing kisses down her chest, over her stomach, sinking to your knees between her thighs.

Her breath hitched.

Chad had never done this.

And when your mouth pressed against her, when your tongue flicked against her in a way that made her spine arch—

She knew.

This was what she had been craving all along.

And Tara still remembered it.

It wasn't just that it had felt good—it was the way it had felt right. The way her body had reacted to every touch, every flick of your tongue, every bite, every fucking thing you did to her like she had been waiting for it her whole life without even knowing.

She had never felt euphoric before. Never felt her limbs go weak, her head go light, her stomach twist with something dangerously close to desperation. But that night, with your hands gripping her thighs, your mouth between them, your voice murmuring something low and filthy against her skin—it was like a switch had flipped.

With Chad, it had always been just...fine. Nice, in the way that it was supposed to be.

He touched her the way a boyfriend should.

He kissed her the way a boyfriend should.

He made sure she was taken care of, in the way that a boyfriend should.

And Tara had always figured that was enough.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

It was the way you didn't just kiss her—you devoured her. Like she was something to be tasted, something to be enjoyed. It was the way your hands gripped her like you needed her closer, the way your nails dragged over her thighs, the way your tongue moved like you knew exactly how to make her fall apart.

And fuck, did she fall apart.

She had never been this loud before. She had never shaken like this, never clutched at the sheets, never let her head fall back, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut as you pulled every single sound out of her like you owned them.

And you did.

Because it wasn't just what you were doing—it was the way you did it. The way you looked up at her with those fucking eyes, the way you didn't stop, not even when she swore she couldn't take any more, not even when her legs trembled around your shoulders.

And when she finally did come apart, gasping your name, head thrown back, body arching, back hitting the mirror so hard she thought it might crack—she had never felt something like that before.

She knew it was wrong.

She should have felt guilty. She should have felt sick to her stomach, ashamed, horrified at what she had just done. She had Chad—sweet, loyal Chad—waiting for her somewhere downstairs, probably wondering where she had disappeared to. She had a boyfriend, and she had just—

But it didn't feel wrong.

It should have. God, it should have. She should have been scrambling for her clothes, should have been choking on regret, should have been thinking of ways to explain it away. But instead, all she could feel was the aftershocks still pulsing through her body, the ghost of your hands on her skin, the warm, lazy hum in her limbs.

It didn't feel like a mistake.

It didn't feel like something to regret.

It felt like something she had needed.

But she should have pushed you away.

She should have looked at you with disgust, should have spat out some excuse about being drunk, about making a mistake, about how this wasn’t her, about how this couldn’t happen again.

But she didn't.

Because it didn't feel like a mistake.

And when you moved closer, when your fingers trailed lazily over her bare skin, when your lips brushed against her neck as if you were inviting her to take more—to take everything—Tara didn't pull away.

Instead, before she could even think, before she could stop herself, she heard herself asking if you could do this again sometime.

The words had slipped out so easily, like she had been waiting to say them, like they had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for months, just waiting for the chance to be spoken.

And when you smirked, when you leaned in and murmured something she could barely register through the haze in her head, when your lips brushed over hers one last time before pulling away—Tara knew.

She wasn't going to stop.

She couldn’t stop.

Because no matter how wrong it was, no matter how much she should have felt guilty—she wanted it. And that was the worst part.

Or maybe the worst part was that it happened again.

She should have known it would.

Because the moment she walked out of that frat house, the moment she left you behind in that bedroom, she couldn't stop thinking about you. About what had happened. About how fucking good it had felt.

She should have felt guilty.

She should have gone home, called Chad, done something to make this feel like a mistake. But instead, she laid in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, body still humming, hands gripping the sheets because she couldn't fucking sleep—because she wanted more.

And then, a few days later, she got a text.

meet me in ten.

No context. No explanation. Just an address and a ticking clock.

She shouldn't have gone.

But she did.

She told herself she wasn't going for that, that she just wanted to see what you had to say, that she just wanted to—fuck, she didn't know. But she found herself getting in her car anyway, her hands tightening around the wheel the closer she got.

The address you had sent led her to an empty parking lot just outside of town, the kind of place people went when they didn't want to be seen. Your car was parked in the farthest corner, backed up against a row of trees, tinted windows hiding whatever happened inside.

It was the perfect spot.

And Tara knew exactly why you had picked it.

Her heart was pounding when she parked beside you. Her body was already warm, already tingling with anticipation as she climbed into your passenger seat.

And the second you looked at her—smirking like you knew she had been thinking about this all fucking week—she realized she had been waiting for this to happen again.

That was how it started.

One meeting turned into two.

Two turned into three.

And then, before she even knew how it had happened, it became a routine.

Every Sunday.

A text. A location. Your car parked somewhere no one would find you. And then hands on skin, lips crashing together, nails dragging, teeth biting, clothes being pushed aside because neither of you ever had the patience to take them off completely.

She knew it was fucked up.

She knew it was wrong.

But that didn't stop her from showing up every damn week.

And the worst part wasn't that she was lying.

It was how she was lying.

Because of all the excuses she could have used—homework, hangouts with Mindy, anything that actually made sense—the one she found herself using the most was that she was going to church.

Fucking church.

She didn't even believe in anything. Had never been the type to sit through a sermon, had never even entertained the idea of faith, and yet—somehow—Chad never questioned it.

Maybe it was because he was just that gullible. Maybe it was because he wasn't used to suspecting her of anything. Or maybe it was because, despite knowing her for over a year, he didn't know her as well as he thought he did.

Either way, every Sunday when she told him she couldn't hang out, when she said she had to go to mass, when she put on some half-assed ugh my mom’s making me go tone, he just accepted it.

Told her to have fun.

Asked her what the sermon was about later.

And Tara had to sit there, staring at her phone, trying to come up with some bullshit answer while still catching her breath.

Because she hadn't been in church.

She hadn't been in church.

She hadn't been praying.

She had been on her knees, mouth wrapped around your cocky little smirk, hands digging into your thighs. She had been moaning a name that wasn't his, head thrown back against the seat, panting like she had just run a marathon.

She had been gripping the leather interior with trembling fingers, legs wrapped around your head with the strength of metal bars, back arching so hard she thought she might snap in two.

And Chad had gone about his Sunday completely clueless.

___

"Fuck." Tara moaned, breath hitching, nails digging into your back as her head hit the window.

Like every other Sunday.

The windows were fogged up, streaked with condensation, the air inside thick with heat and the sharp scent of sweat.

The car rocked slightly with every movement, the backseat cramped but familiar, the leather sticking to her skin. It had been like this every time—fast, desperate, no hesitation.

You'd barely gotten inside before she was pulling you to the back, mouths crashing together, hands tugging at clothes, both of you too impatient to take your time.

Now, she was spread out beneath you, thighs trembling against your shoulders, fingers tangled in your hair as your tongue worked her over like you had all the time in the world.

Her skirt pushed up, undergarments long forgotten, her shirt still halfway on, bunched up under her ribs from when you'd shoved it out of the way. The feeling of your mouth on her was enough to send her spiraling, but it was the way you held her there—firm, unrelenting, like you had no plans of stopping anytime soon—that made her body shake with every flick of your tongue.

She could hear herself, the obscene wet sounds mixing with her ragged breaths, the moans she couldn't hold back no matter how hard she bit her lip. She had never sounded like this before, not with Chad, not with anyone.

It was a different kind of pleasure—overwhelming, raw, like her entire body was caught in a storm she couldn't control. Every Sunday, it was the same. You had her unraveling, melting under your touch, forgetting everything except the way you made her feel.

She didn't even realize she was grinding against your face until your grip tightened on her thighs, holding her still as you sucked at her clit just right. Her back arched, a sharp cry spilling from her lips, her mind blanking completely. Fuck. She was close. Already. Again. It was always like this with you.

And Chad had no idea.

Tara's head tilted back, lips parting, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. "Oh my—fuck, just like that—" Her voice broke around the words, half a moan, half a plea.

She could barely think, her mind slipping into static, body tightening under your touch. Every drag of your tongue sent another pulse of pleasure through her, her hands fisting the fabric of your jacket like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

The air was thick, heavy, carrying the sound of her moans, the quiet creak of the leather beneath her, the wet, obscene noises of your mouth working her over.

It should've been embarrassing—the way she was falling apart so quickly, the way she could already feel the heat coiling in her stomach, twisting tighter and tighter—but it wasn't. Not with you.

Your grip on her thighs tightened as you hummed against her, and Tara nearly lost it. A broken cry ripped from her throat, her body jerking, hips bucking up against your face. "Oh, shit—" Her fingers scrambled for something to hold onto, one slipping into your hair, gripping tight. "Don't stop—don't—"

Like you ever would.

She felt the way you smirked against her, cocky as ever, before your tongue flicked over her clit in slow, deliberate strokes that had her whimpering, her legs shaking. "Jesus, you're so—fuck." Her voice was wrecked, raw, words tumbling out before she could stop them.

She wanted to say something more—something coherent—but the way you sucked at her clit, the way your nails dug into her hips, the way she could already feel herself spiraling again—

She was gone.

Tara came with a strangled moan, her whole body tensing, back arching, thighs tightening around your head like she never wanted to let go. Her hands gripped your hair, pulling, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her breathless, trembling. Her head lolled back against the window, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted as she tried to catch her breath.

And then she felt it—your hands smoothing over her thighs, your mouth pulling away, your breath warm against her skin. She forced her eyes open, still hazy, only to be met with your gaze—dark, intense, that fucking smirk tugging at your lips. Like you knew exactly what you'd just done to her.

But you weren't judging.

You just watched her, taking in the way she was still trying to recover, the way her chest rose and fell, the way her skin was flushed. Then, slowly, you dragged your hands down her legs, prying them from where they were still locked around you, letting them fall slack against the leather seat.

"So," you mused, voice low, teasing. "What excuse did you use this time?"

Tara bit her lip, still catching her breath, her fingers twitching against the seat as she let out a shaky little laugh. "Would you believe me if I said shopping?"

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

Shopping. That had been the excuse this time. And for a moment, Chad had actually questioned it—had cocked his head, confused, when she told him she was heading out alone. Shopping wasn't really her thing, at least not solo. But then he just shrugged, distracted by something on his phone, and that was that. No suspicion, no follow-up questions.

Tara had almost felt guilty for how easy it was. Almost.

She should have felt guilty now, too—sitting there, legs still weak, skin still flushed, while you smirked at her like you knew exactly how ruined she was.

But the moment she saw you shift, reaching for your bag, zipping it open with a deliberate slowness, guilt was the last thing on her mind.

"Well," you murmured, pulling something from inside, "I've done some shopping."

Tara's breath caught when she saw what it was.

A strap.

It was sleek, black, and bigger than Chad's actual one—noticeably so.

Tara swallowed. You and she had talked about this before. The first time you brought it up, she had barely hesitated before agreeing, because she had been sure—certain—that the whole P in V thing would be different with you. Better. More enjoyable. And after everything else you'd done to her, she had no doubt about that.

Still, she found herself shifting in place, heart picking up, torn between excitement and nerves. She hadn't done this with you before. Hadn't done this with any girl before. But fuck—just the sight of it, the thought of it, had heat curling low in her stomach all over again.

Tara gulped, eyes locked on the strap, but her mind was already ahead—already picturing it all before it even happened. How it would feel. How you would feel.

You didn't move yet. Just scanned her face, like you were waiting for some hesitation, some sign that she would be scared off. But she wasn't. She couldn't be.

Your smirk deepened, head tilting just slightly, the unspoken question clear in your eyes—want to?

Tara nodded. Too fast. Too desperate. She knew that. But she did.

So she moved without thinking, shifting onto all fours, her knees pressing into the worn leather of the backseat. Her back arched slightly, her hands splayed out in front of her as she tried to steady herself, breathing uneven.

Behind her, she could hear you—hear the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of buckles being adjusted, the quiet exhale you let out as you fit the strap into place. Then the warmth of your hand running down her back, over her hips, fingers brushing between her thighs before you paused.

Her stomach tensed at the thought. At the thought.

She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into fists where they rested against the seat. Then your hands were on her again—trailing down her spine, over the curve of her hips, fingertips brushing against her thighs, teasing her. She shuddered at the touch, hips rolling back instinctively, already seeking more.

You let out a quiet chuckle, low and teasing, before pressing yourself against her, letting her feel the weight of it. She sucked in a breath, her entire body tightening at the sensation alone.

You asked if she was ready.

She barely managed to whisper yes before you pushed in.

Her mouth fell open, a sharp, broken sound leaving her as her body stretched around you. Her arms nearly gave out beneath her, and her head dropped forward, forehead pressing against the window.

It was almost like the pleasure rushed straight to her eyes, like it was so intense she couldn't even see for a moment—just a wave of heat, of pressure, of something she had never felt before.

The first thrust was slow, teasing, like you were letting her feel every inch of it before pulling back just as carefully. Even that had her sucking in a sharp breath, fingers twitching against the seat beneath her.

The stretch, the fullness—it was overwhelming in a way she hadn't expected. It was nothing like before. It was so much more. And when you did it again, thrusting just a little deeper, just a little harder, a gasp tore from her lips.

You didn't stop. Your hips snapped forward again, finding a rhythm that was steady but deep, every push forcing her further into the seat. The car rocked just slightly with each movement, the damp heat of the space making every sensation ten times more intense. The sounds of it—of skin meeting skin, of wet, filthy noises between her legs—filled her ears, mixed with the ragged breaths leaving both of you.

And the moans.

Tara bit her lip, trying to quiet herself, but it was impossible. A moan ripped from her throat as you hit a spot that made her whole body jolt, the muscles in her stomach tensing. Her head tipped forward, forehead pressing harder into the window, fogging it up even more. It was getting harder to hold herself up, her arms already trembling from the effort of staying up on all fours, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

Not when you sounded like that.

The breathy little grunts leaving your lips—low and raspy, like you were getting just as lost in it as she was—made something coil tight in her stomach. She wished she could see you. She tried to picture your face behind her, how your brows must've been furrowed, how your mouth was probably open, panting, the way your jaw clenched every time she clenched around you.

"Jesus—" The word came out of her before she could stop it, breathless and desperate, her voice shaking. She felt you smirk against her back, your lips ghosting over her spine before nipping at her shoulder, sending a shiver down her body.

"What's wrong, baby?" you murmured, voice dripping with amusement.

Tara's breath hitched.

It wasn't just what you said. It was how you said it—so low, so full of amusement, like you knew exactly what you were doing to her, like you loved watching her fall apart beneath you. And baby. Fuck, she hadn't expected that. The way it sounded coming from your mouth—rough, teasing, possessive—sent heat surging through her body.

She whimpered, fingers clawing at the seat. Her hips rolled back against you, desperate, wordlessly begging for more.

Then.

A buzzing cut through the thick air, sharp and insistent, demanding attention.

Tara barely registered it at first, still too caught up in the aftershocks of everything—her heavy breathing, the way her body still pulsed around you, the lingering heat of your hands gripping her hips. But then you stopped moving, and her moan died in her throat, leaving only the sound of her own ragged breaths and that damn vibration filling the car.

Then she turned her head slightly, trying to glance back at you.

You didn't look worried. Not even a little. If anything, you looked amused. Your eyes gleamed with something dark, something teasing, as you tilted your head toward the phone in a silent suggestion. Check it.

Tara swallowed. Her whole body felt hot, sweat sticking to her skin, thighs still twitching around you. The last thing she wanted to do was answer her phone right now, but the vibrating didn't stop. Whoever it was, they weren't giving up.

She exhaled sharply, adjusting her weight on her knees before reaching forward, stretching as far as she could without moving off of you. It wasn't easy. Her back arched deeper, pushing her against you even more, making her even more aware of where you still were, thick and unmoving inside her.

She tried to keep quiet, to focus, but the angle sent a wave of pressure through her core, and a quiet, breathy moan slipped out before she could stop it.

She clenched her jaw, swallowing hard, and finally grasped the phone. Her fingers were slick with sweat, struggling to get a grip as she flipped it over in her palm. She held it tightly, worried it might slip right out of her hand with how weak she felt.

Her breath was uneven as she turned the screen over, eyes flicking to the caller ID.

Her stomach dropped.

Chad.

Tara's grip on the phone tightened as she stared at Chad's name on the screen, her pulse hammering against her ribs.

Her first thought was that she couldn't possibly answer. There was no way. Not like this—shaky, breathless, body still stretched and filled, the heat of you pressing against her skin. She wasn't even sure if she could form a coherent sentence right now, let alone talk to Chad without him immediately knowing something was off.

Slowly, as if in a daze, she tilted the phone just slightly so you could see.

Your gaze flicked down, taking in the name without any hint of concern, and Tara swore she saw the corner of your mouth twitch up like you were actually enjoying this. Like it amused you how completely fucked she was in this moment.

She gulped, feeling her breath hitch, fingers twitching around the device. Her mind spun, spiraling into every possible excuse she could come up with, every reason she had to not answer. Maybe she could just ignore it—say she was busy, say she didn't hear it, say her phone died. He wouldn't suspect anything, right? He never did. He never even—

Your voice cut through her thoughts, low and smooth. "Answer it."

Tara's breath caught in her throat. She blinked, eyes snapping to you, like she wasn't sure she'd heard you right. "What?"

Your smirk deepened. You leaned in, just enough for her to feel your breath ghost over her shoulder. And then, slower this time—deliberate, teasing, dripping with amusement—you repeated, "Answer the phone."

Her body tensed. Her stomach flipped. Her throat felt like it had closed up completely. There was no way. She shook her head, already stammering, "I—I can't—"

But before she could even finish, you gripped her hips and pulled her back onto the strap, burying yourself deeper with one swift motion.

Tara choked on a loud, surprised moan, her body jolting, the phone nearly slipping from her fingers.

She barely had a second to recover before your voice came again, low and firm and completely in control.

"Answer him, Tara."

So she did.

Because she couldn't say no to you—not when you made her feel like this. Not when her whole body was on fire, every nerve ignited, pulsing with heat. Not when you fucked her like you did, when you had her melting into every single touch, when you knew exactly how to make her fall apart.

Her finger shook as it hovered over the screen, hesitation tightening in her chest. But then, with a sharp inhale, she slid her thumb across to accept the call, bringing the phone up to her ear.

The device was warm, heated from the stuffy air in the car, and when it pressed against her flushed skin, she felt the contrast—felt just how overheated she was, how wrecked she already looked. Her breath wavered as she tried to pull herself together, forcing a swallow past the lump in her throat.

Then, as steadily as she could manage—sweet, happy, normal—she breathed out a soft, "Hi, baby."

It almost sounded real. Almost. If not for the slight tremble in her voice, the way it wavered at the edges, betraying her.

Chad didn't seem to notice. "Hey, babe," he greeted easily, his voice light and casual. "You still at the mall? They're closing soon, just wondering when you're heading back."

Tara's stomach twisted. Still at the mall. She barely stopped herself from laughing at the irony. She hadn't been anywhere near the mall. She hadn't been walking around all day, hadn't spent the afternoon wandering stores, browsing through clothes, or carrying shopping bags.

No, she'd spent it in your lap. On her back, on her knees, on all fours. She'd spent it with your hands all over her, your mouth on her, making her come over and over again until her legs had trembled and she thought she might actually black out from the intensity of it.

Chad kept talking, completely oblivious. "Mindy and Anika are having a movie night. Thought we could go, but if you're too tired from walking around all day, I get it."

Tara parted her lips, just about to answer—

And then you moved.

Her breath hitched violently as you pushed back inside her, slow but deep, making her grip the phone tighter. Her eyes fluttered, jaw clenching as she struggled not to react.

You weren't done with her. Not even close.

Her head dipped forward, eyes squeezing shut as you dragged out again, the pace torturously slow. She could hear it, could hear how wet she was, how easily you moved inside her, and the realization sent another wave of heat crashing through her body.

She started nodding—at nothing, at Chad's words, at whatever he was saying—just to distract herself. Just to have something to focus on besides the way you were ruining her.

But then you picked up the pace.

Faster. Harder.

Tara's breathing grew heavier, her mouth falling open as her fingers gripped the phone like a lifeline.

Chad finished talking, clearly waiting for a response.

She gulped, trying to focus, trying so hard to make her voice sound normal.

"Y-yeah, uhm—"

Her breath caught, her body jerking as you rolled your hips just right. She had to bite her lip—hard—to keep herself from making a sound.

You weren't making it easy.

You were deep, hitting the perfect spot every single time, making her entire body feel like it was burning.

Her lips trembled, fingers tightening around the phone as she struggled to push out the words. "I'd—" she inhaled sharply, voice breaking, "—I'd love to go."

Her thighs twitched. She tried so hard to keep herself still, to not move against you, to not push back for more.

She could feel your smirk. Could practically hear the amusement in the way you exhaled through your nose, in the way you didn't stop, didn't slow down.

She sucked in another shaky breath.

"I—" she panted, each syllable shaky, "I'm leaving soon. I'll—" her voice hitched again as you thrust just right, "—I'll text you when I-I'm done."

There was a short pause before Chad's voice came through again, casual, completely unaware.

"Why are you so out of breath?"

Tara's heart practically stopped.

She had to think fast. Her brain scrambled for something, anything, that would make sense, that would explain why she sounded like this.

"I—" her voice wavered, still breathless, "I'm just—trying to make it to Nordstrom before they close."

The lie slipped out before she could even process it.

And the worst part?

He fucking believed it.

"Alright," he said, not suspicious at all. Not even a little. "Just text me when you're on your way home."

Tara could barely focus, barely even hear him over the pounding of her own heart.

And then—then—he added it. The three words she'd been waiting for, dreading, knowing it was coming.

"I love you."

Tara squeezed her eyes shut. "I love you too," she panted out, forcing the words past her lips, rushing to get it over with—

But then you thrust forward. Hard.

So fucking hard.

A sharp cry ripped from her throat before she could stop it, before she could even think. It wasn't just a moan—it was loud, raw, completely unfiltered, and so obviously not the sound of someone running through a mall.

Her eyes flew open, her whole body freezing as panic crashed over her like a wave.

Oh, fuck.

Her mouth hung open, heart hammering, hands clenching around the phone. She felt like she couldn't breathe.

"What the fuck was that?" He let out a small laugh. Not mad. Not suspicious. Just genuinely confused.

Tara's stomach twisted.

She could feel your breath against her skin. Could feel the way you stilled, the way you were watching her, waiting to see what she'd say.

Her brain was a fucking mess, completely scrambled, thoughts running too fast, too panicked.

She had to fix this.

Quickly, she squeezed her eyes shut again. "I stubbed my toe," she rushed out, her voice tight, breathless. Then she forced out a hiss through her teeth, as if to sell it. "Fuck, that hurt."

Chad chuckled on the other end of the line, that same stupid little laugh of his that made Tara's stomach twist. Completely oblivious. Completely unaware of what was happening, what had been happening for weeks now. "God, babe, you're so clumsy."

Tara barely managed to force out a weak "Mhm." It was all she could get out without completely giving herself away.

But the truth was, that sound wasn't for him.

It was for you.

Because she was desperate.

And she needed you to keep going.

She was so fucking close—every muscle in her body was tensed, her thighs trembling where they pressed against the leather seats, her breath coming out in shallow little gasps as she tried to keep some level of composure. And you knew it. You fucking knew it.

She felt the way your hands flexed against her waist, felt the teasing drag of your fingertips as they traced up her stomach, slow, calculated, making her shiver. Felt the way your hips barely moved now, holding back, waiting, making her want to fucking scream.

She wasn't going to make it if Chad kept talking.

Her jaw clenched, and she could already feel herself slipping, feel the heat pooling lower, spreading through her entire body. The pleasure was too much, too overwhelming, and she couldn't be on the phone with Chad when she came.

Her fingers gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white, the screen slick against her sweaty palm. She couldn't even register what Chad was saying anymore, his voice a distant, meaningless hum in the background.

"Well, alright," he finally said, sounding distracted, like he was half paying attention, "just hurry up before they start the movie without us."

You shifted behind her, your fingers pressing just a little harder against her burning skin, and Tara's breath hitched.

She couldn't do this anymore.

Her voice came out rushed, breathless, almost strained—"Yeah, I will—bye."

She fumbled with the phone, barely managing to end the call before her entire body gave out, slumping forward onto her forearms as she let out a shaking exhale.

And then, the second the call disconnected, you slammed into her again.

Her forehead pressed against the window as she let out a choked gasp, her entire body trembling. She was so fucking close—so close she could taste it, feel it in every inch of her, her thighs burning, her back arching as she tried to push herself back against you.

She wasn't even thinking anymore. Couldn't think.

Not with how fucking deep you were, how perfectly you hit every spot inside her that had her toes curling and her fingers twitching uselessly against the seat.

She felt your hands tighten around her hips, grounding her, holding her exactly where you wanted her. And then—

"Good job, baby."

Tara's breath stuttered.

"You did so good."

And that—that was the last straw.

Her entire body tensed, pleasure hitting her so hard it nearly knocked the air from her lungs. And then she broke.

She came with a loud, uncontrollable moan, her back arching, her arms giving out beneath her. The orgasm ripped through her in wave after wave of unbearable pleasure, leaving her shaking, gasping, crying out as you kept going, dragging it out, making it last until she couldn't even fucking breathe.

The car was silent except for the sound of heavy breathing. Tara felt like she could still hear the blood rushing through her ears, her body tingling in the aftermath. She barely registered the feeling of you pulling out until the loss of contact made her whimper slightly, her legs trembling as she collapsed fully onto the seat beneath her.

Her arms felt weak. Her thighs burned. And her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. You weren't much better, panting as you sat back, but fuck—Tara was completely spent.

Still, she did what she always did. Without a word, she forced herself to sit up on shaking arms and began fixing her clothes, her fingers clumsily pulling her underwear back up, straightening her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt. She was still flushed, her skin still burning, and her hair was an absolute mess, but at least she didn't look completely wrecked.

You watched her, an amused glint in your eyes, and then, just as she was running her fingers through her tangled hair, you smirked.

"How's that toe you stubbed?"

Tara froze for a second, then let out a breathless laugh, rolling her eyes as she shoved you lightly. "Fuck you," she muttered, but there was no real heat behind it—just the kind of teasing exasperation that made you grin wider.

She reached down, grabbing her shoes from where they had ended up discarded on the floor. She slipped them on, lacing up her white Converse with slightly shaky fingers. When she was done, she glanced back at you, hesitating for just a second before pushing open the car door.

The cool night air hit her instantly, and she took a deep breath, stepping out onto the pavement. But before she shut the door, she turned back around, looking at you over her shoulder.

"Next Sunday?"

You smirked, leaning back against the seat as you met her gaze.

"Next Sunday."

And with that, she shut the door and walked away.

[ovaryacted]

ENDLESS LOVE

─ Old Man! Logan Howlett x fem! mutant! reader || WC: 5.4k

SYNOPSIS: Running out of options to save what was left of his family, Logan escapes to Canada and seeks refuge in a stranger's home. Once he arrives at your doorstep, beaten and bruised, he gets more than what he bargained for as your lives become intertwined.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. ANGST/SMUTTY/FLUFFY. Fix-it fic. Found Family. Strangers to Lovers. Budding relationship. Emotionally constipated Logan. Yearning. Mutual pining. Flirting. Kissing. Mentions of smut. Mentions of marriage & pregnancy at the end. Valentine's Day mention. Reader is an empath/telepathic mutant/mind bender. Mentions of Laura & Charles Xavier. Canon-adjacent to Logan (2017). Logan doesn't die and gets a happy ending!

A/N: Hi! This is my entry for the Loveuary Challenge hosted by @lubdubology & @yxtkiwiyxt (yes a month late, I’m sawry!) I was given Old Man Logan/Wolverine paired with the song Endless Love by Lionel Richie & Diana Ross, and this was what I came up with. I rewrote this like three times, so it was hard getting through it, but I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you to my twin @joelsdagger for the proofread, love you to bits. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

He remembers what it felt like. Loss. All-consuming loss. He’s lived through it more times than he could count, escaping the narrow grip of death for all of his very long, undeserving life.

So much blood had spilled on his hands that his pale skin was permanently stained in crimson, losing track of whether it was his own or someone else’s. The burdens of the world weighed heavily on his shoulders like the rest of him, dragging his feet through the Earth, searching for a safe haven, a home, a reason to keep going.

There was never enough time. No time to grieve. To beg for forgiveness. To find the light at the end of the tunnel. The suffering from the two centuries he’s lived through was imprinted on his psyche, doing reruns of the wars he fought in his sleep, the sound of cannon fire and dog tags dangling around his neck haunting him in his nightmares.

Logan was as much of a monster as people made him out to be despite his dwindling strength and delayed regenerative health saying otherwise. He was ready to throw in the towel as soon as Charles’ seizures started; losing his loved ones in one fell swoop was enough to break whatever was left of his fading spirit.

Years spent scavenging, fighting, surviving off of scraps…mending the broken pieces of the man he saw in the cracked mirror. The Wolverine, a fable tale like the rest of the mutants and the X-Men, lost to the ravages of time and the severed mind of their savior.

Of course, that all changed when they met Laura.

A feisty, angry, defiant young girl that flipped Logan’s life upside down. Really, he was initially putting up with her for some money to stretch over the next couple of months. He could get Charles his medicine, maybe get them out of New Mexico and into a house with steady walls, real plumbing, and a yard. It was a fantasy, dreaming of something other than the dust that polluted his sights so frequently, choking him up more often than the blood that clotted at the base of his throat.

Realizing she was his, his family, revived the dormant beating encased in his ribcage. From the scowl on her face to her nose scrunches, the furrow in her eyebrow when she was frustrated or in deep concentration, the way the side of her mouth curled upwards in a smirk. It was all irrevocably him; it couldn’t be questioned, and he didn’t think to do so.

Laura redefined what family meant to Logan, another chance at having the very thing he lost long ago.

They almost didn’t make it to Canada; the dreaded journey to the other side of the border dragged on far longer than any of them anticipated. The irony that Logan would find himself in his “home” country again after so long brought memories he could’ve sworn he had forgotten. Charles had told him before to prioritize getting there first, that everything else would work out on its own. That there were things Logan didn’t yet understand, and that he didn’t need to.

A second chance. A new life. It’s all within his reach, his and Laura’s. All he had to do was get there.

Logan had lost count of how many times the old man had been right, how Xavier’s wisdom wasn’t entirely clouded by his terrorizing Alzheimer’s, still locked somewhere deep in that dying brain of his, guiding his loved ones—the ones that remained—to safety. He wouldn’t allow the same mistake to repeat again; he couldn’t bear losing any more people because of his shortcomings.

He just had to get them to Canada. 

Apparently, the journey led them right to you.

You were already walking out of your home and onto the porch when Logan’s truck pulled in the driveway, eyeing him closely as the hairs on the back of your neck and arms rose. He stepped out first, guarding a younger girl standing behind his broad figure, and none other than Charles Xavier in the backseat.

You were waiting for them, distantly remembering years ago the professor had come to you in your dreams with a message, mentioning that he would need your help in the future, that you’d know when you were needed. He didn’t tell you anything else, didn’t say exactly who would be coming to you, just that you were to help them at all costs. Not one to disagree, you continued on with your life in Canada, assimilating into society despite the isolation you felt carrying a responsibility you didn’t know what to do with. Until now.

As you observed the older, scarred man, it dawned on you exactly who you were dealing with. You’ve heard of him, of the Wolverine; this first impression of him is different than what you expected. He watched you, body stiff, riddled with anxiety and uncertainty, a protective hand over the little girl’s back, keeping her close.

Staying in place, you kept your stance relaxed, showing no sign of a threat to the three individuals before you.

“You must be hungry.”

All sat at the dinner table, you didn’t say anything as you offered some hearty tomato soup, warming your guests from the inside out. The young girl, Laura, whom you’ve come to know, didn’t hesitate to hold her empty bowl up and ask for more. With a smile, you served her twice without question, more than happy to give whatever they needed, Charles and Logan included.

The first night in the new space threw Logan off-kilter, saying goodnight to Charles after you administered his new meds, the stronger dosage knocking him right out with no additional assistance. You helped in settling Laura to bed without needing to be asked, guiding her to the bathroom for a shower, spare clothes at the ready, and your comforting presence at the door.

Tentatively, Laura roamed around the other spare bedroom you had in your home, plopping on the plush bedding prepared for her, already claiming the bunny plushie you figured she might’ve liked. She murmured a thank you, shutting her eyes, and you stood by the entryway as Logan placed a kiss on her forehead, switching off the light and closing the door behind him.

He didn’t give you a chance to make any suggestions of where you wanted to put him, mumbling that he would take the couch in your living room. You figured he wasn’t ready yet. He’ll keep the walls he had spent decades building, the ones that nurtured his fears and worries, the ones that kept him alive. There was no need to push him further, offering the shower if he wanted to wash off the dried blood from his undershirt, along with clothes you guessed would fit him, telling him you’d wash the rest in the morning.

You leave him standing in the living room with a curt smile and a promise of safety, that Logan didn’t need to sleep with one eye open anymore. Surely, he’ll come to understand that. Retreating back to your bedroom, he cleaned up and lay back on the pillows you gave him, his body shutting down before he could finish his next breath, eyes closing as he plunged into a deep sleep.

For the first time in years, he slept through the whole night without jolting awake. Actually, he slept well into the next day. Whether that was because of exhaustion or because he felt comfort for the first time, that was for him to figure out later.

He remembers what it felt like. What love was—is.

His love towards his family, with Charles and the other X-Men, and now with Laura included; his daughter in more ways than he thought possible. He can faintly remember the traces of love he had towards Jean before she made her choice to stay with Scott, though he doesn’t think his feelings for her ever went away, loving from a distance despite letting her go. Over the course of his 200 years, he’s had that “spark” more than once, many happening when he wasn’t graying and knocking on death’s door, some lost in the deep mess of his scattered memories. Though, Logan didn’t anticipate feeling that same spark another time when coming to Canada, seeking refuge in your home.

It started off slowly, as it always did, through acts of kindness that came naturally to the both of you. He figured it was easier to make himself useful as a way to say thank you when he couldn’t find the words. You were very hands-on with Charles; whatever medicine cocktail you had been giving him kept his seizures at bay, and frankly, he’s the calmest and happiest he’s ever been. Logan almost thinks he could see the old Charles come back, stopping by the foyer to listen to the professor share his memories with a toothy smile. He had never smiled so wide, not in a very long time.

Logan tried to keep himself busy around the new space, doing repairs as much as his body would allow, and really, you didn’t need him to do anything. All you worried about was his health and well-being, which was easier said than done. He didn’t let you fuss too much over him and told you to focus more on Laura and Charles, who were more than happy to occupy your time. Still, always one to care for strays, you could never really leave him alone.

He often watched you take care of Laura, how patient you were with her despite her little temper tantrums as she adjusted to her new surroundings. He did his best in raising her initially, doing what he figured was best, but he couldn’t give her the softness he knew she needed at her age, the other half of what she didn’t know was missing in this dynamic.

Laura liked your cooking, especially the pancakes you’d make for her in the mornings. She was also fond of bubble baths, the ones you’d set up for her after a long day of running around in your open yard. She really liked her room and the privacy it gave her, along with the toys you had gifted her. Sometimes when you both could, you’d read her to sleep, and he’d pass by the hallway to see Laura snuggled up against you, dozing off as you whispered fable tales she’d carry into her dreams. She felt safe with you; happy; it was all Logan could ask for.

It was then that he first felt the familiar flutter in his chest.

With time, that internal pulse spread to the rest of his body as the both of you were given more opportunities to get to know each other. It wasn’t easy for him to open up to you, and you didn’t blame him for it. With everything he had been through, you’d be closed off too, and the last thing either of you wanted was more unnecessary tension.

He’d often say how grateful he was for your attention towards Charles and Laura, and you shrugged it off as if it was no big deal, as if you hadn’t saved their lives by taking them in. Logan didn’t drag it out too long, but you knew he meant well even if he didn’t say it as clearly as he’d like.

His hands, scarred and calloused, would graze yours when you handed him the bowl of freshly baked rolls at dinner, the faintest of sparks flying between you. You liked enjoying silent mornings with him while drinking coffee, staring out of the window, and basking in the sun. Similarly, you’d share the labor of doing the dishes when everyone was stuffed, switching positions between washing and drying every other night. On grocery runs into town, he’d always be behind you pushing the cart as Laura tugged you through the aisle, dumping anything she could find into the buggy, and all either of you could do was laugh with her.

Logan never complained. Never requested or asked anything from you. Yet you gave him everything without question.

By October, they had been a part of your life for 5 months, and it felt natural to be living under the same roof as a family unit. You all had claimed your relative spaces, Charles and Laura in their own bedrooms separated from yours. And Logan? Well, he still preferred the couch, still wanted to stand guard when you were all asleep. It worked in the newfound system that was your household, and you never questioned him on it. So long as he stayed here, that’s all that mattered to you.

But the faint glances and moments of brief intimacy were beginning to drive Logan crazy. He kept it to himself as much as he could, refusing to look deeper into things and keeping the bond friendly to keep the peace. Eventually, it got to the point where he started purposefully looking for you in the mornings, admiring you from afar when you were doing anything. He liked the attention you gave him, the way you looked at him as just a man and not the monster he became. There was always a gleam in your eyes when your gaze was locked on his, the same quirky smile gracing your features when you flustered him just a bit.

He joked about whether or not you were a mutant one night over some beers once Laura and Charles had gone to bed, and in your tipsy confession, you may or may not have let it slip that you were a mind reader of sorts. In reality, your empathy was one aspect of what you could do; the other dealt with manipulating people’s thoughts and memories, what they chose to see or forget. Telling him you could get into his head was an easier way to say it.

How else would Charles have been able to contact you all those years ago? Logan thought you were bluffing, but at the touch of your hand wrapping around his wrist, his mind calmed instantly; the noise that kept him up at night was gone momentarily before you pulled your hand away. After that, he got a few tidbits about your origins, where you came from, how you’ve had your “skills” since you were born, and they’ve only gotten stronger with every birthday.

Logan marveled at you; it was easy to sense it on him with how the corners of his eyes creased as he looked over at you, reading your face. You mimicked his expression, peacocking at him over the rim of your beer bottle and listening to the stories from his past as part of the X-Men. It was nice to be with him like this, just two people enjoying a drink and enjoying the moment without worrying about everything else. The time had flown by after your second bottle had run empty, calling it a night and tossing it in the bin. Turning to face the older man, he caught the flirtatious edge to your words when you stepped out of the kitchen, heading to your bedroom.

“Don’t worry, I won’t read your mind unless you let me. Promise.”

By the holiday season, Logan had reached his limit; the back-and-forth teasing and banter had gone on for long enough. After the hearty feast you had cooked up for everyone, you both enjoyed some warmth by the fireplace. Snuggled up against his broad figure under a blanket, he had a strong arm wrapped around your shoulder, bringing you closer. Your head rested on his left pectoral, listening to the steady beating of his heart, a calm rhythm that soothed your cautious nerves, a reminder that he was still alive and kicking.

It was already quite late, the clock striking past twelve, and the festive punch you made in the fridge with the rest of the leftovers. Logan absentmindedly ran lines up and down your spine, eyes on the red embers that crackled every few seconds. Despite the comfort of the moment, the air was tense, coming directly from the man who held you.

“I can hear you thinking, you know?” You raised your head to glance at him, your hands on his shoulders in light caresses. “Something on your mind?”

“It’s nothing.” Logan shrugged, but he knew what was plaguing him. It was you, your scent, your warmth, your touch. Everything about you conquered the empty space that was left in his head, mending the remaining pieces of his broken heart since he first stepped on your doorstep.

“You want me to help?” You suggested, as if your sole purpose was to tend to his every wound, to take away his pain and share the burden of his existence alongside him.

You’d think he would’ve said no, told you that he’d be fine and eventually leave you alone for the rest of the night. To your surprise, he brought one of your hands to the side of his aged face, his bearded cheek nuzzled into your palm, seeking the security you offered out of the kindness of your heart.

“If you’re really that curious to find out what’s bothering me so much, go ahead, sweetheart.”

With trained practice, you search through the tormented chasms of his consciousness, looking over every nook and cranny for the thing that troubled him to such an extent. There were certain parts of his mind you refused to look into; Charles had given you the rundown a while back that there were parts of Logan you should avoid, too dark and extreme even for the professor to handle. Yet the last thing you felt was Logan’s despair. When he first arrived here, his stress would radiate over him and spill into any room he walked into; at least that was your first impression of him. But at the moment, all you felt was a giddy spirit, something that pulled you towards him and encouraged you to dig deeper.

Once you did, all you saw were images of yourself, memories of your budding companionship presenting before you. You never searched through Logan’s mind; you knew better than to do that or to question him on his intentions or emotions, and now you think you may have been oblivious to how he saw you the entire time. He may not be a man of many words, but you knew what he felt, how he felt about you in particular, and it ran through your body like an electrical current, shocking you to the core.

The moment ended when you moved your hand away from his face, or attempted to when he held on to your wrist with firm hands. Your pulse spiked; surely he had to be aware of that. All you could do was stare at him with raised eyebrows, eyeing him carefully.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You kept his attention on you as you thumbed the scar on his cheekbone, the raised skin growing hot under your touch from his faint blushing.

“Didn’t want to scare you off. Couldn’t ruin one of the good things I had left…” he replied nervously, the shift in his demeanor bringing goosebumps to your skin. “You’re too good for me. Always have been.”

In an attempt to prevent another self-deprecating speech, you shut him up with a kiss, softly meshing your mouth over his, your heart pounding from the brief contact. For once, you had stunned The Wolverine and taken him by surprise, and the pure look of disbelief on his face caused you to smile mischievously.

“You couldn’t scare me off even if you tried, Logan.”

He grinned at that, leaning to steal another kiss that led to his large hands roaming over your body, palming your chest and pinning your hips to his on the couch. Like young lovers, you recommended moving this to the bedroom, snuffing out the fire and muffling your giggles into his shoulder when he carried you to your room. Your clothes were tossed to the ground, passionate touches exchanged between you as you welcomed his body into yours for the first time.

Merging as one, your limbs entangled with his, nails digging into his back as he finally claimed you for himself, nipping at his neck to keep your sounds down to a minimum as he brought you to the edge over and over again. The sun threatened to peek over the horizon by the time you were done, leaving Logan to snore behind you with your bare body secured under his grip. You were able to rest easily for the few hours you had before Laura would wake up, granting yourself a late start to the morning for once.

That was the last night Logan slept on the couch.

The relationship change between you and Logan was not something unexpected; Charles was mentally placing bets on when it was going to happen. Safe to say, when the grumpy mutant came down from his prolonged nap to wrap his arms around you like it was within his nature, Charles wouldn’t shut up about it for the rest of the day. To Laura, it was new seeing the two adults that cared for her together, and perhaps there will be a more serious conversation to be had in the future when the time is right.

For now, all that mattered was the four of you together, in this blended family that had found each other in the strangest of circumstances. It might’ve been fate, or your destiny, so to speak, to meet each other in this broken world. Had you known this was how you would be rewarded for taking them in, you’d have taken on the burden of Charles’ prolific message much sooner.

February 14th. Valentine’s Day. Two years later.

A firm hand remained on the steering wheel of the car, rolling into the familiar driveway with practice. Logan sat in the driver’s seat for a moment longer, taking a second to exhale the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He shouldn’t be nervous; usually he never is, but he took one look at the calendar and realized he better not come home empty-handed.

Home. It was a funny concept, something Logan often didn’t think he was deserving of after the countless times it had been painfully ripped away from him. He’s lived so many lives, many of which he’ll never get back, but he likes to think that the old versions of him will live on in the far traces of his memories, scattered across time and space. Maybe in another reality, he could share a slice of this heaven he had been blessed with after suffering for so long.

Mentally he never stopped thanking Charles for convincing him to make the trip to Canada a few years ago; he doesn’t think they would have made it this far without your help and love. Logan owed him everything, from the life and family he was given with the X-Men to the one he has now, smaller but just as loving.

Taking the bouquet of flowers that was in the passenger seat, Logan stepped out of his car, clicking the lock and stepping to the front door. He noticed your car parked in the front when a familiar whirring filled his head, the one signal he knew meant you were expecting him on the other side of the door.

Twisting his key into the lock, his nostrils were hit with the accustomed scent of cranberries and citrus, something tart wafting through the lower level of your home, a sign you were probably busy in the kitchen. Dropping his key in the dish set by the foyer, he was careful to hold the flowers behind his back in case you spotted them first, going to the threshold of the living and dining room and turning the corner to see your figure whisking over a bowl.

Logan tries his hardest to be quiet in a sad attempt to surprise you, but you could sense him anywhere he went without trying. Still, you give him the benefit of the doubt, even if he knows with your sixth sense nothing slips by you so easily.

He was quick to curl an arm around your waist, planting a soft kiss on your shoulder and the side of your neck, satisfied at the light hum you released at his attention. Turning your head to view him, Logan didn’t hesitate to give you a loving smooch, one that made your knees weak every time he stole your breath.

“You’re home early,” you stated, a peaceful smile on your face, content now that he was here. “Thought they were never going to let you go.”

“We had a light day today on the site, said I had better places to be.” Logan answered with full confidence, a lighthearted chuckle slipping from you.

“Ain’t that right? You have a missus I don’t know about?” you teased. He’d never get over your quick wit, one of the many qualities he fell for over the past two years of living together.

“Only one. A real pretty thing I snagged up, she keeps me young.” At that, you laughed, a deeper rumble Logan felt through your back.

“Sounds like a keeper, that one,” you smirked at him, receiving a perky wink on his end.

“Definitely is. Had to make sure she wouldn’t run away from this old man.” That got him a playful slap to his chest, relishing in his frisky attitude way too much.

You enjoyed toying with him like this; the never-ending innuendos and flirtatious remarks were solidified by the golden band on your ring finger, the clear diamond sitting pretty on your digit to match with the rest of you. In the midst of your conversation, the bouquet of flowers hidden behind Logan was presented to you, and you lit up instantly at the tailored mix of roses, peonies, and lilies.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” He appeared almost sheepish when he spoke, and you leaned up to kiss him sweetly; nothing else needed to be said other than—

“I love them. And I love you.” Logan still remembers when you first said those three words to him, how they echoed in his mind for weeks after the fact. To this day, he never gets sick of you reminding him how much you cared for him and Laura, how you served as a healing balm to his weathered soul, and loved him as he was.

“I love you too, so much.”

You held the flowers in your arm while he cupped your cheek, his other free hand drifting down to palm your lower stomach carefully. It hadn’t been that long since you surprised your husband with the news that you’d be having a new addition to your family, and to say Logan was both excited and terrified was an understatement. Though you think Laura is the one that’s more ecstatic about getting a sibling.

“How’s junior doing? Still being a pain in the ass?” he asked, curious as ever, caressing over your small bump protectively.

“Unfortunately. I think they want me to suffer; keeping me nauseous and having me piss so frequently is a sure way to do it.” Your hand joined Logan’s, growing quiet as you rubbed your thumb over his fingers. “He would’ve loved this, you know? Wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut until the end of time, probably trying to guess our odds of having a girl or a boy. God, I miss him.”

“I know, honey. I miss his nosy ass always in my head, miss hearing his voice. I’m pretty sure with this he’d probably slip up and tell me before you had the chance to surprise me.”

Logan’s joke helped lighten the mood a bit despite your eyes watering at the notion. He wiped at the tear that streaked down your cheek, the moment of silence hanging heavy above your heads. You both knew Charles would end up passing eventually; his condition had stabilized significantly thanks to your care, but you all knew he was on borrowed time. The professor was able to enjoy the last few months of his life surrounded by the three of you, knowing he was loved and would be remembered regardless of where he thinks he’d end up in the afterlife.

In the eerie calmness of his bedroom with his impending death looming over him, Charles privately spoke to you of Logan’s origins, of the man he was and became once he had taken him in, much like how you had done. He finally confesses why he sought you out all those years ago, why he knew you’d be the one to save them and give Logan the life he deserved, the one he had always dreamed of when he thought nobody was listening. You held his words to your heart, holding onto his wrinkled hand, and like he had done before, he made you swear you’d take care of your newfound family with everything you had.

You didn’t plan on breaking that promise anytime soon.

“Where’s Laura? Thought she’d be home by now.” Logan asked, wondering where your daughter had wandered off to.

“She’s out with some friends from school having a Valentine’s Day get-together of sorts. She’ll be back before dinner.”

Pacing around the kitchen to fill a vase with water, you submerged the fresh flowers in the narrow glass, arranging them to your liking. You place the bouquet on the round breakfast table towards the side of the room, stepping back to appreciate them with Logan coming to hold your hips, swaying you tenderly.

“Means we have the house to ourselves for a while…” His voice dropped an octave, a hushed whisper beside your ear. Your body responded instantly, a pulse blooming between your thighs.

“Are you proposing something, Logan?” Pivoting to face him, your fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt, undoing the first two to stroke along his collarbone.

“Depends. What are you in the mood for, hm?” He nipped at the side of your jaw, your scent overwhelming his senses, his mouth watering with the sweetness he could taste on his tongue thanks to your hormones changing.

“Well, I was kind of busy making the lemon loaf you like so much,” the cheeky glint in your eye couldn’t be missed, gesturing over to the batter you started whisking before he came home. “But I’d really want you to show me why you like keeping me around, old man.”

Logan stares down at you with darkened eyes, a ball of heat twisting in his gut and simmering low under his belt. You were the only one that could get him this riled up so quickly, having him wrapped around your finger in more ways than you can imagine. A sharp canine sinks into his bottom lip, already imagining how he plans on having you later on, a sneaky hand reaching to greedily knead your ass. You didn’t need to read his mind to know just how explicit he was envisioning you two together, as he usually did, and the confirmation of it only intensified the desire growing inside you.

“If you wrap that up in the next five minutes, I’ll show you exactly why I slipped that ring on your finger.”

With a giggle and an affectionate swat to your behind, you were quick to cover your bowl with some saran wrap and clean up as best as you could before Logan grabbed your hand and dragged you towards your bedroom. You couldn’t stop the laughter that poured out of you as the man practically tackled you into bed, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and running his hands over your thighs that opened for him with ease.

This life you had built was far from where you imagined you’d be a few years ago. If you were told that you would safehouse a trio of mutant runaways, you’d laugh and think this is far from something you’d do. Yet these three strangers you welcomed into your life granted you with purpose and taught you how to love, showing you what it was like to finally find your village. They saved you like you saved them, and the life you carry and nurture inside is proof of this new beginning with your family.

This love I have inside

And I'll give it all to you

My love, my love, my love

My endless love

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ teaching choso how to use a phone hcs

ᨳ♡₊➳ choso x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ pure crack with fluff

₊⊹. You finally convinced Choso to get a smartphone because, honestly, the idea of your 150-year-old, half-cursed boyfriend wandering the city without a way to contact you was stressing you out. The first time he activates Siri, he immediately becomes obsessed. He spends the next hour having a full conversation with her, convinced she’s some omniscient, all-knowing woman trapped inside the device.

“Who is this? How does she know the weather?” he asks, genuinely amazed.

You try to explain AI, but he just frowns. “So she’s… not real?”

You confirm, but he doesn’t believe you. He starts saying “please” and “thank you” to her, thinking it’s the polite thing to do, and when Siri responds with “I live to serve,” he turns to you with wide eyes. “She’s loyal. I respect her.”

Later, you catch him whispering to Siri at 2 AM. “Siri, what is rizz?” She gives him a Wikipedia definition, and he nods solemnly, as if she just revealed the meaning of life.

₊⊹. When Choso first opens the front camera it's purely by accident and he jumps because he thinks someone is staring at him.

It takes you ten minutes to explain that it’s his own face.

He looks at the screen, frowning. “Why do I look like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought I looked…better.”

₊⊹. You teach Choso how to properly use the camera app, and he’s instantly hooked. The problem? He has zero concept of angles. Every selfie he sends you looks like it was taken by a dad who just discovered Facebook.

One is a close-up of his forehead. Another is 90% his nose. A few are taken at such an unflattering angle that you physically recoil. You try to guide him, but he insists that “this is my true form.”

The worst part? He never realizes he’s sending them. He just accidentally spams you with the most nightmarish, low-quality images imaginable. One time, he sends you a blurry picture of his eye, and when you ask what it means, he just responds, “I see you.”

You live in fear of opening your notifications.

₊⊹. At first, Choso types like an old man who just discovered the internet. Every message is unnecessarily formal and it takes him fifteen minutes to type a single one. “I hope this message finds you well. I am currently at the grocery store. Do you require anything?” You tell him he doesn’t have to type like he’s drafting a letter in the 1800s, but he doesn’t get it.

₊⊹. You made the grave mistake of teaching Choso how to use Google, and now he types full, grammatically correct sentences into the search bar like it’s a formal letter.

“Dear Google, can you die from drinking much orange juice? Sincerely, Choso.”

At one point, he panics because he thinks he’s talking to a real person at Google.

“Dear Google, do you sleep? Do you need a break? I worry for you. Sincerely, Choso."

₊⊹. One day, you introduce Choso to the concept of voice messages because he struggles with typing. He loves it. But because his voice is naturally deep and monotone, everything he sends sounds like a mafia boss delivering an ultimatum.

You: “Hey, what do you want to eat?”

Choso: "Stay put. I will find you.”

You: “Do you need anything from the store?”

Choso: “It is already too late.”

He never means it that way. He’s just bad at tone. One time, he accidentally holds down the record button for three minutes, so all you get is the sound of him breathing heavily while a distant microwave beeps.

Another time, he sends you a 15-second voice memo that is just him sighing deeply followed by:

“…I saw a pigeon today.”

Then he sends another:

“…It was looking at me weird.”

Then another:

“…I don’t trust it.”

That’s it. No context. You’re in the middle of work and have to excuse yourself because you’re laughing too hard.

₊⊹. The first time Choso sends an email, he notices the little “Sent from my iPhone” signature at the bottom. You forget to explain that it’s automatic, so he thinks he has to manually type it out every single time, email or text.

It doesn’t matter what the message is.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well? Sent from my iPhone.”

“Do you want McDonald’s? Sent from my iPhone.”

You don’t have the heart to correct him.

₊⊹. He also discovers autocorrect. One time, he meant to text “Good night.” but autocorrect changed it to “God nut.” You have never known fear like receiving a 2 AM message from him that just says "God nut." with no context.

₊⊹. You introduce Choso to the concept of online shopping, thinking it’ll be harmless. It is not. He immediately becomes addicted to buying the weirdest things. He orders a 200-pack of rubber ducks. He doesn’t even like rubber ducks that much. He just thought it was fun.

₊⊹. Choso has zero understanding of what’s a scam. He clicks on everything. Every pop-up, every link, every “Congratulations! You’ve won a free iPad!” ad. He has installed seven viruses in one week. He sends you a link: “Look! This website is selling a brand-new TV for only $5!” You tell him it’s a scam. He doesn’t believe you. “No, see, it says ‘totally real, not a scam’ in the description.”

At one point, he proudly tells you he got a message saying he won $1,000,000, and all he has to do is send them his bank details.

“Choso, no.”

“But they said—”

“Choso, please block them.”

“But what if—”

“Block them.”

He sulks like a kicked puppy and mutters about how it seemed like a good opportunity.

₊⊹. Choso doesn’t trust “the ghost box” (your Bluetooth speaker). The first time you paired it to your own phone, the automated voice said, “Connected.” Choso froze. Looked you dead in the eye.

“Who was that. WHO WAS THAT."

₊⊹. The first time Choso accidentally took a screenshot, he thought he broke the phone.

He ran to you, panicked and waving his phone around.

“I don’t know what I did, but the screen—it remembers.”

You explain that it’s just a screenshot and show him how to do it on purpose. Now, he takes screenshots of everything like an old man who doesn’t trust the internet.

“What if they delete this? I need to keep evidence.” (It’s just a recipe for banana bread.)

₊⊹. One time, he accidentally took a picture of your face mid-sneeze and he decided to set it as his lock screen. Now, every time he unlocks his phone, he sees your cursed sneeze face.

He refuses to change it. He says it’s sentimental.

“It reminds me of your strength.”

₊⊹. Choso does not understand emojis. At all. You try to explain their meanings, but he insists on using them his own way.

Example: He once texted you, “Thinking about you. ❤️🛐🔥🔪🐍🚬”

You immediately call him, asking if this is a threat. He is confused. “What? No. The heart means I like you. The prayer hands mean I respect you. The fire means you’re attractive. The knife means I’d protect you. The snake means you’re clever. The cigarette means you’re cool.”

₊⊹. Despite all of this, Choso is genuinely trying. He wants to learn because he likes talking to you, his brother, and staying connected. He still struggles, but he remembers what you teach him. He still sends weird messages, but they’re sweet and he means well. And when he finally figures out FaceTime, he lights up.

“Now I can see you anytime,” he says softly. “That’s nice.”

That alone makes it all worth it.

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 4- The Night it Goes Wrong

A/N: So uhhh, heads up, things will get horrific so I gotta warn yall

Trigger Warning: Major body horror, bones breaking, blood, teeth falling out, and whatnot. Like this is my first time actually writing something like and I was like 😨 If you ain’t comfortable with that, let me give you a short TL:DR at the end of the taglist.

I’ll put a sign that when it’ll begin and end with this: ꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

ALSO I may not post in a while, I got vacation with the fam!

The moment Alfred Pennyworth saw you in that police station, clutching onto the edge of the seat with your big eyes, and confused look, he knew he was going to adore you.

He has been a caretaker, a protector, a father all his life, raising Bruce when his parents, Alfred’s cherished friends, have died. He tended to his wounds and assisted when Dick was first brought into the Manor.

Ever since then, he has cared, loved, protected, and cherished every single member of this family. He was a great guardian to all.

However, Alfred was far from perfect, shamefully leaving his daughter to care for a family he wasn’t related to, yet he hoped raising all of Bruce’s children would make up for his neglected ways.

That’s why he attached himself to you. You were neglected outright the moment you held out your hand for Bruce to shake. He was appalled seeing his son ignore you so blatantly.

Perfect as he may not have been, he saw his daughter in you. He may not have fully have the memory of Julia Pennyworth’s childhood, but he knew she was a spunky and bright as you.

Yet despite the promise of taking care of you, life had other plans when Bruce took in Jason, taking the title of Robin to him. He was relieved to see you have one family member to bond over.

But after Jason’s death, it was back to square one with you. His heart ached seeing you get rejected with each member, and he tried his best to make sure you had felt included, even if it was him only.

Old habits die hard, he supposed. He once or twice failed to acknowledge you for he has been too busy with the other members, as one does. One memory was horrible when he failed to arrive for your science fair, and you returned home with your tear stained cheeks.

He has never forgiven himself since, each failed parenting attempt a reminder that he has failed his daughter. Unhealthy as it may have been, Alfred knew you weren’t her.

You were more than any child he has seen being adopted in the Wayne Manor. You were his child, and what had happened that day made him knew he failed you once more.

Cleaning the garden with some members of the family, Alfred returned back inside for drinks. Tim had the foolishly wise idea to throw a stick at a window, your window, where the beehive laid.

The bees began to emerge from their hive and hovered around the family, not fully attack until Dick panicked and sprayed the bees with the hose, completely missing and hit your window again.

The bees weren’t thrilled with the attack on your window, so they began to sting the members, first Dick, then heavily at Tim. Steph hid behind Bruce as the oldest member quickly avoided the bees and pulled out the pesticides for the weeds.

When Alfred returned, horror ran throughout his body when he saw the dead bees and hive. That was when he began shouting at them, the moment you returned home, and the moment you finally broke.

“Wow, crybaby,” Damien snarked while walking in the garden to see the commotion. He watched you run back inside, and couldn’t help but snicker acting so pathetic.

“Steph, clean up this mess, I’ll have to tend to Tim’s stings,” Bruce pinched his nose in frustration, not aware of Alfred’s frozen body, anger rising to his face before he let out a harsh and cold tone.

“Bruce Thomas Wayne!!” Everyone stopped what they were doing, looking at Alfred. Bruce froze, as the butler was royally pissed off, yet it only showed in his eyes.

“Never in my life if raising you, tending to your failures and comfort your pain, would I ever expect you to treat one of your children with such negligence and disgust!” He shouted, causing the siblings to look down, however Alfred saw that they weren’t full realizing what they did, which made him more furious.

“You not only proved to me that you never truly known Master (Name), but you proved to me that despite all of your achievements involving the rest of your kids, you are still arrogant enough to not ever acknowledge your own flesh in blood when they were in pain!” Pulling out his wallet, Alfred shows rows of photos of you as a kid, beaming while holding up a trophy.

Bruce instinctively opened his mouth to defend himself, but words died on his tongue, eyes drifting down to the destroyed beehive. You were always talking about bees, he thinks. What did you talk about?

And those photos. They looked old. You weren’t that old today, right? Bruce felt his stomach knot. How old were you?

“Pennyworth,” Damien at least had the decency to avoid eye contact, as no one dared to backtalk to Alfred when he’s scolding. “It was just a bunch of-,”

“Master Damien, you of all people here should know what the bond is between human and animal,” He turned to the youngest son, “Your strong bond with your pets are the equivalent to Master (Name)’s bonds with their bees. If not, their bond is stronger,” That had Damien to shut up.

“They have worked hard, every single day just to prove that they belonged in this family. Despite your comments, lack or affection, and shameful harmful attacks, they never let their smile disappear,” There were times he truly thought he failed you when you couldn’t smile, yet the next day the genuine joy was back.

“I am utterly not only disappointed in everyone here, but utterly appalled to witness you all not realize how exactly in the wrong you are,” Alfred tightened his fingers and dug them into his gloved palms, his projections strong.

“They adored you all, despite not knowing your nightly escapades, they wished to be apart of your hearts along with everyone else!” Alfred stretched his arm out to the hive, “Yet the proof is right on the floor, murdered by their own father,” The hive was now meant a lot to Alfred as it was to you.

“I, myself, is also to blame. I lack the strength to speak up sooner, in hopes that you all might finally one around and open your hearts and arms for them, but I was wrong,” He admitted, guilty memories of him leaving Julia haunted him. He won’t do the same with you.

“I expect you all to apologize first thing in the morning, we don’t want a foul mood lingering in the air when their birthday is simply two days away,” Not letting any of them have the final say, Alfred turned on his heels and marched inside, heart slamming against his chest.

He looked around then at the stairs, where Duke was standing there with a concerned look on his face. That gave Alfred a hint on where you went.

“A-Alfred?” Duke quietly mumbled, peaking out of the stairwell like a child admitting to do something wrong. Alfred let out a deep sigh before motioning Duke to follow him.

“Is this… where their room was all along?” Duke said in shock, then shame washed over his face. Even the door looked small compared to the massive doors that led to his room. Alfred closed his eyes and knocked with his knuckle.

“Master (Name)?” He began, “I heavily and sincerely apologize for what has happened with your bees. Please forgive my lack of defense towards your dear creatures. I’m sorry,” He called through the door. Silence, making the butler talk again.

“Words cannot describe how awful I feel, Master (Name). I promise you with my very soul, everything will change after this day,” He rested his forehead against the door, collecting his composure as to not feel more ashamed while imagining your cries while holding onto him.

“Y-yeah, (Name)! Maybe tomorrow, we could go eat take out! Relax at the beach, or watch a movie!” Duke piped up, a nervous smile on his face. You didn’t respond, which had Alfred worried.

“Master (Name)?” Gently twisting the doorknob, Alfred pushed the door open. Duke couldn’t see inside as Alfred peered in, but soon swung the door open. Duke hadn’t had time to react before Alfred turn to run off in the halls. And when Duke looked back in your room, he knew why.

You were gone.

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

The rain became heavy, splashing into your fabric and letting it soak it all until your clothes felt heavy. Yet you’d didn’t stop, you had to keep skating through the empty streets of Gotham.

You crashed into the rough sidewalk, scrapping large cuts and stabs of concrete digging into your skin. You just kept on pushing and continued to skate through the heavy rain. The glow from Ivy’s pollen she gifted you lit up the way to the warehouse in the harsh storm.

You managed to easily slide underneath the broken door to the warehouse, still gaining more slices form the gravel and concrete, yet you didn’t care at all.

“No more waiting, I have to do this now,” You panted, starting up the generators and checking on your hive. You wiped more tears, or was it rain?, while watching your mother’s beehive still intact. You may have failed your bees, but you won’t fail your mother.

You tossed your wet jacket on the old tv, taking your phone out to check the time and record this very moment of Raine history.

11:45

You were completely unaware that you had left your deceased Queen bee in you pocket, and by putting your jacket on the tv, she slipped out and landed into the honey.

Unaware of what you did, the honey began to glow the orange light, brighter hues swirled around the poor insects before completely dissolving her completely.

You turned back to the honey jar, grabbing it and paced around, determination etched all over your face. You’ll prove them that you do belong, that your existence was worth something just like them.

“Project: Honey,” You began, “An intense research study on genetically altering the DNA and structure of the honeybee. To provide better insight on saving endangered plants and to uprise the declining bee population,” While you talked, you kept on starting up everything in the warehouse.

You stood in the center, holding the jar over your head, faltering for a moment. You second guessed yourself on not waiting for a little while more, but flashes of the Waynes, you knew you had to do it.

“Final test, what more can you push yourself into being a part of your research than being just like a bee?” You asked yourself, holding the jar up in the light, “For you, mama,” And with that, you took a small sip.

You shut your eyes tight, hitching your breath. Yet the moment you swallowed the thick honey, your eyes shot back open, mouth salivating while you looked back at the jar, hands trembling.

It was-

“So sweet…” You muttered, tasting more of the honey. You never tasted anything like this! Each sip was more flavorful than the last. You needed more.

“So floral… so savory…” You stuck your finger in the jar, addicted to such a flavor. Your senses were too focused on the honey to realize your eyes began to turn a pinkish red, and your genetic bees began to rumble within their hives.

“So good,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

But that was when the itching started.

“Fuck…” You hissed, feeling your arms itch, and soon your whole body began to feel like it needed to be rubbed with sandpaper. Your nails scratched against your arms and neck, the urge to peel your skin off was overwhelming.

Your stomach felt ill, but it wasn’t from the honey. Your vision blurred, until you felt something wet run down your cheek. You wiped them away, believed to be tears, but only when you saw dark strains on your fingers, you realized blood was seeping from your eyes.

You couldn’t even scream when pain shot to your limbs.

Suddenly, a grotesque sound of bones breaking, and extreme jolts of hot searing pain ran to your spine. The ringing of your ears didn’t cover the piercing high pitch screams of horror. Your skin tightens and cracks, bones twisting in agony, as if something was pushing against your skin.

You felt like vomiting, the bile, or was it blood? You found out quickly when you spat out a glob of both vomit and blood, but something hard slipped through your lips.

Your tooth. Your teeth.

One became three, and soon every tooth began to fall out with strong strings of blood and shreds of gums trailing behind them. You choked out a low, guttural sound emitting from your very throat, a sound you never made before.

It wasn’t a scream, yet you did felt like screaming with every single emotion you experienced. You wanted this to stop, this was horrifying enough to make you want to cry out, do something. The sounds coming out of you became higher pitch, almost like a screech from an unknown creature.

Your spin felt like it was scalding hot, searing pain spreads across your back until you let out another screech when you heard the sickening CRUNCH of muscles and skin break by your spine.

Your back splits open, something pushing through like it needed you. You needed air. It pushed through, getting larger by the minute before the head pulls out with a loud ear piercing sound emitting from its mouth.

It wasn’t an it. It was you.

It felt like your skin was being pulled off, like a crab molting from its old skin. Your… old body began to spasm until it fell limp, your new body crawling out, spreading wings out and fully standing tall.

Yet despite the ease of escaping the skin, the agonizing pain still very much lingered. You never stopped screeching with how much your body distorted. Legs, arms, mouth and body, everything was unbearable.

“M-MAMA!!” You screeched out, gurgled by the globs of blood you keep vomiting out. Your stomach lurched and heaved with the torture you’ve been enduring, flashes of memories seeming to be the one good thing in this disturbing experience.

Then-

Silence.

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

Everything was over. The pain wasn’t there, but the fear never went away. You didn’t comprehend what happened, what you became, and where you were. You were snapping your head around, watching the warehouse lights intently before eyes spotted the beehive.

The moment you looked at it, your eyes hurt from the sudden burst of light emerged from your head and back. Your blurry eyes trailed down to your own body, seeing two pairs of arms. But besides your arms, underneath you.

Was the body of you.

You gently clasped your hands underneath your once human body. Cheeks stained with blood that leaked from your tears, limbs contorted in an inhumane way, and eyes faded into grey pupils.

Vision blurry yet still coherent, they landed on the clock, where it flashed a bright infrared sequence of numbers to tell the time.

11:52

It was merely seven minutes of agonizing torture.

CRASH

The sunroof shattered by the weight of multiple people, having you whip your body around to see Batman. His cowl never showed much, yet his eyes showed more than enough emotions. Most was fear. But for what? Or who.

Along with Batman, stood the Robins. Red Robin assessed what was going on in front of them, before feeling sick when he saw what the scene was in front of them all.

A large grotesque figure, almost two times the size of Bane himself, a bright colorful glow surrounding it while it flexed its thorax. And underneath the beast… was your body, back completely ripped as if it had taken your skeleton, completely lifeless.

Your eyes couldn’t properly identify what or who was in front of you, all pairs of your eyes darting in completely different directions and not being able to fully spot the figures. The confusion made you tighten your grip on your old corpse more.

You opened your mouth to at least release a sound, before screeching when a baterang swooshed past your neck, body acting fast and barely avoided a decapitation.

“GET AWAY FROM THEM!!” Robin screamed, charging towards you with a strong swing of his sword. You dropped your body and scrambled back, your new form not yet in control. You skidded against the concrete flooring, pushing both pairs of arms to steady yourself.

Signal, Batman, Orphan, Red Robin, Spoiler, Nightwing, Robin, and Red Hood all began to surround you, all had looks underneath their helmets, cowls, and masks that show they were out for blood, filled with anguish and rage.

Red Hood pulled out a gun, cocking it before aiming it at you. All of your eyes darted around as you began to get surrounded by them, your hearing still ringing as you could see them shout, yet no words were audible.

Before any of the Bats can attack, your genetic bees swarm around them, glowing yellow and orange as if blinding them. You felt yourself pull towards to the hive, and you took a big leap over them and clumsily landed in the now ruined garden.

The bees got aggressive, the whole hive glowing brighter and brighter as they all began to buzz so loud, it was all anyone could hear.

Robin raised one of his swords, about to attack and destroy the hive, but Signal tackled him, looking like he was shouting at the boywonder. You didn't care, you had to escape.

Arms wrapped around the hive, and clutched it to your chest as you needed to escape. Just when you felt hopeless in escaping, the world felt lighter, as if you were floating.

Which you were. You were flying.

You couldn’t even comprehend what was happening until you burst through the broken sunroof, still clutching your hive securely.

Where were you? You didn’t know, all you had to know was that staying in one place will get you killed. You body flew across the city buildings, emitting a powerful light bursting from your body. It would’ve been something to marvel about if it wasn’t your weakness at the moment.

Flying in the air was exposing you as a big red target. As if knowing what you wanted, your body began to tilt downward and fly towards the ground. Yet you still didn’t know how to control your body, so you crash landed.

You didn’t recognize this place, or maybe you did? Your mind was being overwhelmed with the horrors you endured. The rain hit your disgusting form with harsh impacts, as if the world was punishing you for committing on such a foolish act.

You crawled the best you can into a narrow alleyway, avoiding large areas to get spotted faster. You never stopped panting, you never stopped panicking, all of this frantic terrified emotions soon stopped when you finally were able to pause and stare at the reflection from a trash lid.

You were no longer yourself. You were nothing but a monster. You were this large beast, one more pair of arms protruding from your waist, each hand containing sharp, claw-like fingers.

Legs were definitely not resembling human, as they were slightly thick. It looked like they were made to be agile and strong. Your second pair of hands dug their claws into your thighs, as if trying to see if it was all a bad dream.

Your face wasn’t any different. Three pairs of eyes, antennas prominent on your face, with a sharp and golden charm-like plaque above your head. Two thoraxes one both sides of your mouth… where did your mouth go…?

Large translucent wings with pink and yellow hues, your large abdomen behind you and hair on your head… both were glowing. Bright colors of blue, yellow, pink, and orange swirled within, lighting up the dark and grim alley you landed in.

The final touch was the stinger, sharp and long, and it was embarrassingly twitching.

Some say you were the most beautiful and fascinating creature they ever stumbled upon, but you knew better. You were this gross disgusting beast that crawled out of your old body.

You failed your mother, you failed yourself, and you failed your poor bees who died in vain by the hands of your… your… what were they?

You sniffled before peering into the hive you still clutched against your arms. They still glowed, giving out an almost harmonious buzz, as if they were comforting you. You saw the Queen bee still alive inside, much for alive than your poor Queen bee at home-

Wait.

Your queen bee. Where was she when you ran away?

You couldn’t even think before you let out another screech, dropping your hive as you got dragged out of the alleyway. You scratched against the ground, desperately trying to get a hold of a strong object, yet it was futile as strong vines wrapped around your body, the tip of the vine gripping your jaw.

"Well well well~”

A voice. A soothing alluring tone that echoed through the night. Your glowing body allowed you to see a slender figure rising above you with the help of plants, strangely familiar red rose hair and a bright smirk across their… her lips.

“It seems to me that I have myself a little~... a little..." Her smirk faltered, eyes narrowing at you, before they trailed down to the necklace around your neck. They widened in horror, the vines loosening ever so slightly before she pushed the plants for carry her closer to you.

"Bumblebee?" Ivy uttered, and your whole body went loose within her binds. All of your eyes, wide eyed and scared, stared at her own, softening as if you recognized her for the first time. That had her stomach drop. Did you not recognize her?

You began to let out another screech of fear as you heard the Bats coming. Ivy furrowed her eyebrows, looking at the small figures getting closer on the buildings, then at you... or rather, what now became of you.

She quickly covered your face with her vine, pulling your struggling body into her flower shop and into a secret passage. There laid a base for all the villains to law low, each of them shouting in annoyance over Ivy's vines, but soon shut up seeing you.

"Hey hey, it's okay,” She tried to shush you, “You need to stop thrashing, I cannot help you if you're in a state of panic," Yet like a caged animal, you were relentless on trying to escape the vine’s grasp, holding you in the middle of the base.

Riddler, Two-Face, Harley Quinn, Bane, Scarecrow, Catwoman, and every other villain that escaped Arkham and are laying low watched intently, whispering to one another.

“(Name)?" "It's them..." "Not my poor child, what has happened to them?" "No.." Henchmen and villains alike all watched timely as you struggled against the binds of the sturdy vines, Ivy watching you intently.

“Oh (Name)..." She whispered, “What has happened to you?” She cupped your cheek, thumb rubbing against the thorax as you continued to sob, a small vulnerable child stuck in a monstrous body.

"S...Sc-Ared." You choked out, "M-Mа...Mа... W-wa-nt... M-Mama..." Blood still seeped out of what is now your mouth, staining the thorax with wet splotches of red. Your voice was no longer filled with bright, anxious, or even sarcastic tone.

Ivy didn’t know how to calm you down. How could she fix something when she has no idea how you became like this? Earlier this morning you were this bubbly, clumsy teen who tripped over their own shoes, and now? And why don’t you know her?

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Harley motioning her to hug you. She was hesitant at first, not knowing if your glowing hair is harmful, but she couldn’t let her baby client suffer like this.

"I'm so sorry the world hasn't been kind to you, little bumblebee," She hushed your broken cries. She bent you towards her, lowering you down as she placed you head against her chest.

"But I will be here for you," The warmth of her arms wrapped around your head, the steady heartbeat from her chest, the vines now simply holding your hands. You finally calmed down until there was nothing but hiccups and sniffles.

For once in this terrible night, you felt safe.

Buzzzzz

“I’ll always be here for you, (Name),”

A/N: wow... that's a whole lot of trauma for you.

BUUUT ANYWAYS, for those who skipped the part.

TL:DR- You got turned into an anthropomorphic bee in a horrifying way cuz I gotta do that Imao.

Tag list: @pix-stuff @jellystar-star @moon0goddess @bad4amficideas @lettucel0ver @lithiumval @degenerates-posts @ryuushou @deathbynarcisstick @silverklaus @artistwithcreativeburnout @middevil465 @jsprien213 @1abi @oliviaewl @redkarmakai @nxdxsworld @the-dumber-scaramouche

[julietsf1]

For Her - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: She came to support him. Instead, she was met with hate and a paddock full of people who acted like she didn’t exist. But if there was one thing about Lando Norris, it was that he loved out loud (3.2k words)

content: protective boyfriend, public relationship, public displays of affection, romantic grand gesture

AN: happy new season guys!!! what a race, I hope china will be kinder with my heart :') here's another fic for our race winner! muah <3

........................................................................

The first race of the season should have been magical.

It should have been the kind of morning you’d always imagined—walking through the paddock with the giddy excitement of someone witnessing greatness up close, feeling the electricity in the air, the intoxicating mix of tire smoke, adrenaline, and champagne already waiting for its moment in the podium spray. You had thought of how proud you would feel watching Lando, how thrilling it would be to see him in his element, how belonging you might feel in a world that, until now, had existed for you in stories and through screens.

You had not imagined being denied entry.

"Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to step back."

The security guard barely spared you a glance, already moving on to the next person in line, his voice impassive, as if he had done this a hundred times before and you were simply another face in a sea of hopeful girls who had tried to talk their way into the paddock.

You gripped your lanyard a little tighter, your heart skipping slightly. "I have a pass," you said, voice gentle but firm as you lifted it to eye level, the McLaren logo glinting in the sunlight.

The guard exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed. "We've had a lot of fans trying to sneak in today. If you don’t have the right accreditation, I can’t let you through."

Your stomach twisted.

"I do have the right accreditation," you tried again, as kindly as possible, despite the heat creeping up your neck. "I’m with McLaren. My boyfriend-"

"Yeah, that’s what they all say."

The words were clipped, dismissive, and spoken with the kind of flat finality that suggested he had already decided you were lying.

Embarrassment coiled in your chest, wrapping itself around your lungs, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.

You stood there, cheeks burning, as people brushed past you, throwing curious glances your way. The seconds stretched endlessly, each one more excruciating than the last.

It wasn’t until a McLaren staff member recognized you—"Oh, she’s with Lando," they had said offhandedly—that the security guard finally stepped aside, not bothering with so much as an apology.

By the time you walked through the gates, the joy you had carried that morning had dulled into something smaller, something fragile.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

...

The McLaren motorhome stood like a beacon in the paddock, its sleek glass windows reflecting the bustle of team personnel moving inside. You exhaled slowly, shaking off the earlier embarrassment, and made your way toward the hospitality lounge, longing for something warm and familiar.

A latte, perhaps. Something to reset the day.

You stepped up to the hospitality counter with a practiced sort of grace, the kind that had been instilled in you from your childhood—shoulders back, chin lifted, a polite smile even when you wanted to disappear.

The woman behind the counter was stunning in a sharp, effortless way, her McLaren uniform crisp, her dark eyes shrewd, assessing. She barely looked up when you stepped forward.

"Good morning," you greeted, your voice light, pleasant. "Could I get an oat latte, please?"

The woman’s gaze flicked to you then, sweeping over you in a way that wasn’t unkind but wasn’t exactly warm, either.

"Are you with media?" she asked, already sounding bored.

You shook your head, still polite. "No, I’m—"

"Hospitality is for team guests only," she interrupted, her words clipped, a polite but unmistakable dismissal.

There was something about the way she said it, the way her lips curled just slightly, that sent something sharp down your spine.

You held up your accreditation again, your expression kind but unwavering. "I am a team guest. It is my first race though! I'm with Lando."

A pause. A flicker of something in her gaze.

And then, a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

"Ah," she said slowly, like she was only just now realizing. "Of course you are."

There was something else behind her tone, something you recognized.

You had met people like her before, in glittering lobbies, at perfectly curated events, in spaces where perception was everything. People who measured others in careful glances and quiet, ruthless judgments.

The woman tilted her head, her smile suddenly saccharine. "I’m afraid we’re only serving certain guests at the moment."

The words landed with the soft cruelty of a velvet dagger.

She wasn’t saying no outright.

She was refusing you while pretending it was about something else entirely.

You stared at her for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly over the strap of your bag.

You could have fought. Could have pointed out that this was ridiculous, that you had every right to be here, that her behavior was as transparent as it was petty.

But instead, you simply let out a soft breath and smiled.

Not the kind of smile that was warm and grateful.

The kind of smile that veiled the frustration you were feeling.

"No worries," you said gently, dipping your head, your voice smooth, graceful. "I wouldn’t want to trouble you."

And with that, you turned and walked away, back straight, head held high, because if nothing else—you were not the kind of woman who begged.

But it still stung.

...

The hotel room is quiet except for the faint murmur of the city outside. The occasional car hums past beneath the window, the distant noises of Melbourne nightlife drifting in through the small gap in the balcony door. Inside, the glow from the bedside lamp casts soft golden light over the pristine sheets, the half-finished cup of tea you abandoned hours ago, and your phone—face-down, untouched, deliberately ignored.

You had set it aside like it burned you.

And in a way, it had.

You don’t need to look at the screen to know what’s waiting for you there.

A photo. You, walking alone through the paddock, caught at an unflattering angle—your hands adjusting the strap of your bag, your gaze flicking off to the side. Out of context, impersonal, just another frame in someone else’s story.

But the caption beneath it?

That made it personal.

The caption beneath it, however, was anything but subtle.

"Classic gold digger. No personality, no job, just another wag looking for a paycheck."

The replies were worse.

"She looks so full of herself. I bet she spends his money like crazy."

"Lando deserves better. She looks disgusting."

"Does she even like racing or just his wallet?"

You had expected something like this eventually. Being seen always came at a cost.

But expectation doesn’t soften the blow.

It doesn’t make the words less sharp. It doesn’t stop them from settling in the quiet places of your mind, the ones that whisper in the dark when the world is still.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hand over the sheets, willing away the tightness in your throat.

It’s fine.

You were raised to handle things like this with grace, with an understanding that women who stand beside successful men are often reduced to spectators, accessories, footnotes in their own stories.

You know who you are. You know your worth.

And yet, knowing doesn’t stop the sting.

A keycard beeps at the door.

Then, the soft sound of it swinging open, of footsteps—light, easy, carrying a kind of restless energy even now.

"Hi, darling," Lando’s voice fills the space before he does.

You don’t turn immediately, letting yourself blink once, twice, composing yourself in the quiet before offering a small smile as he steps inside.

He looks effortlessly disheveled—his hair still damp from the rain outside, his McLaren polo slightly untucked, the fabric creased like he’d run a hand over it one too many times.

He is still buzzing—from the high of the weekend, from the thrill of being back in the car, from the sheer joy of doing what he loves.

And then he looks at you.

And everything shifts.

His grin falters. His brows pull together.

"Hey," he says again, but softer this time, slower. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitate, fingers brushing against the sheets. "It’s nothing."

Lando stills.

"You’re upset."

It’s not a question.

You exhale, tilting your head slightly, lips curving in something almost amused. "No big deal, this is your weekend."

But Lando doesn’t smile.

Instead, he moves—crossing the room in three long strides, sinking down in front of you, his hands warm against your thighs, his gaze level, intent.

"Tell me," he says, quiet but firm.

All day, you have been ignored, dismissed, treated like an inconvenience. And yet, here he is, giving you his undivided attention, his entire world narrowing down to this moment, to you.

You hesitate. Then, finally, you murmur, "People weren’t exactly kind today."

His grip on your legs tightens just slightly.

"Security thought I was a fan trying to sneak in. Hospitality wouldn’t serve me." You let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And now there’s a photo of me online. People saying I’m a disgusting gold digger."

Lando doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even breathe.

Then, slowly, he reaches for your phone, flipping it over with careful precision before scrolling. He doesn’t need you to guide him—he finds it immediately.

His jaw tightens.

And then, in a tone so low and steady that it makes your stomach flip:

"Are you joking?"

You open your mouth, but he’s already shaking his head, pushing himself up, pacing now, running a hand through his curls.

"Such bullshit," he starts, turning sharply, voice too controlled, too even, "that after everything—after how much effort you’ve put into being here, after how much of your life you’ve adjusted for me—these people had the nerve to treat you like that?"

You shift under his gaze, biting your lip. "Lando, it’s not—"

"No, no, hold on," he interrupts, hands in the air like he needs a second to process. He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, but there’s nothing amused about it.

"Because from where I’m standing, you’re the easiest person to love in any room, and I genuinely don’t understand how anyone could be that dense."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, jaw tight. "Honestly, I don’t even know whether to be pissed or impressed by their level of dickheadness."

He stops, inhales sharply, then turns back to you.

"Tomorrow," he says, voice steady now, decisive. "We fix this."

You raise a brow. "We?"

Lando tilts his head, giving you a look like you have just asked if the sky is blue.

"Obviously."

...

There are very few things in life that can silence an entire paddock.

Lando Norris walking in hand-in-hand with you is apparently one of them.

The usual morning commotion—the hurried strides of engineers, the murmured strategy discussions, the distant hum of espresso machines—all of it seems to slow, the air shifting as one by one, heads turn.

Eyes follow you as you move through the paddock, curiosity crackling in the air like static before a storm.Conversations taper off, whispers trailing in your wake, phones discreetly lifted, cameras capturing the moment in real time.

Lando, of course, is unbothered.

If anything, he thrives under the weight of their attention. His grip on your hand remains firm, steady, unwavering, his strides unhurried, his smirk bordering on self-satisfied.

He wants them to see.

It’s deliberate—the way he holds you close, the way his fingers brush over yours in soft, thoughtless patterns, the way his head tilts toward you slightly every time you speak, like you are the only thing worth listening to.

There is no question about what this is.

There is no question about where you belong.

He makes sure of it.

And then, with perfect, almost cinematic timing, he steers you toward McLaren hospitality.

Right to the coffee bar.

The barista from yesterday stands behind the counter, the same sharp-cut uniform, the same perfectly applied lipstick, the same calculating gaze.

Only now, it falters.

She sees Lando before she sees you, her posture straightening, professional mask slipping into place like second nature. But then, her eyes flick toward you—toward your hands intertwined, toward the subtle, unspoken intimacy of the way he keeps close.

You watch as realization dawns.

Oh.

Lando leans against the counter, effortless, grinning.

"Two oat lattes," he says, voice bright, easy, amused. "One for me, one for my girl."

The silence that follows is exquisite.

The barista hesitates—just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to see it.

Panic.

"Of course," she says, voice smooth but not quite as sharp as before.

And just like that, there are no shortages, no waiting, no excuses.

The coffees are made within seconds.

Lando watches, humming thoughtfully, tapping his fingers lightly against the counter as she slides the first cup toward him. He lifts it to his lips, taking a slow, exaggerated sip before letting out a long, obnoxiously satisfied hum.

"Mm," he muses, shifting his weight, sparing her a glance. "Tastes better today."

His smirk is dangerous.

"Must be the service."

The barista’s lips press together just slightly.

You take your coffee, cradling the cup in your hands, offering her a soft, serene smile.

"Thank you," you say lightly.

You watch as she winces.

And Lando, the ever-efficient instigator that he is, takes it one step further.

"You know," he muses, as if the thought has just occurred to him, "I think I should make this a tradition."

He turns to you then, eyes bright with mischief, voice just loud enough for the surrounding staff to hear.

"Morning coffee," he says smoothly. "Every race weekend. For the foreseeable future."

The barista looks like she wants to disappear.

You, on the other hand, can’t help but smile.

...

The checkered flag had waved, the roar of the crowd still vibrating through the air, but none of it mattered—not the celebrations, not the flashing cameras, not the McLaren team swarming the pit wall in victory.

Because the moment Lando climbed out of the car, eyes scanning the chaos, he found you.

And then—he ran.

Straight toward you, helmet discarded, race suit half-unzipped, curls a disheveled mess from the heat of the cockpit.

You barely have time to react before he collides into you, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

You shriek—an actual, real shriek—as your feet leave the pavement, the entire world tilting as he spins you in circles,laughter spilling from his lips like he can’t contain it.

And then—he kisses you.

Right there, in front of thousands of fans, in front of cameras, reporters, his entire team.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d won the race and you in the same breath.

The world erupts around you—cheering, chanting, Oscar groaning dramatically in the background.

"Oh my god. You two are disgusting."

None of it matters.

Because Lando is grinning against your lips, breathless, victorious, yours.

When he finally sets you back down, he doesn’t let go.

Doesn’t even try to.

Instead, he beams down at you, cheeks flushed, curls damp with sweat, voice all cocky, all Lando.

"So, did I impress you or what?"

You roll your eyes, fond and exasperated all at once. "Eh. You were alright."

He gasps. Actually gasps.

"You’re joking." He turns toward the cameras, mock-betrayed. "Did you guys hear that? I win a Grand Prix, and she says I’m ‘alright.’"

You bite your lip, pretending to consider. "You were pretty fast, I guess."

"Pretty fast?" he repeats, positively scandalized. "Babe. I am literally the fastest man in Australia right now."

You burst out laughing. "I was kind of rooting for Oscar."

Oscar, mid-drink of water behind you, chokes.

"Lies." Lando pulls you back in, forehead resting against yours, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for you.

"Say you’re proud of me."

You sigh dramatically. "I guess I’m—"

"Say it."

You grin, heart pounding. "Fine. I’m proud of you, Norris."

He hums, satisfied, smug, still absolutely glowing. "Thought so."

...

Lando was still riding the high when he got to the media pen, his race suit unzipped to his waist, curls damp with sweat, and that stupidly charming grin still plastered across his face.

It wasn’t just a ‘first win of the season’ grin.

It was a ‘my girlfriend is here, and I just won a whole-ass race for her’ grin.

The interviewer barely got a word in before Lando pointed directly at you, standing just off-camera.

"Her."

You blink. "Me?"

"Yeah, you!" He turns back to the cameras, nodding enthusiastically. "Let’s just get this straight—I did this for her. Like, entirely. One hundred percent. Full motivation. If she hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve parked it in a gravel trap on lap ten."

The interviewer laughed. "So, you’re saying she’s your good luck charm?"

"Absolutely," Lando replied, dead serious. "I mean, have you seen her? Look at her."

The camera did not pan to you, thank god. The poor guy running the live feed probably had no idea what to do.

But Lando? Oh, he was just getting started.

"She walked into this paddock today looking like an actual goddess, completely unaware that she is, in fact, the sun incarnate, and people want me to talk about tire degradation? No. I want to talk about her."

The interviewer tried so hard to stay professional.

"You—uh, you had great pace today—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lando waved him off.

"Lando, I don’t think—"

"Listen, I need to emphasize something." Lando leaned in, tone conspiratorial. "Do you know how lucky I am? Not only is she breathtaking, but she’s also, like, annoyingly smart. Like, did you know she reads all the time? Real books.Not just memes and Twitter threads like me."

He gestured vaguely, suddenly overwhelmed by his own emotions.

"She doesn’t even realize how much people admire her. But I see it. I see everything. And I just think the world needs to start appreciating her at my level."

"That is… very sweet." The interviewer was visibly struggling to keep up.

"Just had to get that out there."

"Well, congratulations on the win, Lando," the interviewer finally managed, skimming over his list of unanswered questions he had prepared.

"Thank you." He nodded seriously, finally letting go of the mic. "And big thanks to the team, of course."

You rolled your eyes from behind the cameras, suppressing a smile.

...

The internet had seen many things, but no one was prepared for Lando Norris using his post-race interview as a full-blown love letter. 

"Lando’s race pace was great, but his girlfriend propaganda was even stronger."

"THE WAY HE JUST POINTED AT HER IMMEDIATELY I CAN’T."

"Lando Norris said ‘this win is for my girlfriend’ and proceeded to recite a romantic sonnet on live TV. My standards are ruined."

Later, as the two of you curled up in the hotel room, finally away from the cameras, Lando buried his face in your neck with a content sigh.

"You know," he murmured, voice sleepy, warm, full of love. "I really did win that for you."

You ran your fingers through his curls. "I know."

"I meant every word, too."

You smiled. "Don't you think it was a bit much?"

"I don't think it was nearly enough," he said, already half-asleep, grinning like he had never been happier.

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You’ve decided to test the waters with the TKATB men by shamelessly shooting your shot—TikTok trend style. Whether it’s a smooth pick-up line, a sudden confession, or a ridiculous flirty challenge, their reactions range from flustered and skeptical to downright chaotic. 

Will they fall for it, brush it off, or call you out on your antics? 

One thing’s for sure—things are about to get interesting.  

Just vibing and writing this for fun because one-shots are way easier than full-length stories. Plus, I’m just goofy asf, and this kind of stuff cracks me up.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The dining hall was its usual mess—too loud, too chaotic, and packed with students caught in their own little worlds. Groups huddled together at long tables, talking over one another as laughter and half-shouted conversations filled the air. The distant clatter of trays and silverware mixed with the occasional scrape of chairs against the linoleum floor, adding to the ever-present noise.  

The cafeteria staff worked mechanically behind the food counter, scooping questionable portions of today’s lunch special onto plastic trays. The smell of overcooked fries and mystery meat lingered in the air, mingling with the artificial sweetness of spilled juice and the faintest hint of someone’s overpowering cologne.  

You sat at your usual table, idly stirring your drink with a straw as you observed the controlled chaos around you. Your table was positioned near the middle of the room—not too close to the loudest cliques, but not hidden away either. The wood was covered in old carvings, initials scratched into the surface by students long before you, their presence lingering in the worn-out grooves.  

Across from you, Brittany leaned in, propping her chin on her hand, her eyes gleaming with mischief. The kind of look that meant she was scheming something. The fluorescent lights overhead cast sharp reflections on the glossy surface of her phone, which she tapped against the table like a silent challenge. Whatever was brewing in her head, you could already tell it was going to be trouble.

“Come on, you gotta do it,” she whispered, leaning in, her elbows pressing against the worn surface of the lunch table, making it creak slightly under the pressure. Her phone rested loosely between her fingers, screen dimmed but still showing the TikTok app open.

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Why do I gotta do anything?”  

Brittany huffed, gesturing toward Crowe and Geo, who were across the dining hall because there weren’t enough seats for the whole friend group to sit together, Crowe, by contrast, sat upright, composed, one elbow propped on the surface as he halfheartedly poked at his sandwich with a plastic fork. 

Geo, by contrast at in his usual slouched posture, legs spread lazily under the table, eating with the quiet efficiency of someone who had better things to do than waste time in a crowded cafeteria. His sharp gaze flicked toward you briefly, eyes assessing before he returned to whatever Crowe was rambling about.

“Because it’s time,” Brittany insisted. “You keep saying you’re into Crowe, and now you’ve got the perfect excuse.” She wiggled her phone at you. “Just hit him with the trend. It’s foolproof. Trust.”  

You rolled your eyes. “That’s the least reassuring thing you’ve ever said.”  

But Brittany wasn’t backing down. 

She sat up straighter, nudging you like an annoying little devil on your shoulder. “They say shooters shoot, right? Go be a shooter.”  

You exhaled through your nose, mulling it over, fingers tapping lightly against the side of your drink. Honestly, why not? Worst case, Crowe would brush it off, and best case… well, you weren’t sure what the best case even was, but at least it’d be funny.  

“Fine.”  

Pushing back your chair with an easy glide, you stood, smoothing your hands over your clothes as if adjusting invisible wrinkles. With a slight roll of your shoulders, you straightened your posture, tilting your chin up just enough to exude confidence—or at least fake it well enough.  

As you took the first step forward, your pace was slow, unhurried. The rhythmic chatter of the cafeteria hummed around you, but your focus zeroed in on Crowe and Geo’s table. 

You wove through the maze of students, sidestepping a stray backpack and a reckless freshman who nearly bumped into you. The heels of your shoes clicked softly against the linoleum floor, a steady beat to your approach.  

Geo noticed you first. His sharp gaze flicked toward you, scanning your expression as he brought his drink to his lips. He didn’t say anything, but the subtle lift of his brow suggested he was already questioning your intentions.  

Crowe, on the other hand, remained blissfully unaware. His focus was locked on his tray, fingers lazily peeling apart the edges of his sandwich like he was debating whether it was worth eating. 

Then, finally, he glanced up at you. 

His brows lifted slightly, mild curiosity flickering across his face as he took you in. He didn’t speak right away, but the way his head tilted ever so slightly told you he was already intrigued.

And then you hit him with it.  

“They say shooters shoot,” you said smoothly, locking eyes with him. You tilted your head slightly, letting the words linger like a slow burn before delivering the finishing blow.  

“Jericho, wassup witchu?”  

The cafeteria noise seemed to dim for just a second. Geo, mid-sip of his drink, visibly stalled like his brain short-circuited alongside Crowe’s. Crowe, on the other hand, just stares at you, completely still, like someone had just paused him in real life.  

Then, something shifted. His brows lifted slightly, and his tongue ran over the inside of his cheek as if processing what just happened. And slowly—painfully slowly—his lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made it clear he was far too entertained by this.  

Leaning back in his seat, Crowe spread his arms out lazily over the back of his chair, tapping his fingers against the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Huh.” He let the sound hang in the air before tilting his head, gaze sweeping over you with something just shy of amusement. “That so?”  

Geo, still recovering from the secondhand embarrassment of witnessing whatever the hell this was, pinched the bridge of his nose. With a deep sigh, he muttered under his breath, “I hate this damn school.” Then, taking his tray, he promptly decided he wanted nothing to do with this interaction and stood up to leave.  

Crowe barely paid him any mind, his smirk never wavering. Instead, he leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the table, chin propped against his palm as he looked up at you with way too much interest.  

“So,” he mused, voice teasing, “you really just came over here to try that weak-ass pickup line on me?”  

Your lips twitched, barely holding back a grin. “Weak? Please. That was top-tier delivery.”  

Crowe chuckled, low and amused, drumming his fingers against the table. “I dunno… seems like you could’ve done better. Maybe you’re nervous?”  

You scoffed. “Oh, please—if anything, you’re nervous.”  

His smirk widened, the challenge sparking in his eyes. “Is that right?”  

“Yup.” You placed your hands on the table, leaning in just slightly, close enough to make the air between you charged with tension. “And you’re stalling ‘cause you don’t know how to handle it.”  

Crowe stood up slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. He straightened to his full height, casting a shadow over you as he leaned down just slightly, his presence commanding the air around you. The subtle shift in his posture sent a chill down your spine, but you refused to show it.

He tapped one finger against the table in a rhythmic, almost calculated motion, before letting his hand fall to his side. His eyes never wavered from yours. There was something dangerously playful in the way he observed you, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Or maybe…” he started, his voice dropping an octave, smooth and teasing but carrying an unmistakable weight. “…I’m just enjoying watching you dig yourself into a hole you can’t climb out of.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you almost faltered. For a second, you felt the heat rise to your face, that familiar feeling of being caught in a trap you hadn’t seen coming.

…Oh.

Okay. That one almost got you. But you weren’t about to let him see that.

With a confident grin, you straightened up in your seat, throwing a dramatic shrug his way. “Guess we’ll see who breaks first, then,” you replied, your voice laced with a challenge, refusing to back down.

Crowe let out a low, almost playful chuckle, his gaze never wavering from yours. He shook his head slowly, that trademark smirk never leaving his face. There was something undeniably smug about the way he carried himself in that moment, like he was already anticipating the outcome.

"Guess we will," he murmured, his voice smooth, but there was an added edge to it now—something that hinted at the shift in the game.

He leaned in just a little closer, enough to make your heart race, the air between you thickening with tension. You could feel his breath against your skin as his lips brushed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“But don’t think you’re getting off easy,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerously calm, “This is far from over.”

You didn’t have time to respond before Crowe stood up, leaving the table with that same casual confidence. He turned his head slightly, glancing back over his shoulder with a final smirk.

“Later,” he said, the word hanging in the air like a promise—or a threat. 

You were left sitting there, your mind racing with the weight of what just happened. As you tried to regain your composure, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, finding a text from Brittany asking how it went. You typed back a quick, vague response, still trying to sort out the whirlwind of emotions Crowe had left in his wake.

But before you could think about it too much, another notification popped up—this time from Crowe. 

Crowe: Meet me at my place tonight. I’m shooting my shot. 

Crowe: Don’t keep me waiting, love.

Your heart skipped a beat. Crowe wasn’t one to back down, and judging by that text, he was ready to take things to a whole new level. You could almost hear the challenge in his words, daring you to show up, to see how far this game would go.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the screen. 

Tonight, it seemed, was going to be interesting.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The theater lobby had an unmistakable charm—one that was equal parts nostalgic and slightly tragic. The air was thick with the scent of overpriced buttered popcorn and artificially flavored slushies, mingling with the faint but ever-present smell of old velvet curtains and sticky floors. 

Dim, yellowish lighting cast a soft, hazy glow over the space, its reflection bouncing off the shiny tile floor and making the entire area feel like a quiet, forgotten corner of some abandoned shopping mall.

The soft murmur of distant conversations and the hum of arcade machines blended into the background, only adding to the dreamlike atmosphere. It was mid-afternoon—prime delinquent hours—and the place was practically empty, save for a few older folks shuffling around, probably just trying to kill time or nap through whatever B-grade thriller happened to be playing in the adjacent theater.  

You, Sol, and Hyugo stood in front of the snack counter, all of you successfully dodging class for the day with only one mission in mind: seeing some over-the-top, gory horror movie that Sol had been far too excited about all week. 

The film had become a topic of conversation that bordered on obsessive, and now here you were—about to dive headfirst into the kind of chaos that could only come from a big-budget splatter fest.  

“I’m telling you, this is gonna be the best horror release in years,” Sol rambled, his eyes practically glowing with excitement as he stared up at the massive menu above the counter, filled with the usual cinema offerings: popcorn, nachos, candy, and various overpriced beverages. “The practical effects? The atmosphere? The body count? Peak cinema, right here, man.”  

You crossed your arms and deadpanned. “You just want to see people get torn apart.”  

Sol turned to face you, completely unbothered. “And?”  

Hyugo snickered beside you, nudging your shoulder with an elbow. “Nah, let him cook. I haven’t seen him this hyped since they sold extra-large nachos at lunch that one time.”  

You snorted, unable to hold back your grin. Sol, however, didn’t seem to hear either of you, too absorbed in the very important task of deciding which snack was worthy of his dedication. He eyed the counter with the intensity of someone about to make a life-altering decision.  

“Large popcorn, extra butter,” he told the cashier, who looked like they’d seen this exact request about a thousand times today. “And one of those giant-ass sodas. Also—”  

The cashier sighed dramatically, clearly immune to Sol's enthusiasm. They were, after all, stuck in this job for what felt like eternity.  

Hyugo leaned toward you, his grin spreading wide, his eyes sparkling with that devilish gleam that always spelled trouble.  

“So, uh…” He tapped his fingers together, voice lowered in a conspiratorial tone. “You should totally shoot your shot at Sol while he’s busy ordering. It’ll be hilarious.”  

You gave him a side-eye. “Are you trying to get me killed?”  

He shrugged, a mischievous laugh escaping him. “Look, he’s distracted. It’s the perfect setup.”  

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. Then, as if in slow motion, you watched Sol’s hand hover over the snack options, his eyes scanning for something with just the right amount of salt and fat.  

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smirk. “You just want to see him suffer.”

Hyugo’s grin stretched wider as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart, feigning deep sincerity. “Listen, I support both of you in your personal journeys,” he said in an exaggerated, overly serious tone, “but also, I need entertainment. Big entertainment.”  

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the theatrics, but you knew there was no backing out now. Hyugo wasn’t the type to back down once he set his mind on something. And right now, his mind was laser-focused on you making a fool of yourself.  

Before you could even protest or rethink your life choices, Hyugo pulled out his phone with the grace of a seasoned pro, unlocked it, and flipped the camera to record. His eyes gleamed with mischief, clearly savoring the impending chaos. 

This was absolutely happening.  

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck in exasperation, feeling the weight of this decision begin to settle on your shoulders. “Fine,” you muttered, voice dripping with reluctant humor. “But if this goes south, I’m fighting you in the parking lot.”  

Hyugo’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, his grin practically glowing. “Deal. And I’ll be sure to get that on camera too, just for future reference.”  

You shot him a playful glare before turning your attention back to Sol, who was still completely oblivious to your scheme.  

Sol had just received his popcorn, the large bucket in his hands looking dangerously heavy for him. He squinted at the drink in his other hand, like he was trying to figure out how to balance everything without spilling it all. His expression was pure concentration, which, to be honest, made him look like a child trying to juggle for the first time.  

It was perfect timing. 

You exhaled sharply through your nose, straightening up and brushing off any last traces of hesitation. This was happening.  

With all the confidence of a seasoned pro, you casually strolled up beside him, positioning yourself just enough to make sure your entrance would have maximum impact. Sol was still busy juggling the popcorn and the drink, his focus entirely consumed by the simple task.  

And then, with the smoothness of a snake oil salesman and the charm of a movie star, you hit him with it—  

“They say shooters shoot…” you said, your voice calm, calculated, and just the right amount of playful.  

You paused for a heartbeat, letting the words hang in the air before you dropped the bomb.  

“Solivan, wassup witchu?”  

The silence that followed was deafening.

And then—

Sol’s brain visibly short-circuited. His grip on the drink faltered for a moment, fingers twitching like he was trying to figure out how to process your words. His pupils dilated like he had just been jump-scared in real life, and he blinked, wide-eyed, staring at you with a look that clearly said, What did you just say?

“Huh?” he managed, his voice higher than usual like he didn’t know if he was being pranked or genuinely confused.

As he fumbled with his snacks, trying to get a grip on the situation—quite literally—his drink tilted dangerously. You watched in slow motion as the soda teetered on the edge of disaster, but before it could spill, Hyugo swooped in like a goddamn hero.

The phone was already recording. Hyugo caught the drink, saving Sol’s popcorn from a watery demise, and let out an exaggerated gasp.

“Ohhh, that was beautiful,” Hyugo laughed, clearly living for the chaos. He aimed the phone at Sol’s stunned expression and clicked record. “10/10, excellent execution.”

Sol’s head whipped around to you, mouth opening and closing like he was trying to figure out how to recover from this.

“Did you just—what the hell was that?” he sputtered, still holding the popcorn like it might escape if he didn’t act fast.

You, being the absolute menace you are, gave a casual shrug. “Just shooting my shot.”

Sol’s face cycled through so many emotions in the span of two seconds—confusion, realization, the sharp twist of embarrassment, and maybe, just maybe, a tiny sliver of flustered annoyance before he groaned in exasperation and turned away.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, his fingers gripping the popcorn bucket a little too aggressively. “I trusted you.”

“You didn’t even see it coming,” Hyugo teased, giving him a nudge with his elbow. “How’s it feel to get blindsided?”

Sol exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as he glared at you with reluctant amusement. “You suck for that.”

You grinned and turned to head toward the theater doors, leaving Sol to catch up. “And yet, here you are—still following me.”

Hyugo was practically wheezing, holding his stomach as he laughed at Sol’s misery. Sol, meanwhile, scoffed, shaking his head in defeat as he grabbed his drink and popcorn, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. 

“…I hate you both.”

But the way Sol nearly tripped over his own feet trying to juggle the snacks told a very different story.

The theater was dark, the low hum of the movie's soundtrack mingling with the faint scent of popcorn. Sol, Hyugo, and you had settled into the plush seats, each of you with a bucket of snacks in hand. The movie was one of those cheesy horror flicks, the kind that was more funny than scary, but that didn't stop the occasional jumpscare from making you all laugh nervously between bites. 

Hyugo had managed to devour his snacks almost as quickly as you did, and now he was getting up to go buy more from the concession stand. As he walked off, you turned to Sol, your eyes scanning the screen as the movie played on.

“Can I have more snacks?” you asked, voice light, but a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You were hoping he might get the hint, that you were just looking for a little excuse to keep the conversation going—or to distract from the eerie silence of the theater.

Sol, who had been lazily leaning back in his chair, eyes still trained on the screen, didn’t respond immediately. He only turned his head to glance at you, an eyebrow arched. The corners of his lips twitched like he was suppressing a grin.

“More snacks?” he repeated, almost like he was savoring the idea of you asking him for something. “You really want more, huh?”

Before you could respond, Hyugo was already on his way to the snack bar, leaving the two of you alone in the now quieter theater. The flickering images on the screen cast ghostly shadows around the room, but the mood between you and Sol shifted, like the atmosphere of the horror movie had leaked into reality.

Without warning, Sol moved. He was fast—too fast for you to protest before he dragged you into his lap, positioning you against him so smoothly it was like he had been planning it. Your eyes went wide, and you felt your heart skip a beat as your body tensed.

“Sol—what the hell?” you hissed, pushing against his chest lightly, panic flooding your veins. “We’re gonna get kicked out! The cameras—”

He chuckled darkly, his hands firm on your hips, pulling you closer with a deliberate slowness. “Cameras?” Sol repeated, his voice low and laced with amusement. “You really think those broke-ass cameras are gonna catch us?”

You froze, your breath hitching as you realized he had a point. No one was paying attention. The theater was practically empty, and the cameras... well, you were pretty sure they weren’t even working half the time. But still, the nerves kept crawling up your spine.

You shot him a look, your voice pleading now. “Please, Sol, we’ll get caught—”

He didn’t care. 

The mischievous glint in his eyes made it clear he was doing exactly what he wanted to do. “As of now, I only have five minutes to get my lick back,” he said, a sly smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted you in his lap. “So just sit tight.”

Before you could protest any further, his hands tightened on your hips, and the space between the two of you disappeared entirely. The horror movie continued to play in the background, but everything else seemed to blur away as Sol’s presence took over, his focus entirely on you now.

He was definitely getting his lick back.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

You were stretched out lazily on Geo's couch, feet propped up, the faint hum of the TV filling the otherwise quiet room. The show on the screen was some random cooking competition, something about baking pies or soufflés—honestly, you weren’t paying attention. 

You were just waiting for what was coming next, your mind slowly running through the inevitable mess you were about to have to clean up.

Geo, meanwhile, was somewhere deep in the other room, grunting and puffing through his workout like he was trying to bench-press the whole damn apartment. Little did he know, the storm was brewing right under his nose, completely oblivious to the chaos that was about to unfold.

Then, the phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of you. You glanced down, and for a moment, thought maybe you had imagined it. But nope, it was real. You sighed, already dreading what was coming.  

It was Crowe.

You clicked on the message, the words practically screaming at you. The chaos wrapped in his text was immediate and undeniable.

Crowe: You’ve gotta send me proof. Geo’s place, right? Get to it. ;)

You let out an exaggerated groan, sinking even deeper into the couch as you stared at the screen. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or throw the phone across the room. The guy was a menace, but also... this was your doing. You had made a deal, and now it was time to face the music.

You quickly typed out a quick reply, hoping it would be enough to get him off your back.

You: You’re a monster, you know that?

The moment your thumb left the screen, you leaned back with a deep sigh, wishing there was an easy way out of this. But before you could even gather your thoughts, the phone buzzed again, and your stomach dropped.  

Crowe: You knew what you signed up for. Get it done, or I’m telling Geo about your whole ‘accidental’ Bosni tree pot situation.

That did it. The blood in your veins froze for a moment. The tree pot. The one you’d definitely broken during the last “harmless” visit to Geo's place when you tried to water his plants. Geo’s favorite plant pot, the one that was apparently extremely important to him. 

If Crowe really spilled the beans about that, you were done for.

You narrowed your eyes at the phone, holding back the urge to throw it across the room.Bastard.

With an exhale that felt like it came from your soul, you typed out a final message to Crowe, fully aware that you were about to go through with something you’d regret but couldn’t back out of. 

You: Fine. But you owe me one for this.

Locking the phone and tossing it beside you on the couch, you let out a sigh, feeling the weight of the situation already press on your shoulders. You were about to face the consequences of a bet that now seemed a lot less funny. 

For a brief moment, you considered just walking out and letting Crowe deal with whatever that mess would cause. But no, you'd signed up for this—and now, you were going to have to shoot your shot. 

And hope like hell that Geo didn’t decide to test out your strength next.

Your eyes flicked toward the hallway, where you could hear the muffled sound of Geo’s voice—grunting and puffing through his workout. The metallic clink of weights echoed faintly, paired with his strained breathing. 

“Shit,” You mumbled like Geo had no idea what was about to hit him.

You ran a hand through your hair, smoothing it back with exaggerated flair, trying to shake off the nerves that threatened to set in. You really didn’t want to do this. You really didn’t. But a bet was a bet, and you’d signed up for this mess willingly. Besides, there was no way out now—not unless you wanted to face the wrath of Crowe and risk Geo finding out about the damn plant pot incident. 

You grabbed your phone again, your eyes lingering on the screen as you read Crowe’s last message once more. As tempting as it was to just text a quick follow-up to Crowe and get it over with, you knew that wouldn't be enough. If you were going to follow through on this chaotic request, it had to be in person. Game face on.

You gripped your phone tightly in your hand, determined to make this look effortless. Rising from the couch, you tried your best to exude an air of confidence, even though your stomach was tied in knots. With one final glance toward the hallway, you padded softly across the living room, each step more hesitant than the last. Geo was still in the other room, deep in his workout, completely unaware of the storm you were about to unleash.

You took a deep breath and lifted your phone as you walked, trying to steady your nerves. Without wasting another moment, you hit open your facetime app. The screen switched to selfie mode, and you angled the camera so it captured your face with a perfect frame. 

With practiced ease, you threw up a peace sign, lips pursed into a playful, almost mocking smile waiting for him to answer. You had to look convincing—like you wanted to do this. It wasn’t the most ridiculous thing you’d ever been roped into. 

You were a professional, right?

You held the phone up higher, positioning it before calling Crowe would see the full effect of your live performance. Then, with a quick tap, you called him. Your finger hovered over the screen for a moment, the gravity of what you were doing hitting you all at once. Before you could second-guess yourself, you hit the call button. The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

Finally, Crowe’s face appeared on the screen, looking slightly confused as he answered. “You better have a good reason for calling me right now,” he said, squinting at the screen.

You grinned, doing your best to make it look like you weren’t about to regret this. “Live proof, Crowe,” you said, holding the phone steady. "Get ready for the show."

Crowe’s expression shifted immediately, a glint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You actually do it. I’m impressed and scared for you.”

You rolled your eyes, doing your best to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “Yeah, well, I’m not backing down now."

Behind you, Geo’s grunts drifted in from the other room, sounding like he was preparing to wrap up his set. You could feel the pressure mounting. 

“Alright, Crowe,” you said, setting your jaw. “You wanted proof? You’ve got it.”

You took a deep breath, ready for whatever came next.

There was no turning back now.

The clanking of weights in the other room grew louder as Geo worked his routine, the rhythmic sound of them hitting the floor serving as a strange kind of music that was perfectly suited to the chaos you were about to unleash. The occasional grunt he let out only made it more apparent that he was totally unaware of what was happening in the next room.

You leaned against the doorframe, placed your phone in your back pocket so Crowe could hear you. You could feel your pulse quicken, but you kept your cool, mentally preparing for the moment when Geo would finally notice you.

The door creaked slightly as you slid it open, making sure it was quiet enough so you didn’t give yourself away too early. You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, your phone still recording. You could already feel the heat rising to your cheeks, but you forced yourself to stay casual. This had to look effortless. 

And then—there it was. The moment you’d been waiting for.  

Geo, mid-rep, froze as his eyes finally caught sight of you standing in the doorway. His brow furrowed slightly, and his arms paused in midair. The confused expression on his face was exactly what you wanted—he had no idea what you were about to throw at him.

He lowered the weights slowly, letting out a breath as he glanced up at you, still trying to piece together what the hell was happening.

“What’s up?” His voice was slightly strained, his curiosity evident. 

Perfect. 

You didn't even miss a beat. You leaned in, a smirk tugging at your lips, and said it—smoothly, like you’d been practicing it in front of a mirror for hours.

“They say shooters shoot,” you said, your voice playful and teasing, letting the words hang in the air for just a moment. You held his gaze, your smirk growing wider with every second.

“Subaru, wassup witchu?”

For a moment, there was absolute silence. Geo blinked. His face went blank, and you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, his brain scrambling to catch up with what had just been thrown at him. 

And then—the moment it clicked—the gears started to turn in slow motion. His expression shifted from confusion to pure amusement, then to something else entirely—was that disbelief? Annoyance? Maybe a bit of both.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but his lips twitched, threatening to betray him. “Really?” He let out a chuckle, shaking his head, almost like he couldn’t believe he was falling for it. “You really hit me with that, huh?”

You only shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe, not backing down. “Yep. Gotta do it for the cause.”

Geo scoffed, shaking his head like you were the last person he’d ever expected to catch him off guard. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

But before you could even process it, he did something completely unexpected—he dropped the dumbbells with a soft thud, his attention now entirely on you. 

His gaze turned from casual amusement to something more... intense. He took a slow step toward you, his grin stretching into something mischievous. “Guess I’m just gonna have to see how this plays out, huh?”

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable. His body language shifted, the playful grin on his face now a clear sign that this wasn’t going to be an easy win for you. The hidden half-smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, like he was trying to hold back a laugh or a more dangerous thought.

“Damn right you are,” you shot back, your voice still light, but there was a spark of excitement in you now. 

You watched, amused, as he took a couple of slow steps forward. “I should’ve known you were gonna pull something like this,” Geo muttered, bumping your shoulder with just the right amount of force to get under your skin, but not too much. “Guess I underestimated you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a little more impressed by his reaction. "I’m full of surprises," you quipped, stepping back a little as he closed the gap between you. 

Then, suddenly, his eyes flicked to something behind you—something you definitely didn’t expect. A small shift in his demeanor, his focus redirected. You felt your heart drop for a second, thinking maybe you’d gone too far. 

Before you could even process the rest of your thoughts, he moved. It was quick—way too quick. One moment, Geo was standing a few feet away, his usual brooding expression locked in place, and the next—whoosh—your feet were off the ground. Your breath caught in your throat as Geo casually tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, the action smooth and effortless. 

His hand was firm but not rough, and you barely had time to adjust before the world shifted upside down, your stomach doing a flip as you were swung into position. Your face was level with his back, and all you could feel was the press of his shoulder under your ribs. He didn’t even break a sweat, the ease of it making it clear that this was nothing to him.

“What the hell? Geo—put me down!” You tried to squirm, but it was no use. The guy had you locked in with a grip that was firm enough to hold you hostage and casual enough to make it clear this wasn’t some angry move. It was playful. It was... payback.

Geo didn’t even flinch at your protests. He just smirked to himself, his voice low and teasing. “Guess it’s time to test how good you really are at shooting your shot,” he said, his tone laced with challenge. His words hung in the air like a dare, and you could feel the energy shift—suddenly, this wasn’t a funny little back-and-forth. 

No, this was game on, Silly.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got stuck. The whole situation was too absurd, and you couldn’t help but feel the rise of laughter in your chest. But then Geo turned his head slightly, flashing that mischievous grin of his over his shoulder—knowing full well how badly you’d walked into this trap. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you remembered exactly who was about to witness this circus.

“Geo, seriously, this isn’t funny—” you started, but before you could finish, his eyes flicked to the phone, now hanging loosely in your pocket, clearly still in the middle of a FaceTime call with Crowe. 

He narrowed his eyes as a slow smile crept over his lips, and then—bam. Without missing a beat, Geo angled your body so he could reach up and grab your phone from your pocket, pulling it out with one smooth motion. He turned the screen toward his face, his brows arching at the sight of Crowe’s shocked face on the other end of the call. He was also caught.

“Of course it’s you,” Geo said, his voice dripping with annoyance as he slammed the gym door shut behind him, effectively trapping the two of you inside. His tone had that smug, ‘I’m in control’ edge as he shot a glance at your phone, practically posing for the camera like he was on a damn runway.

Crowe didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Oh my god, what in the hell is happening here?” he asked, practically snickering through the phone.

Geo scowled, taking a slow, deliberate step toward the door, still holding you like a human prize he’d just won in some weird game show. “What? You really thought I was gonna let them off the hook that easy?”

"Geo—hang up the phone, seriously!" you groaned, your face burning red as you realized you were still on FaceTime with Crowe, trapped in your embarrassing mess.

Geo looked at you with a smirk that could only be described as dangerously entertained. He wasn’t just enjoying this moment—he was reveling in it. “Nah, nah, Jericho’s gotta see this, right?” He shifted you in his arms, adjusting you so he could move into the perfect frame, as if this was his big moment on a reality TV show.

Your phone wobbled slightly as the camera angled to capture his face, and in that split second, it was clear: Geo knew exactly what he was doing. He looked into the camera, eyes gleaming mischievously, and you could’ve sworn he flashed the kind of grin you only see on cartoon villains. Like he was auditioning for the role.

"Next time you think you can mess with me..." Geo trailed off, his eyes flicking back to Crowe’s screen with an annoyed gleam, “Make sure you don’t leave the audience rolling.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning, your frustration mounting as the realization that this was about to be a moment for the ages hit you. "I swear you're both gonna pay for this."

Geo chuckled darkly, enjoying every second of your squirming. “Oh, you’re gonna pay, all right,” he said, his voice still heavy with challenge. His grip tightened just enough to ensure you knew he wasn’t letting this moment slip by unnoticed.

And then, with a sigh toward the phone, he slowly reached down and swiped at the screen, hanging up the FaceTime call without another word. The abrupt cutoff left you staring at the now-empty screen, and all you could hear was the beat of your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

This was going to be a long, long 'workout'. He made sure of it.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

You had to admit, Sol’s bet was… ridiculous. 

Of course, you had to take it on. The bet was made, and now you were stuck with the consequences. 

“You’re too soft,” Sol had said earlier, a smug smile on his face as he leaned back in his seat, hands folded behind his head. “There’s no way you’ll flirt with Hyugo. I bet you forty bucks you won’t even try.”

You scoffed, your pride wounded more by the insult than the bet. “I’m not soft. I just… don’t feel the need to flirt with people to get attention.”

Sol raised an eyebrow, unamused. “So you won’t do it?”

“I’ll do it,” you shot back, all defiance. “I’m not scared of flirting, I just don’t want to do it with him.”

As you strolled through the bustling downtown streets with Hyugo, the weight of your earlier words finally hit you. Skipping out on the rest of the day’s classes had seemed like a solid plan at the time—an impulsive little rebellion fueled by a shared craving for the one dessert you’d both been dying to try. 

But now? 

Now you were here, walking beside him, and realizing that maybe, just maybe, you’d underestimated how much trouble you were about to get yourself into.  

"Man, I gotta say," Hyugo sighed dramatically, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I feel like a total delinquent right now. Skipping class, sneaking off downtown… Next thing you know, we’ll be on the news. *Menace to society and their unfortunate accomplice caught devouring pastries instead of doing calculus.*"  

You snorted. "Oh, please. If anyone’s the unfortunate accomplice, it’s you. I could’ve pulled this off solo and left no trace."  

Hyugo gasped, clutching his chest like you’d personally betrayed him. "Wow. So this is how you treat your partner in crime? I thought we had something special."  

You rolled your eyes as the two of you stepped into the café, the rich scent of sugar and fresh pastries instantly making the escape from school worth it. Settling into a small booth, you both leaned over the massive dessert placed between you, exchanging glances before simultaneously reaching for a piece.  

"Okay, moment of truth," you said, taking a bite. The second the flavor hit, you groaned. "Oh yeah, this was worth it."  

Hyugo took a bite of his own, his eyes widening in pure delight. "Oh, this is dangerous. I could live off this. Forget school. Forget responsibilities. This is my new life now."  

You laughed, the sound blending seamlessly with the cozy atmosphere around you. It was *too* easy being with him—comfortable in a way that made you drop your usual guard without even realizing it.  

Hyugo tapped his fork against his plate, watching you with a teasing glint in his eye. "You keep looking at me like that," he mused, leaning in slightly, "and I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got a little crush on me."  

You nearly choked on your next bite. "Excuse me?"  

He grinned, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. "What? I’m just saying, we ditch classes together, share a dessert, exchange some meaningful glances—"  

"Shut up," you groaned, throwing a napkin at him.  

But Hyugo caught it with ease, shaking his head as he leaned in even closer. "Nah, nah, don’t back out now," he said, voice dropping into something smoother, more playful. "I mean, if you do have something to confess, I’m all ears."  

You huffed, crossing your arms. "You’re insufferable."  

"And yet," he smirked, tapping his leg against yours under the table, "you’re still here, babe."  

Damn it.  

He had a point. And that was the real problem.

“Okay, so I have to ask,” Hyugo said between bites, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous twinkle. “What’s going on with you today? You’re acting all…” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by your shift in demeanor.

You paused mid-bite, the rich sweetness of the dessert somehow losing its flavor as you felt Sol’s words echo in your head.

Shoot your shot.

The pressure was on now. You could feel it like a weight on your chest. The bet was made, and here you were, sitting with Hyugo—alone—and if you didn’t do something now, you’d lose the damn bet. You had to commit. No backing out. 

You set your fork down, glancing at him before taking a deep breath. Time to give it your best shot.

With a confident, almost exaggerated move, you leaned forward just a touch, your voice dropping slightly lower but holding that playful edge. “Hey,” you started, rolling the name off your tongue like it was something sweet. 

“They say shooters shoot, right?” You let the words hang between you, the tension thickening just enough that even he could sense it. 

Hyugo blinked, pausing for a moment, clearly not expecting this. The corner of his mouth twitched, fighting off a grin. “Shooter, huh?” he replied, the hint of a challenge dancing in his voice. You leaned in a little more, your eyes locking with his, and gave him that smirk that made your intentions crystal clear. 

"Hyugo, wassup witchu?" you said, your voice teasing and flirtatious, making it clear that you weren’t playing around.

For a moment, there was silence—just a beat long enough for you to wonder if you’d completely missed the mark. But then, Hyugo’s grin exploded, wide and unabashed. His eyes softened, and he leaned in closer, almost as if he was savoring the challenge you’d just thrown at him.

“Okay, okay, I see you,” he chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “But you know… shooters don’t always hit the mark.” His voice was low, almost dangerous with that playful edge that had you wondering what exactly he meant.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little as you couldn’t help but laugh at the way he was throwing it right back. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” you said, giving him a teasing once-over. “I think I’ve got some pretty damn good aim.”

“Is that so?” Hyugo asked, his gaze never leaving yours as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth now.

Hyugo’s grin widened, his eyes never leaving yours as he casually finished the last bite of the dessert. There was something about the way he did it—slow and deliberate—that made it feel like he was taking control of more than just the dessert, like he was claiming the moment.

As he leaned back, the playful glint in his eyes deepened. He was enjoying this, every second of it. The tension between you two was palpable now, thick enough that it made it harder to breathe. You could feel the temperature rise, and suddenly, the air felt heavy with anticipation.

“Well, if we’re both shooting our shots…” Hyugo trailed off, his mischievous grin now a full-blown smirk. “I guess it’s my turn, huh?” His voice was low, but the challenge in it was unmistakable. There was a promise in his tone, like he was about to pull something bold, something you couldn’t ignore.

You felt your heartbeat quicken, knowing this was about to get a whole lot more intense. Hyugo had that effect on people—he made everything feel like it was a high-stakes game, and you were the one caught in the middle of it. 

His leg brushed against yours under the table, just enough to make you pause. The casual touch sent a jolt through you, and before you could even react, he shifted closer. The playful look on his face grew more intense as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke.

“You know…” he started, his voice low and smooth, as though he was savoring every syllable. His hand slid from the edge of the table toward your side, just brushing against your arm, like it was nothing. 

“I’ve been wondering for a while now…” 

You swallowed, trying not to let the heat rise to your face, but it was hard to concentrate when his body was so close to yours. His knee was now pressed against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

His gaze flicked from your lips to your eyes, taking in every little shift in your expression as though he were studying you. There was something about the way he looked at you that made it clear he was thoroughly enjoying your discomfort.

Hyugo leaned in even closer, his voice lowering, his words carrying the same confident teasing as before, but now there was a touch of something else. “What would it take for someone like me…” He paused, his lips curling up in that signature smirk, the kind that told you he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“To get someone like you to stop hiding behind that tough front? To actually, you know…” He slid his leg just a little closer to yours, pushing against it in a move that was so casually intimate it took your breath away. “…Show me what you’ve got?”

The way his leg brushed against yours now wasn’t just playful; it was deliberate, like he was making a statement. His body language was bold, and the way he held your gaze made it clear he wasn’t going to back down anytime soon.

You were both in the middle of a public place, but Hyugo had a way of making everything feel like it was just the two of you. It was intoxicating, and for a moment, you almost forgot where you were. 

He was so close now, the heat from his body mixing with yours, his smile widening as he saw you flinch just slightly at the touch. It was playful, yes, but there was something else behind it—a teasing challenge, and an undeniable sense of control.

“So,” Hyugo said, his voice lighter now, but there was a definite edge to it. “What’s it gonna be? You gonna keep hiding, or are you gonna show me what you’re really made of?” 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you had no idea how to respond—because Hyugo wasn’t just shooting his shot. 

He was playing a game, and he was damn good at it.

Soon, Hyugo leaned back just enough to give you a once-over, his smirk stretching wider as if he had already solved the mystery you hadn’t even realized you were trying to hide. His leg pressed against yours again—this time firmer, like he was making a point.  

“Ahhh,” he drawled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I knew something was up.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

He tilted his head, watching you like you were the punchline to a joke he’d just figured out. “You don’t usually flirt this bold—nah, this has Sunny written all over it.”  

Your stomach flipped, but you played it cool, grabbing another bite of dessert as if you weren’t internally panicking. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  

Hyugo laughed, loud and full of mischief. “Yeah? So you just happened to wake up today and decide to lay it on thick? Noo, I can hear him in my head right now, betting you wouldn’t have the guts.”  

Damn it. He caught on way too fast.  

Hyugo’s grin turned downright wicked as he slid his phone out of his pocket. “Hold still, babe,” he teased, throwing an arm around your shoulders and yanking you in before you could even think about escaping.  

Click.  

You barely had time to blink before he tilted his phone toward you, displaying the damning evidence—your face, frozen in a mix of shock and mild betrayal, while he grinned like he just won a championship game.  

He burst out laughing. “Oh yeah. This is gold. I need Sol to see this.”  

Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”  

Hyugo arched a brow, his smirk growing even more insufferable as his thumb hovered over the send button. “Oh, I definitely would.” He paused, tapping his chin like he was deep in thought. “Actually… y’know what? I should charge you for this. Consider it a finder’s fee for exposing Sol’s shady little bet.”  

You shoved at his arm, scowling. “You’re the worst.”  

Hyugo only cackled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before catching your chin between his fingers, and tilting your face up with a teasing nudge. His voice dipped into something almost mockingly sweet. 

“Nah, I’m just invested in your financial success. Now, make sure to collect your winnings tomorrow—’cause after I’m done with you today?” He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin as his smirk turned downright smug. “You’re gonna be too tired to think about anything else.”  

And just like that, he stole the last bite of dessert, winked, and leaned back like he had already won. 

Smug. As. Hell.

[angelbby555]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ Life As We Know It

Word count: 11k

Summary: What happens when your friends die, and you and your ex-boyfriend gain custody of the baby? (requested from: 🦔)

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

Bradley was watching the football screen on the flat TV. Meanwhile you sat on the other end of the three seater sofa reading. It was amusing that after all these years Bradley was still a big fan of the New York Jets. He always dreamed of having a flat screen TV, and now here he has it. Instead of reading your book, you were staring at Bradley longingly.

Under no circumstances have you ever thought that you and he would ever meet again. But after your best friend Malia and her husband died in an unexpected car crash, it left their 3 month baby girl without parents. To your surprise under Malia and Caleb's will, you and Bradley Bradshaw were written out as the God parents.

They must have written it before you and Bradley had broken up. It was already terrible seeing your ex boyfriend again after your friends died, but even more horrible when the estate lawyer revealed that both of you would hold custody over small Giovanna. Not to mention the grief of losing your college best friend so sudden and quickly. 

It wasn't ever in your plan to have kids this soon in your life. But you had to do it for both your friends. You had given up your personal space, and lived at Bradley house for the babygirls sake. Bradley had turned down promotions, you gave up your freedom to travel, Bradley would have to cancel out on his friends multiple times for the baby and both of you sacrificed your sleep as well. But the one thing Bradley could not let go of was his grudge on you for cheating on him.

You understood where he was coming from, you would probably feel the same if you were in his shoes. But it made it a bit awkward and uncomfortable to live with him at times. All you could do was accept accountability for your stupid actions, and move on. If you could go back in time to redo the past you would one hundred percent take back your actions of going home with a different person that wasn't Bradley.

As you stared at him over the top of your book with your legs stretched out you couldn't resist and thinking how different things could have been. Bradley had grown up after 2 years, he bulked up and grew muscle. His once fair skin is now a beautiful caramel color. The shaggy curls that fell on his forehead were turned into a sharp regulation cut. His honey burnt eyes looked tired after all the baby trouble, but he still looked good.

Bradley probably could feel your sharp gaze at him but he didn't dare take his eyes off the tv. After moving in with Bradley, he didn't spear you a second of his attention which was understandable yet so very irritating. He was aware and alert of all his surroundings and he most definitely knew you were admiring his side profile instead of your book.

To add more sound above the play-by-play commentary on TV, on the baby monitor resting on the coffee table Giovanna started to cry.

"Not it." 

Both of you said at the same time touching your nose. For the past 3 cries you had lost nose-goes. You knew you lost this one but you didn't want to move off the couch.

"I said it first." Bradley commented not bothering to shift his gaze at you. You closed your book frustrated, it wasn't fair that Bradley had faster reflexes than you.

"Rock, paper, scissors for it." You put your fist out towards him desperate not to go up. For a second you swore you saw the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. Which did make your heart skip a beat since nowhere near you did he ever look happy.

"No, you lost. Go." Bradley leaned back against the couch feeling no sympathy for you.

You left the living room with a sigh, making your way upstairs to the nursery. Right now Bradley was probably grinning now since your bothersome presence was gone. You twist the door knob and you're greeted with the most lovely high pitched crying you have ever heard.

"Hi Gigi." You muttered to the hysterical infant. Gently you reached down into the crib and picked up Giovanna, making sure to hold up her head. Based on your forearms against her warm bottom, you could tell she needs a change of diaper. "I got you honey."

After changing a diaper for months, you moved into the changing table, placing her small tense body down on the thin cot. When Bradley found out about the death of Caleb, he didn't waste a second on moving all the nursery items out of Malia and Caleb's house into his small home. You asked him if you could help assist in the move but Bradley coldly said he would do it himself.

But out of this major step up he made in his life, the thing that pulled on your heartstrings the most was Bradley had painted the spare room sky blue, and added small white clouds to the walls. To the baby it didn't matter where she was, but to Bradley it was important she still got her room.

You hand blindly tapped around the shelf under the wooden changing table for diapers and felt nothing. You poked your head down remembering you had forgotten to grab the case of diapers down stairs, and restock the changing table. Giovanna mouth opens wide in a quivering wail, gums bare, and chin trembling. Her tiny brows knitted together.

You moved to the crib grabbing the small baby monitor and speaking into the small sound system.

"Bradley, could you please bring the diaper box up please?" You felt embarrassed to even talk to him, the shame of your mistake all those years ago still haunting you. It took a second before any word was spoken by him.

"I don't remember losing this round." Bradley's raspy voice had you fluttering eyes shut. Before you could start begging, Bradley spoke again. "Hey but kiss G goodnight for me." Then it was utter silence.

I cheated on Bradley. I deserve this. I cheat on Bradley. I deserve this. I cheated on Bradley. I deserve this. You said to yourself and you quickly dashed downstairs for the pampers

⊹☆~⟡⋆

You got little Giovanna every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. Bradley got her Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. It's like you were a team but a broken one. Holding on for the sake of the child. The days Bradley or you got her, of course one another still helped around for a little but then you were completely free.

It was Thursday morning and Bradley and you were moving through the kitchen doing your separate routines together. Bradley was holding small Giovanna in her strong arms feeding her a small bottle of formula milk. Meanwhile you made a yogurt parfait adding your granola and fruit in an aesthetically pleasing manner.

When you cooked breakfast, you always made extra for Bradley. Stubbornly Bradley would never take it. So on occasion you would slip it into the passenger seat of his bronco so he had no choice but to take it. Always you made extra for him even if he didn't eat it.

In the fridge there were definitely sections. The top shelf was yours, the bottom one Bradley's, and the middle one just condiments and baby formula. You would sneak the Tupperware leftovers into his bare section. Then the next time you were in the fridge the Tupperware box was back on your shelf.

When it was Bradley's turn to take care of the baby, he usually had iceman's wife kindly babysit her, as he went off to work or sometimes just called in sick and stayed home with Giovanna. By this time Bradley was usually out the door, so for a second you thought he was waiting for breakfast.

"Hey I was wondering if you can do a favor for me?"

Your eyes immediately snapped up at Bradley as you never heard those words for him before. Obviously he wasn't looking at you though, staring at the small baby in a pink onesie while she perfectly sat in his arms. The picture of Bradley in his navy green flight suit holding a small Giovanna would forever be tattooed in your mind.

"Yeah?" You asked, feeling a bit too excited for your own good. You went back to adding strawberries in your yogurt since he wouldn't yet look at you.

"I got this important briefing today." You glanced at him. Bradley set the bottle down on the counter before moving the baby upright. Her face over his shoulder as he patted her small back. "And Sarah can't watch G for me today."

You already assumed what the next words lined up. But you didn't jump at the chance to help him, your shoulder slumping down since of course this was a baby related matter. When you didn't respond yet Bradley rolled his eyes, forcing him to get the words out he didn't want to be spoken out loud.

"...So I was wondering if you could take care of her for today?" Once the infant let out a small burp Bradley cradled her back down into his arms. Your eyes didn't leave your yogurt this time. This could be your chance to get on Bradley's good side. For those awkward football nights to become a comfortable hangout. Yet your mind wondered back to when he didn't bring the pamper box up for you.

So out of pettiness you twisted the circle lid on to your bowl and said: "I don't remember today being my day to take care of her."

With that you grabbed your breakfast, left his yogurt parfait on the counter and exited the kitchen. Leaving Bradley standing there with his jaw clenched, holding Giovana in his arms.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

Maybe if I wasn't an asshole yesterday she would have helped me. Bradley thought to himself, staring down at the 4 month baby in his arms.

"Alright, I guess today it’s ’take your goddaughter to work day.’ " Bradley glanced at the yogurt and with his free hand, stretched his arm out to grasp the container. Just this once, I'm eating for me not for her. He moved to the closet where the baby's Winnie the pooh bag was. He ducked down and pressed his shoulder against the wall before standing up properly and getting the strap off the hook and onto his shoulder.

"I know I almost traded you today. But don't give me a hard time for it, please." Bradley said in a baby tone holding Giovanna's small body in one arm and his yogurt in the other. The small girl made a small cooing noise as he made his way out of the house.

"Yeah I know, your godmother looked pretty today." Bradley admitted to the baby. You always looked pretty, but Bradley just had to pretend he didn't see it, for his own sake.

When Bradley got to hangar late everybody looked at him as he made his late entry. Looking like a professional godfather with a diaper bag over his shoulder, and holding a black stroller basket in his hand. He heard some of his coworkers laugh and Maverick looked at him like he was crazy.

"Rooster you can't have babies-"

"I'm sorry that it's such an inconvenience to you that her parents died." Bradley angrily stated, leaving his godfather speechless. He wasn't sure if he spoke for the baby or for his younger self as well. "Listen, I'm sorry. But I don't have anybody to watch her. She's asleep, but the moment she starts crying I'll go out into the hall and take care of it." 

With that Maverick helplessly directed Bradley to the open seat in the back. Bradley moved down the aisle taking the seat and setting the portable baby basket on the floor and set the Winnie the pooh bag down as well.

His ears were tuned into the flight instruction Maverick gave, but his attention was on the baby asleep in the basket. With Bradley’s boot propped up on the edge of the basket, he gently tipped it back and forth, rocking her gently.

After that Bradley had to deal with finding where to change her since there was no fold out table in the men's room. Realizing Giovanna's onesie was too small for her, having multiple women gush over the baby, and learning that Giovanna likes yogurt when he placed a dot of it by her lips. Natasha watched over Gigi in the rec room as he did his flight practice.

The moment Bradley was back home around 4 o'clock. He went straight to your room that used to be his spare bedroom. Giovana cradled in his arms, ready to pass you the baby, now since he got home. This time around Bradley didn't even knock, opening the door and seeing you laid on on your bed with your phone in your hand.

A funny thought tickled his brain that it would be nice to lay next to you. Especially since you looked so peaceful and uninterrupted. It reminded him of the days you waited for him at home in your shared apartment with open arms.

"I gotta shower, you watch the pumpkin for a bit." It wasn't a greeting or question, it was a demand as he went over to the other side of the bed and placed the baby in your arms. A fond look over took your eyes now that you had the baby once in your arms again. That second Bradley immediately missed having Giovanna warm body in his embrace.

"So how did it go?" You hesitantly asked not at all bother by the fact he just bursted in here. Bradley stood there for a few seconds debating whether to rant or not.

"Swell." Was all Bradley could say remembering he had spilt milk all over his car seats. Bradley left the room with no other words being said. Once he got to his master bedroom he realized his shower only shot out cold water. Last month he would prance into the extra bedroom and shower there since the water was always warmer.

Now with his ex-girlfriend in the other room, he would just have to suck it up and deal with the ice cold water. But today the idea of showering with cold water left Bradley shivering. So he grabbed a pair of sweatpants and white t-shirt and walked down the hall to your room.

Since he wanted to use your shower Bradley knocked on the door this time before letting himself in. The moment he set foot through your door he felt somewhat better seeing you taking a picture of Giovanna. He felt the tightness in his shoulder disappear for a second when you looked up at him.

"Can I use your shower? Mine only sprays cold water." Bradley found himself looking at you way longer than he usually does too caught up in the scene before him.

"Yeah go for it." You casually said looking back at the baby and letting out a delighted squeal. "Gosh you're so cute G! You're like the doll I always wanted." His feet were pasted to the ground forgetting why he was here. A small smile pulled on his lips; Bradley always thought you would make a great mother for his kids. He almost wanted to tell you he loved you at that moment.

Your eyes looked back at him and that’s when his feet directed him to the bathroom. It was a very odd feeling, being in the shower and feeling safe that you were behind the door.

Once Bradley got out of the shower he thanked you, but found himself yearning to be in the same room as you two girls.

"Do you mind if I sit for a little?" Bradley pointed at the spot by the edge of the bed. He had no right to ask that especially with the way he had been ignoring you for the past month. You hummed a response and Bradley took a seat. He had nothing to talk to you about besides the baby. "Did you see the little rash on her thigh?" He asked, turning to look at you.

You grabbed one of your silk pillows before setting down sleepy Giovanna on the nice material. "Yeah. Don't worry we put baby powder on before the diaper this time so she should be good." Your attention was on Bradley once again and there was nothing he could do besides feel embarrassed about how badly he wanted to kiss you at that moment.

"You know she likes yogurt?" Bradley stupidly announced not knowing what more to say.

"Does she?" You perked up, raising your brows.

"Oh yeah. You should have seen it." Bradley laid back against the foot of the bed wanting to see Giovanna sleep. "Got a finger full and put it by her mouth to try, and she ate it without making a face." The soft rise and fall of the little baby’s chest made Bradley smile. Babies were such a blessing, for a second Bradley was glad she was too small to understand that her parents had passed away.

In this moment laying next to Gigi, Bradley felt drained from the day's events and sleepiness overtook him. Closing his eyes to rest his eyes lids for a second. Slowly starting to grow unconscious.

"You took the yogurt?" Was the last thing Bradley heard before he had completely blacked out on your bed.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

Not a day went by that you didn't think about Bradley accidentally falling asleep in your bed. Both Giovanna and Bradley had tired each other out passing out side by side. You kept telling yourself it was the pure utter exhaustion that had Bradley out like a light in your bed, not because he wanted you close... But why the hell would he sit down in the first place?!

You had thrown a blanket over him and an hour later he had woken up. Automatically you thought he would leave but he got up and gently placed Gigi in the middle of your bed, before laying down in your bed. What the hell?! Bradley hated you, the hell was he doing casually laying in your bed, like he did this everyday... a few years ago he used to.

Bradley didn't bring up the sleepover in your room, nor did you. It was the same routine with Bradley after that, grocery shopping together, occasionally greeting each other good morning, him watching football while you read on the couch, trying to get Giovana to say her first words.

Once when you were on the couch you had blacked out while doing a word search. Yet somehow the next morning you woke up in your own bed. You didn't ask Bradley but you were 100% sure that he had tucked you in. But obviously you didn't ask.

Slowly but surely you had a feeling that Bradley was warming up to you. Like the past could maybe stay the past and you could work together, to make eachother life easier. That's why you made sure to butter Bradley up before he realized that you could be trusted once again.

Everytime he lost in nose-goes you volunteered to check on Giovanna instead, when he lost his keys you helped him look, when he came back home you offered up your shower before Bradley could ask.

On a Monday afternoon when he came back home rather late, you had Giovanna on your lap playing with the rainbow stacking ring toy. Bradley was wearing civilian clothes so this must have been one of the rare nights he went to the Hard Deck. His Hawaiian shirt was a blue decorated with black palm trees, you were certain he wore that shirt the day he had planned you a surprise birthday party many years ago.

"Hey." Bradley passed by the living room, moving to his room not caring to talk to you like usual.

"Hi," You threw your head back following his every movement. "Do you wanna know the score of the game?" Bradley stopped in his tracks and smirked a bit. You never cared much for meatheads pushing each other on a field before so he was amused.

Bradley rested his hand on the white stair ball finial, and propped his chin on his hand. "Tell me."

"Eagles 25 and Buccaneers 11." You started bouncing your leg making Giovanna gently coo. Bradley pressed his lips together, trying not to smile.

"Did you search that up?"

You shook your head and lifted your head up focusing on Giovanna instead. "No." The baby grasped the red ring sliding it down on the pole "I watched it." You timidly confessed.

"Did you?" Based on the sound of his voice you could tell he was smiling. Not being able to see his facial expression reminded you of when he was deployed and you could hear the warmth in his voice through the phone. "Since when do you watch football?"

"Today when I missed you sitting next to me." You muttered so he couldn't hear. You grabbed a green ring and slid it on to the pole. Giovanna burbled in disagreement, her small hands pushing the ring up and out of the pole.

You thought Bradley had left but his raspy voice had your blood pumping rapidly through your body. "Since what?"

"Nothing"

"No, what did you say?"  Bradley egged on moving off the stairs and returning back to the living room. Everything was left unspoken between you two, so he was pushing your limits wondering if you had the guts to say that to his face.

"I said nothing."

⊹☆~⟡⋆

"Do you need the shower?" You instantly asked Bradley when he had knocked on your door. It broke his heart that you always thought he wasn't here for you. Using your shower was now just becoming some bullshit excuse to come visit you and be close.

Through the reflection of the dark window, you were doing your mascara. Now that your eyes didn't linger on him, he missed your attention now since he didn't have it.

"No, Giovanna toy keyboard doesn't work, and I think I left some spare batteries in your closet." Bradley checked you out since you weren't facing him, his eyes focused on your ass a little longer than necessary.

"Yeah, you can check." You answered. Too busy fixing your appearance to get it yourself. Bradley walked into your cozy room and opened your closet. "Are you sure you want to hear those lovely symphonies she can play?"

Bradley laughed at your sarcastic comment. "Hey if it keeps her happy." His eyes scanned over your selection of clothes before looking at the top shelf. "Honestly I think I'm more addicted to the cat keyboard than she is." He heard you infectious laugh as Bradley grabbed at a navy shoe box with no lid.

The batteries were clearly not in there, but the items in the box had captured Bradley’s attention. It wasn't morally correct to be going through your things, but how could he not when an old polaroid strip of pictures of both of you kissing was in the shoe box. Your closet door opened prevents you from seeing his snooping. 

The photo booth you took that in was so tiny, you were sitting on Bradley lap while the pictures were taken. The Polaroid square of you guys making funny faces used to be in his wallet. It was a bit odd you kept it after all these years but perhaps for the memories?

Curious overtook him and he kept going through the box. His heart did a flip when he realized this box was dedicated to him. There was a movie ticket of your first date, the souvenirs shot glass he got from Florida for you, his beat up cap he thought he lost. A dried dandelion, that you had wished upon to be together forever. A baseball he wrote his number on, and a rock with googly eyes Bradley stupidly made for you one day when you wanted a pet.

Bradley forgot some of these things had completely existed.

"Did you find it?" Your voice had startled Bradley. He stole the pet rock from the box before sliding it back onto the shelf.

"On second thought, I think the meow meow piano sounds just fine with zero sound." Bradley closed your closet giving you a once over before you turned around to face him. "You look beautiful." Bradley's mouth moved quicker than his brain. He felt like he was caught red handed.

Your face lit up at the compliment "Thank you. I'll see you later, Rooster."

Time heals all wounds. For once Bradley might agree with the saying because, for the first time in forever Bradley could forgive your past actions. It wasn't the shoe box that changed his mind, but everything else in-between. You had thrown a blanket over him the night he fell asleep on the foot of your bed. You watched the eagles game to tell him the score. Made him food even if he didn't eat it. Always giving him your full attention, every time he talked to you.

The truth was Bradley had never stopped loving you. It was hard enough already that one of Bradley's best friends had died, but to make it worse they were the 2 people that had brought you and Bradley together. Bradley was just a chauffeur at their wedding, a little lost between careers. Meanwhile you were one of the cute bridesmaids that stood besides the bride on the steps. Wearing a silk lavender gown that fits you like a glove.

Melissa and Caleb were nice people, so they had let Bradley sit at one of the tables during the wedding at the fancy country club. Bradley's eyes were burning into you. The moment you recognized his piercing gaze, you shot him a smooth wink with a gentle smile. The small gesture did something to him. Feeling recognized and reassured in a crowd where he knew no one.

After eating the food the caters had so kindly served, he went back to the black SUV, not wanting to overstay his welcome. Bradley sat there for a while listening to music with his seat reclined. That's when he heard the knock on the window. The bridesmaid hadn't had her fun yet.

With a smirk Bradley rolled down his window.

"I got you cake. Was wondering if I could sit with you?" You licked some frosting off your finger holding a plate of lemon cake and a bottle of champagne. Bradley unlocked the passenger door for you. One thing led to another and the chauffeur had his fun with the bridesmaid. That's where it had all begun. If it weren't for Bradley's unemployment crisis, then he would have never met you at Melissa and Caleb's wedding. The thought genuinely scared him.

That's why it felt like a punch to the gut when both of you were announced as Giovanna godparents. Melissa and Caleb thought both of you were made for each other. The night of their wedding you had catched the money bouquet you had pointed the flowers at him and said: “Baby it’s gonna be you and me up there next!” That day was the first time he met you, and technically you were a complete stranger, but he believed you.

There was this regret that lingered, when you had moved into his house. If Bradley forgave  you for cheating before then the pair of you could have been living together for a long time now. He wasted time that could have been. Lots of if’s played on his mind. If you and him hadn't broken up, Melissa and Caleb probably wouldn't have gotten into a car crash. If Melissa and Caleb didn't die, Giovanna would still have parents.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

It was crazy to know that you had spent 2 months raising Giovanna, and living with Bradley. It was Thanksgiving. Which lands on a Thursday, so Bradley had responsibility over 5 month Giovanna. The little girl was growing too now. Her hair was getting a little longer so you had to brush it down. She could crawl now from Bradley back to you and her teeth were starting to come in.

For Thanksgiving you had asked Bradley if he had any plans. Last time, you remember he was the life of the party, he was the music, the entertainment, the drunk, playing with the dog, the social butterfly of the function. Actually Bradley was a fun time in general, he had that positive mindset that made everyone smile.

But you were surprised when he said he had nothing going on. All his friends were home for the holidays, so there would be no get together. It broke your heart because Bradley didn't have any other family to celebrate with. Meanwhile you had plans with your sister's family to eat turkey at 6 in the evening. You had invited Bradley but he kindly declined saying he didn't want to intrude. No matter how much you told him he was more than welcome he said he would be fine at home with Giovanna.

Around three o'clock you were already dressed to head to your sister's house. But when you were going down the stairs, Bradley's back was facing towards you. He was sitting on the floor in the living room with Giovanna. The parade was playing on TV and there was a tower of blocks being stacked between them.

G was wearing a white long sleeve shirt with an orange dress that had a small pumpkin embroidered on the center pocket.

"You're such a little pumpkin you know that?" Bradley fondly stared at Giovanna stacking blocks on top of one another. She started to giggle when they all topped over hitting the ground with a soft thud. Bradley could never handle the cuteness, scooping the baby up into his lap, and kissing all over her chubby face. "You're my little pumpkin right?"

She stared up at him with her hazel eye, the exact same color as her father's. Giovanna didn't know how much she meant to Bradley. That he would give her the world if she asked for it. Bradley kissed her forehead giving her a little squeeze.

"Don't grow up on me okay? You're not allowed to."

Everything about him was amazing. Probably still one of your favorite people even after you broke up. You didn't want Bradley to catch you staring for the millionth time longingly. So you shook your head and quickly scurried off the stairs in the direction of the foyer. You slipped your kitten heels on and we're out the door.

When you were in your car and turned the engine on you weren’t able to put the car in drive. The whole week you've been looking forward to this. Your sister made the best mashed potatoes and was an amazing hostess. Always had fun party games that had you doubling over in laughter and fondly looking back at when they were memories. The family picture that always took way too long to get snapped. You'd always loved the sense of family when everyone listed what they were grateful for.

But this time around the two people you were grateful for wouldn't even be at the diner table. You were just outside of the house, and you already missed them. It's safe to think that you might have separation anxiety from those two. Going to Thanksgiving at your sister’s didn't even seem appealing when you could be home with Bradley and Giovanna. Yes, you had grown up with your sister and cousins, but you had a new family now to prioritize and put first.

You backed out of the driveway and instead of going in the direction of your sister's house, you went the opposite way to the grocery store.

Once you had gotten to the Grocery store thirty minutes away from your house, you realized you never cooked Thanksgiving dinner. Last time you tried helping when you were younger, your mother had kicked you out of the kitchen. Saying you did better off watching the parade. Times like this you really wished your mom wouldn't shoo you away, and showed you how to prepare the turkey.

Staring at the freezer full of turkey, you couldn't resist shaking your head feeling nauseous. No way would you be able to cook that, and make it edible. The next best thing was the warm rotisserie chicken under the yellow oven lights. Turkey, chicken- tomatoe, tomato, pretty much the same thing. So you grabbed the warm plastic box and placed it into the cart.

You were ready to turn the dinner into a lazy one, as you reached for the mashed potato mix on the shelf. Then your hand dropped back to your side. Bradley liked the mashed potatoes with the lumps in them because it reminded him of his mom, since she never had the patience to fully smash them down. You ditched the artificial mashed potatoes and went back to the produce, to grab some real potatoes.

Oh and Bradley also likes pumpkin pie. Never finishes the slice, but he likes the thought of one. Maybe he would prefer brownies and ice cream, like his mom used to do?

You took a shaky exhale feeling the emotions bubble to the surface, while grabbing a sack of potatoes. The biggest regret you ever made in your life was cheating on Bradley. He was the best boyfriend you ever had, and you had thrown 4 years down the drain like it was nothing. Bradley trusted you to be loyal to him; he told you his fears, secrets, likes, traumas, hobbies, and you didn't even think twice about that.

Tears started to flood your vision while you pushed the cart towards the dessert aisle. You were convinced that you were an awful person. Everything changed after Melissa announced she was pregnant in July. You had been dating Bradley for almost five years and there was zero ring. You tried convincing yourself that you weren't ready for marriage or kids or living together. But with Bradley you never felt so sure in your life.

Bradley said it was never the right time to get married, it's like every other day in the year he was doing a mission or getting deployed. He wanted stability for both of you when you got married. That he was waiting for a point in his career where everything would settle down... but it never did. You didn't care about stability or the right time. Every day felt like the right time for  forever to begin when you were with Bradley. You loved everything that came with Bradley Bradshaw, even down to the crazy deployment set backs.

You got tired of hearing it'll happen tomorrow, or this year, or "soon baby, when everything works out." The world was gonna keep on spinning and you were still waiting for Bradley's perfect moment to strike like the Rooster in him.

Around the time of Melissa's first ultra scan, you were sick of waiting. You had gone out with your sister and a group of her friends to a club. Not somewhere familiar like the Hard Deck but something across town that wasn't Bradley’s scene at all. You were just so pissed at the timing, and everyone growing up without you. 

Then the shots happened, cocktails, and a beer (which you weren't a fan of but you drank it because it was Bradley's favorite). After drinks, it correlated to dancing to the heavy music blasting in the club.

Some guy ended up grabbing at your hips when you were swaying them. You looked around for your friends, none of them in sight. First thing you thought of was: Bradley would not like this. You weren't even remotely attracted to the guy grinding against you and he didn't hold a candle close to Bradley. Yet another thought came in: I also don’t like sitting around waiting for Bradley to get his shit together, so what did it matter if I danced with some random guy who had the same build as my boyfriend?

You couldn't even blame the influence of drinking for what you had done after that. Because you were fully aware that it wasn't right, except you were so numb to it all in that moment you didn't care. But when you had got to sleep in a bed that wasn't Bradley's you immediately regretted it. There would be no church bells, or baby showers after your tramp behavior.

The day after when you were severely hung over, Bradley had called you asking you to come grab a bite with him at your guys favorite burger joint. When You got there you looked and felt horrible, but the moment you sat down he still greeted you with: "Hi beautiful."

Bradley was so happy to see you, and when he leaned down to hug you, you felt disgusted and ashamed with yourself. Bradley had ordered your favorite before you got here. He looked so tall and handsome and he was all yours for those last few minutes. Your food hadn't even been served yet. But you couldn't bear leading a kind hearted man like him on. After a massive exhale you confess your sin while crying immediately.

The only times you have ever seen Bradley heartbroken was when Natasha and Bob had gotten hurt during a training accident, and both anniversary days when Carole and Nick died. Now you were the one to be a part of his pain. Bradley had let you explain yourself through sobs. Not telling you to breathe, or calm down. He made you feel sorry and ashamed.

After that he was gone. Bradley moved out of the apartment first, leaving you with an empty place. Where 4 walls haunted you with the memories built inside. It didn't matter how much you called him because he never answered. With your tail between your legs you went to the Hard Deck to try to show him he still meant the world to you. But none of that mattered to him any longer, and you understood that.

A one night stand and your whole relationship was ruined. You couldn't even look yourself in the mirror after that. All you felt was pure utter hatred for yourself, that the best part of your life was gone because of your own actions. Then it occurred to you that it was better waiting your whole life for Bradley to be ready then, have him out of your life for good.

You ruined your own forever, and now you were forced to deal with the consequences everyday near the love of your life that would never forgive you. Most of your Thanksgiving shopping was spent wiping your eyes, like you have been doing for the past 2 months. Knowing this was your fault.

It was around 5 o'clock when you came back home. When you entered the house with grocery bags marking your arms, Bradley was no longer in the living room.

Not only did you have a breakdown at the supermarket but you still needed to prepare some massive feast you weren't even in the mood to make anymore. But you moved forward.

You didn't do so much besides mash the potatoes, make gravy, sautéed green beans, mac n’ cheese, and brownies. You took the rotisserie chicken out the package and plated it on a cute tray. The dishes containing the food all matched with each other all being white. In Particular, you were a big fan of how cute the gravy boat looked.

You had a rag over your shoulder as you lit a candle on the table. Hopefully Bradley didn't assume you were making a move on him, and just wanted to hang out with him.  After arranging the silverware, and three plates around the table you suddenly felt embarrassed by doing this much. Never have you eaten dinner at the table all together once since you’ve lived here, and if you did eat it was only ever in the living room in front of the tv.

A frown fell on your lips. It felt shameful to walk up stairs and tell Bradley that Thanksgiving dinner was served and ready. It was a very vulnerable feeling to show that you did enjoy his company, and might have even preferred it over your actual family members.

"I thought you were at your sister's."

Bradley sounded as shocked as you felt, when you saw him in the dining room. He was holding Giovanna in his arms and with her tiny hands playing with his dog tags that were tucked in his shirt. Your mouth felt bone dry, standing there awkwardly like you had been caught doing something terrible.

"Well- I uh. I was, I was gonna go and but I thought-"

"You made this?" Bradley pointed at the table with a raised brow. Suddenly the rotisserie chicken in the center felt like the biggest disappointment on the table. Everything felt so pathetic, and you wished the floor had swallowed you whole.

"Mh hm." You nodded. Giovanna's face planted into his chest and Bradley's lips pulled into a small grin. You couldn't tell if it was because of the growing baby in his arms or the Thanksgiving dinner.

"And we're gonna eat together?" All you could do was, nod your head nervously not knowing what was the right answer. The suspense for his feeling about this was killing you.

"If you want. I'm sorry about there being no turkey- I just. I never learned how to prepare one and it was last minute and all but." Your ramble was cut short.

 "No, no I love it. it's perfect." Bradley looked at the mash potatoes fondly. You hoped he would taste the lumps in them later. "You actually care about me." It was hard to tell if that was a question or statement coming from his tone of voice.

"Shut up." You laughed it off like it was nothing.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

What the hell was Bradley doing on this date? He didn't even like Thai food, let alone how busy a trendy restaurant could be. The worst thing about dates was the small talk he had to pretend to care about. By all means the raven haired girl, Caroline across the table from him was very nice and pretty. But mentally he wasn't at the restaurant, he had never disassociated so hard from reality before.

Bradley missed you and Giovanna. It felt like he was counting down the seconds until he got to see you two again. He longed to smell the lavender scent that stuck to your clothes, and the way Johnson & Johnson shampoo smelled in Giovanna hair. The smell in his imagination tickled his nose like he was actually near both of you. Bradley felt the bump in his front pocket, where he carried the flat pet rock he stole from you. It was like he was a little kid with his comfort blanket, somehow carrying the stupid rock made Bradley feel like he was closer to you.

All he could do was nod his head at Caroline pretending he understood everything she was saying. How could Bradley be on a date with another woman when he knew he loved you? After the Thanksgiving meal, it was all set in stone for him that you were all he ever wanted and needed. Bradley didn't have anybody to share that holiday with, and you had gone out of your way to ditch your earlier plans to make and eat dinner with him and Giovanna. Lumpy mashed potatoes, and Brownies with ice cream for dessert just like his mom used to do it.  It warmed Bradley's heart that you still remembered those stupid silly details he would retell about his childhood Thanksgiving. It made him smile that after 6 years of saying you wanted to learn how to cook a turkey, you still didn’t know how. The rotisserie chicken didn’t matter though, what mattered was that you had tried with the intention of eating all together. 

He felt seen and cared for, the exact same feeling he had when he had dated you before you had cheated on him. Always he blamed you for what happened, that was what had him sleeping well at night. Except for the past week straight it wasn't so easy to go to bed. He kept tossing and turning and the thought came to mind: maybe if I married her earlier on, we would still be together.

If Bradley put himself in your shoes then he would get sick of waiting too. He most likely would feel insecure, if you kept on putting the idea of marriage off. So he did come to terms with the thought that maybe you felt like an option instead of a priority. Not most girls wouldn't deal with a guy getting deployed 3 times a year and still wait for him to get back, but you did. From the moment he met you, he recalled you saying long distance relationships were stupid, but for him you sucked it up.

Maybe it was his fault that you cheated on him.

"Bradley?"

Caroline giggled, once he didn't reply to her question. Then his mind floated back into his body, and he was sitting at a table covered with a red cloth and a yellow candle flickering between the two of them. The food had arrived and he didn't even recall seeing the waiter place the dishes down.

"Sorry I get distracted sometimes. What was that?" Bradley raised his brows and glanced at his stake. He didn't even remember ordering either.

They made small talk trying to get to know each other but Bradley was still thinking about you. Random Thought crept in and out like: is she thinking about me too?

Whatever happened to her favorite sleep shirt that used to be mine?

Do you know I stole the pet rock from your box, and keep it in my pocket wherever I go?

Did the scare on your lower back ever healed after you scrapped it against the pool?

Does she still think of me when ‘Great Balls Of Fire’ plays?

Does she realize I carry her to bed when she falls asleep on the couch?

There were so many thoughts left unanswered because Bradley never asked you. Up until now did he actually start making full conversations with you instead of humming replies and using head signals. Bradley never wanted to be home so bad in his life. Even if that meant you reading on the couch, while he watched tv.

Bradley didn't even finish his food before he was pushing his chair out the table and reaching for his wallet. Times like these Maverick words rang in his head: don't think just do.

"I'm sorry Caroline. It was nice meeting you and having dinner, but I gotta go." Bradley picked two bills of one hundred out of his wallet and placed it on the table.

She furrowed her brows staring up at him. He never liked to ditch anybody, but this didn't feel right at all. "Okay... is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine, I just feel a bit under the weather." Bradley stood up from the table. Caroline was the move on girl, to help him get back out there and get over you. Turns out Caroline would be the girl that had him miss his ex more. "It was nice seeing you Caroline, have a nice night." She wished him a fair well and he quickly moved out the restaurant before the staff could question his departure.

When he turned the engine on in the Bronco he let out a sigh of relief that he would be heading home.

After the drive back to Coronado, Bradley was unlocking the front door, shaking the keys a few times by the door to alert you he was coming in. The whole ride back, Bradley’s mind left the car thinking about imaginary conversation he would have with you that would most likely not happen. A few fake scenarios about the night ending in a kiss, or hug, and a little further in his bed.

Bradley threw the keys in the ceramic bowl, and took his shoes off. While in the restaurant his lap had felt awfully empty without Giovanna sitting with him. Bradley strolled into the living room and smiled at the sight before him. You passed out on the couch and Giovanna was on your lap fully awake, staring at the kids show on TV, like she could understand the words.

"Pumpkin, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't tire your godmother out?" Bradley asked the baby. Her attention snapped to him and a gummy smile took over her small face. On instinct Giovanna was stretching her small arms out to him. Bradley was such a servant to this girl, because in seconds he was sweeping her off your lap, and holding her high up in the air. Her beautiful giggles had Bradley chuckle. After playfully lifting her in the air a few times he brought her back down to his level.

"You miss me?" Bradley kissed her soft chubby cheek. Bradley took her soft coo's as a yes. "How's my girl doing huh?" He pressed lips on her forehead. Taking an inhale of how her head smells like the yellow Johnson & Johnson soap. Bradley pulled away and with his big finger he booped her small button nose.

"I should put your godmother to bed, huh? Can't leave her down here." Bradley stared at the little girl in his arms waiting for a reply. Obviously she said nothing, just staring up at him with her clueless hazel eyes. He was gonna protect and take care of Giovanna for the rest of her life and he wasn’t mad about it at all. "Gosh you're so cute, I want to eat you." Bradley put her small hand up to his mouth and gently sank his teeth on her small finger. Bradley kissed her hand before looking back at your relaxed face.

"I'm gonna put Gigi upstairs and then I'll come back for you okay?" Bradley reassured your sleeping self, as he went up the creek steps. Once Giovanna was in her crib Bradley moved back downstairs. He made sure everything was put away and locked up, before he went back to the couch where you had fallen asleep.

Bradley had done this a total of 5 times, and he was pretty sure you never noticed. Careful not to wake you, he placed his arm underneath your knees, and his other arm under your back. Bradley easily got you off the sofa. Carrying you always reminded him of how much he used to love doing it. The only light provided was the one shining down on the stairs, so he made sure not to skip or trip any steps.

The old wooden floorboards creaked underneath him, and a small laugh had caught his attention. Bradley looked down at you, in his arms and there was an obvious smile that you were holding back.

"You're such a fucking liar."

Bradley huffed out, once you had the liberty to have a good laugh. Your energy was so infectious he found himself laughing. It left him wondering if you played pretend all the time to have him carry you up the steps. Here Bradley thought he was so slick with bringing you to bed, but it looks like you did notice.

"I saw an opportunity so I took it." You reasoned. Bradley avoided eye contact because if he did look at you, he was sure he might solidify his brewing feelings. There was a part of Bradley that told him that it shouldn't feel natural to hold you like this, but it felt so right.

Bradley got to your room and gently kicked the door open. "Sorry, We don't do free rides here." He placed you on the bed like you were a delicate flower. You rested on your elbows staring at him amused.

"Sorry, What form of currency do you take?" You raised your brows expectantly. First thing that came to mind was a kiss, but he shook his head.

"Just don't let it happen again." Bradley warned as if this wasn't the peak of his night. This little moment felt better than being on a date with some random girl Natasha set him up with.

At the same time both of you spoke.

"How was the date-"

"I'm gonna go cheek on G-"

Bradley wanted to slam his head against the wall for not thinking of any other small talk besides the baby you had in common.

"Alright, I'll see you in the morning Brad." Your cheeky little smile had definitely dropped. He would be lying to himself if he said that you being upset over his absent presence didn't slightly excite him.

"Yeah, Night." Bradley was hesitant to go, but ultimately left, closing your door.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He sighed to himself as he went to Giovanna's room. Once he looked down at the crib he was surprised to see that the little girl had passed out in the short time he went to collect you upstairs. She looked like a little lamb when she slept. Her features were not fully developed, but she looked like her parents. She had Melissa’s straight brown hair, and Caleb’s ears. Bradley never thought he could love a little baby so much in his life. Giovanna was worth every Hard Deck trip and rank he had given up. 

"Sweet dreams G. Scream if you need anything." Bradley kissed the tips of his fingers and then pressed them to her forehead. He turned on the small baby monitor by her crib, made sure she was comfortable before he left her room.

Bradley somehow forgot which way his room was, and magically ended up knocking on your door again. Once he was allowed entrance Bradley, opened the door, and you were still in bed resting against your head board.

"She fell asleep like a little lamb-"

"Do you wanna use the shower?" Both of you spoke above each other. It occurred to Bradley that it might be odd that he was here, considering he only entered to use your shower. For a second he almost thought it was okay for him to be here.

"No, I just wanna talk to you." Your curiosity peaked. Bradley had nothing interesting or planned out to say, he just wanted to be next to you. Bradley decided to be bold and move to the other side of the bed, and lay down with his head against the headboard as well. Your head turned to him, waiting for him to say something. Bradley felt settled knowing he had figured out his feelings on you, but he felt antsy in front you. "What was the score of the game?" Bradley stupidly asked now that he felt all nervous and tongue tied.

Your laugh made him smile. "Uhm hate to break it to you Eagles lost, 33-36."

"No." Bradley said playfully, any other day he would be heartbroken if the Commanders won, but since he was in your bed, it didn't hurt too much.

"Yeah I'm sorry." You nodded in a pitiful manner. There was a silence that fell over both of you after, he couldn't tell if it was comfortable or awkward. He guessed it was uncomfortable since you were quick to speak again. "How was the date?"

"You know-" Bradley thought it was better to lie or settle on the truth. He already laid in your bed, might as well say it how it is. He spoke quickly because looking into your eyes made his stomach flip. "I couldn't really enjoy it, I was missing you guys too much." The words hung in the air finally being said. Your eyes had softened but you had looked straight ahead. A small smile captured your side profile.

"I have the same problem." You admitted making Bradley feel relieved. "Don't worry we missed you too." A grin pulled at his lips. Crazy how far a little communication could get you. "Wait, can I tell you something? But promise you won't think I'm weird or laugh." You sat up against the headboard. It seems as Bradley's confession had started a domino effect and you wanted to let something off your chest as well.

"I promise." Bradley nodded, feeling very good about himself since he had gained your trust.

"Okay." The hesitation flashed before your eyes just like it had with him earlier. You took a deep breath and spoke. "The 3 days the remote control to the TV was lost, I had hidden it so you were forced to talk to me."

Bradley didn't let his jaw drop, or laugh. He controlled his emotions, pressing his lips together, even though inside he was freaking out about it. Your little plotting had worked because in those three days Bradley did start talking to you way more than he usually did. Bradley recalled being very annoyed when he had missed the Eagles game last week, but he wasn’t very upset about it now. It felt good to hear that. It felt even better to know you would go to those measures for him to open up to you. Bradley glanced at your poker face, he had a feeling of the silence and his lack of reaction might be driving you crazy. He didn't want to judge you, so he decided to admit something as well.

"When you kiss Giovanna goodbye, I get a little jealous I don't get a bye bye kiss." Bradley turned to look at you and you started to erupt In a fit of giggles. "You can't laugh." Brad bent one of his legs up, trying not to laugh at himself. Your room was turning into a confessional, because there were a lot of things both of you had on your mind.

"Sorry, I'm not judging at all." You put your hands out in defense. The Thanksgiving dinner, and watching football games for him proved you still cared about him. But hearing it was a whole different feeling. He thought the conversation was over but you revealed another thought. 

"When I go out with a new guy and he does something I don't like. I think Bradley would never."

Bradley hated thinking about you going out with another guy, but it was nice to know that you held him as the standard or expectation. You still thought of him the same way, he did with you. Your eyes anticipated his next admission. Bradley let out a little laugh at how eager you looked.

"Can't laugh." You pointed a scolding finger at him. He put his arms up in surrender like you did not too long ago. Bradley wasn't sure he wanted to admit his thoughts, he was sure that he was way more screwed in the head then you.

"You left a perfume bottle in the apartment when we broke up. Sometimes when I get lonely-" Bradley let out a nervous laugh while shaking his head. He was gonna regret this later. "I spray the perfume on my pillow, so it's like...I'm laying next to you."  Bradley physically couldn't face you, so he started to rub his forehead. There was no laugh, or gasp from you. Just acceptance and no judgement. But he didn't know your facial expression since he was too embarrassed to face you.

"I have a shoe box dedicated to you. It's got souvenirs of our relationship in it."

"I already know that one." Bradley ignorantly blurted out before he could think. A gasp came out of your lips and you swatted his shoulder in disbelief.

"How do you know that?"

Bradley was a red mess now. He was sure his ears were crimson, like every other time he laughed too much or got embarrassed. "When I went to get batteries in your closet. I found the box." Bradley bucked his hips up and reached into his front pocket. He pulled out the flat grey rock with googly eyes.

"I know this was missing!"  You shrieked out snatching the pet rock from out of his palm, the contact made his heart rate pick up. You must go through the box often, if you knew the rock was missing. "Start confessing before I throw Erile at your head." You smiled at him once he finally had the courage to face you again. Erile, that was the stupid rock’s name, he had been trying to figure that out for weeks.

"I don't want to say anything. Your confessions are so mild compared to mine." Bradley chuckled trying his best to maintain eye contact with you. You placed the pet rock on his folded knee.

"Fine, I'll give you two." You hummed and looked up at the ceiling trying to think of some. Still had the cutest thinking face he had ever seen. "Alright, here's one. I learned how to play piano. So I can play great balls of fire because-"

You cut yourself off reaching for the rock but Bradley grabbed it off his knee before you could. Last time he tried teaching you basic piano skills, you ended up on his lap, while you requested him to play song after song.

"Your second one?"

"Every day I listen to the Playlist you made for me." That made him smile. Because he wasn't a passing thought, but one tattooed in your brain. But still your confession was as crazy as the ones he's committed. Bradley pressed down at the plastic googly as and began to state his secret.

"When I get deployed, I take all your past letters out of my attic and put them in my bag. Then when I'm in my bunk, I pretend like I'm reading them for the first time. When in reality I have all of them memorized… I find it crazy that somebody loved me that hard."

"Baby I still love you that hard." You admitted with a laugh. Once you realized what you had said, you were quick to move past it like it didn't happen. Bradley didn't get a chance to say his I love you too, since you moved on to your confession. "I bought some expensive crystals. Hoping it's magic would have you forgive me."

Bradley started laughing, now realizing why he saw pretty colored rocks everywhere around the house. "How's that working out for you?" Bradley smirked.

"Mh well you're talking to me right now, so I'd say pretty damn good." Your laughter is always his favorite melody. He wasn't into the whole hippy chick zodiac thing. But right now- god bless those god damn stupid rocks. This was probably the best night he had in your two months living here with him. Bradley placed the pet rock down on your white sheets, wondering if he should shut.

"I got a good one." Bradley crossed his arms over his chest. Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it.

"Let's hear it." You mimicked his pose crossing your arms as well. It felt like he was picking the petal off a flower. She loves me, she loves me not. She ironically loves me... or not.

"My biggest regret was not marrying you when I had the chance."

That was the final comment that left you speechless. It's like both of you were trying to outdo one another, instead of realizing the things that were being spoken out loud. You bit your bottom lip, shaking your head. Every time you cried your bottom lip would quiver and jutt out, so you bit it to prevent it. The last thing he wanted to do was have you upset with him.

"Bradley I'm so-" Bradley gently brushed his lips over yours. Not long enough to be considered a kiss but maybe an accident. But you were so caught up with the past the action of intimacy went unnoticed by you. "I can't do anything besides say I'm sorry one hundred times. And say some bullshit like I wish I could take back the past. If you gave me a second chance I would not mess it up." You rambled on letting the tears pool at your eyes. Your earlier confessions didn't compare to the amount of emotions that went through your eyes in these few seconds. "Please, you didn't even offer me a second chance. But I would wait now Bradley. Whatever you wanna do, I'm with you. If you want me to change, I would. My biggest regret is even thinking about somebody else when you were everything I have ever wanted."

You sniffled, wiping at your runny nose. A soft smile came on your lips that read, it's okay if you wanna keep pushing me away. None of your love letters when He was deployed had compared to this moment. It felt like everything was right in the universe. All the years of wondering and yearning were being said out loud. Bradley still loved you, and you still loved Bradley. Both of you had always been sure.

"C'mere." Bradley said with open arms. You hesitated before scooting closer and his arms were wrapped around your waist and your face was pressed to his chest. The missing piece of the puzzle was finally put into place. "I forgive you." Bradley muttered into your hair, kissing the crown of your head.

"Really?"

"With my whole heart." Bradley wasn't lying one bit, he forgave you. He was over with all the, ignoring you and pretending like he didn't see your kind gestures. Bradley had figured out his feelings, and never felt so sure of somebody before.

Taking care of Giovanna got stressful sometimes and going through the emotions of lost loved ones was tough. But with each other it felt like you could manage it together. These were the roughest times both of you would be going through, and it was better to do it together then separate.

AHHHHHHH! 🦔 I said give me 3 or 5 days to write this. I meant 10 to 20 business days hahaha. So sorry for the wait, I hoped you liked it. Cheers to my first request <3

[moonselune]

companions with a wild magic sorc who has a really hard time trying to control their magic ? :3

yessssssssss I love this idea ahahahahahaha

Karlach:

The battlefield was still thick with the scent of blood, the air crackling with leftover magic and heat. The fight was over, bodies littering the ground behind you, and your chest heaved with exhilaration. That had been intense. Your pulse roared in your ears, your magic still buzzing beneath your skin like static before a lightning strike.

Karlach stood beside you, her hands clenched into fists, her grin wide and wild. Her infernal engine thrummed, but it was already cooling, the forced regulation kicking in as she let out a heavy exhale. You, on the other hand, weren’t so lucky.

Your magic wasn’t calming down.

It crackled unpredictably, dancing across your fingertips in flickering arcs of chaotic energy. Your heart pounded against your ribs, your body unable to stop trembling from the sheer rush of it all. You wanted to run, to scream, to cast—your magic begged for release, surging up your throat like a pressure too great to contain.

Karlach turned to you, grin softening into concern when she saw the way your whole body twitched, the erratic glow in your eyes. “Hey, hey, hey—breathe, baby. Breathe.”

You tried. You really did. But instead of steadying yourself, your next breath came out as a sharp, involuntary laugh—one laced with too much magic. A ripple of force burst out from you, sending the discarded weapons around you clattering and kicking up a gust of wind strong enough to ruffle Karlach’s hair.

“Whoops,” you muttered, biting your lip.

Your fingers tingled, your skin shone faintly with some unstable, unknown spell.

“I can’t—I can’t turn it off,” you admitted, hands twitching as another spark of wild magic sent a few pebbles into the air, where they promptly started orbiting your head.

Karlach huffed out a small laugh, stepping toward you before she suddenly dodged to the side as a wayward arc of electricity zapped the ground where she had just been standing. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s not turn me into fried bacon.”

“I—I can’t think, it’s too much, I—” Another tremor of wild magic made your body pulse, and suddenly, a random bouquet of brightly colored flowers exploded out of your palm, flinging themselves dramatically into Karlach’s face.

Karlach snorted, plucking a tulip from her forehead. “Babe.”

Your voice was tight, panicked. “Karlach, I can’t stop.”

Her grin faded into something softer, something understanding. She had her own battle with too much energy, with too much fire inside her. But at least her engine forced her to calm down. You? You didn’t have that failsafe.

“Alright, c’mon, focus on me,” she said firmly, holding her hands up in a steadying gesture. She took a slow breath in. “In…”

You mirrored her, sucking in a breath through your nose.

“And out.”

You exhaled, but your magic surged with it, another unpredictable burst escaping from you and—

Karlach ducked just as a rain of glowing pink bubbles started floating down from nowhere. She blinked, watching one pop harmlessly on her nose. Then she grinned. “Okay, could’ve been worse.”

You groaned. “I hate this.”

“I love this,” Karlach said with a laugh. “This is the most fun I’ve had post-battle since I figured out I could headbutt gnolls.”

“I am being serious.” You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers twitching. “I—I feel like I’m going to explode.”

Karlach sobered again, stepping closer—slowly, cautiously, avoiding the crackling wild magic still sparking off of you. “Then let’s get it out of you, nice and controlled, yeah?”

You met her gaze, still panting. “How?”

She tapped her temple. “Grounding techniques, baby. I use ‘em all the time. Let’s try…” She hummed, thinking. “Five things you can see.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Five things you can see,” she repeated, voice steady. “C’mon, focus. Tell me.”

You clenched your jaw but did as she said. “Um. Your stupidly pretty face. The battlefield. My hands. The… floating rocks still circling my head. And—oh, shit—my boots are levitating.”

Karlach looked down at your now two-inches-off-the-ground stance and wheeze-laughed. “Okay, that’s actually pretty rad.”

“Not helping.”

“Right, right. Four things you can touch.”

Your breathing slowed as you focused. “The wind. My robes. The magic—it’s under my skin, I can feel it. And… your voice.”

Karlach softened. “Good, babe. Three things you can hear.”

You swallowed. “My heartbeat. Yours. The bubbles.”

Karlach grinned. “Two things you can smell.”

“Blood. And—you.”

That made her pause. “Me?”

“Yeah,” you said, blinking hard. “Like… metal. And heat. And you.”

Karlach’s grin turned wicked. “Damn, you been sniffing me, sweetheart?”

“I swear to the gods, Karlach—”

“Last one,” she interrupted, stepping closer, brushing her fingers against yours. “One thing you can taste.”

You hesitated. Your lips parted, your breath still ragged from the rush of it all, but now Karlach was right there. You looked at her, the way her infernal glow lit up her face, the warmth of her body so close to yours.

“…You,” you whispered.

Karlach’s pupils dilated. “Oh, fuck.”

And then your mouth crashed against hers.

The instant your lips met, the magic inside you pulsed—and suddenly, the storm inside you wasn’t dangerous anymore. It flowed into Karlach’s touch, into her lips, into the warmth of her, grounding you as you melted into her grip. Your boots hit the ground again. The floating pebbles plummeted. The bubbles popped and vanished.

The magic was still there—of course it was, it was you—but now it was quiet, steady.

Karlach pulled back just enough to mutter against your lips, “Hells, babe, if I’d known kissing you was all it took—”

You huffed a breathless laugh. “We should test the theory. Again. For science.”

Karlach grinned, fangs flashing. “I love the way you think.”

And she kissed you again.

Minthara:

“By the gods, Minthara, what were you thinking?”

The words burst from your lips like a fireball, laced with exasperation, frustration, and just the tiniest bit of incredulity. You stood with your arms crossed, glaring at the drow before you, barely aware of the way your magic crackled and shimmered around you. It wasn’t unusual for your wild magic to act up in moments of heightened emotion, but you were too focused on your righteous anger to notice.

Minthara, ever composed, had the audacity to lift her chin, still maintaining that infuriatingly regal air. “I was thinking, my love, that my experience—”

“No. No, no, no, don’t you dare try to justify this!” You pointed at her, your finger sparking slightly with a rogue ember. “You walked into that hag’s lair without backup! Without me! And why? Because you ‘had it under control’? Minthara, she turned you into a squirrel!”

Minthara pursed her lips, her eye twitching slightly. “A temporary setback.”

“A humiliating setback,” you countered, throwing your arms in the air—unaware of the way golden sparks trailed from your fingertips. “And then I had to come in and fix it! Again! Just like last week when you thought you could intimidate a mindflayer into submission—”

“I nearly succeeded.”

“You did not! It tried to eat your brain!”

She opened her mouth to argue again, but you weren’t done. No, you were finally the one who was right, and you were going to bask in this rare moment of victory.

“I swear, Minthara, your ego causes you to have no sense of self-preservation! And then you tell me that I am reckless? That I am impulsive?” You let out a sharp laugh, magic crackling around you, the air growing thick with the scent of flowers. “You are infuriating! Stubborn, arrogant, foolhardy—”

Minthara tried to interject, but your magic flared again, sending a gust of wind that knocked over a nearby pile of scrolls. She sighed through her nose, already regretting her decision to let you rant uninterrupted.

“—And do not get me started on that ridiculous notion that you don’t need anyone’s help,” you continued, your wild magic shifting again, responding to the sheer intensity of your emotions. “Because guess what, Minthara? You do! You do need help! You do need me! And if you ever pull a stunt like that again, so help me, I will—”

You paused. Minthara had gone silent. Too silent. Your righteous fury momentarily faded as you blinked and looked at her properly—only to realize that she was no longer standing.

She was on the floor.

Bound.

And gagged.

By flowery vines.

You stared.

Minthara’s white-hot glare could have set you on fire. The vines wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides in an almost mocking embrace, while another curled delicately around her mouth, muffling any words she might have been trying to speak. Wildflowers bloomed along the bindings, soft and fragrant, an utterly ridiculous contrast to the absolute fury in Minthara’s eyes.

A slow, horrible realization dawned on you.

“…Oh.”

Minthara’s nostrils flared.

You winced, stepping forward as if that would somehow make up for this situation. “Um. How long have you—?”

A muffled snarl.

“Right. Okay. Uh. I might have gotten a little… carried away.”

Minthara arched a single, deadly brow. You pursed your lips, fighting the urge to laugh. You couldn’t laugh. That would make this so much worse.

“You look—”

A warning growl.

“—very dignified, actually.”

Minthara closed her eyes, as if calling upon the patience of every god she had ever rejected. You rubbed the back of your neck, shifting slightly.

“So… should I…?” You gestured vaguely to the vines.

Minthara’s golden eyes snapped open, filled with an icy promise of retribution.

“Right, right, I’ll fix it.”

With a flick of your fingers, you focused on dispelling the magic, watching as the vines loosened and slithered away, fading back into nothingness. Minthara immediately pushed herself up, brushing off imaginary dust as she straightened her armor. You took a cautious step back, suddenly less confident in your victory.

“So… no hard feelings?”

Minthara turned to you slowly, deliberately, her expression deadly.

“…I see,” she murmured, voice silk-smooth. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

You swallowed. “Um.”

“I must admit, my love.” She took a step forward, and you resisted the urge to take a step back. “I did not expect to be humiliated today, twice.” Another step. “And yet, here I am. Tied up. By flowers.”

Your lips twitched. “It was very aesthetic.”

Minthara inhaled sharply through her nose.

You cleared your throat, schooling your features into something apologetic. “But in my defense, I was right.”

Minthara’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

“Yes,” she admitted. “For once.”

You smiled. “Glad we can agree—”

Minthara grabbed you by the collar, yanked you forward, and whispered in your ear, “Run.”

You blinked. Then, without hesitation, you ran. Her laughter—low and deliciously vengeful—followed close behind.

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel was winning. Again.

Your chest heaved, sweat slicking your skin, and your arms ached from parrying her relentless blows. She was relentless in every way—strong, fast, utterly brutal in combat. It was infuriating. Your magic crackled beneath your skin, simmering at the edges of your control, waiting for an opportunity to break free.

But you didn’t need it. You could win this sparring match without wild magic. At least, that’s what you told yourself—right before Lae’zel swept your legs out from under you with a single, infuriatingly graceful motion.

You hit the ground hard, groaning as you rolled onto your side, glaring up at her. Lae’zel stood over you, spear in hand, expression sharp with satisfaction.

“Yield,” she demanded, eyes burning with that arrogant certainty that she always had when she bested you.

You refused.

Instead, you pushed yourself back onto your feet, breath heavy, and lifted your hands. Lae’zel grinned, shifting into a defensive stance. She liked this, liked that you didn’t give up. But you were so tired of losing.

She lunged forward. You dodged—barely. Her spear grazed past your ribs, and the shock of the near-hit sent something surging through you, something electric. Your magic flared before you could stop it.

Lae’zel’s next strike never landed. Instead, the wind shifted violently around you, and your body blurred—one moment you were there, and the next you were behind her, your own momentum carrying you faster than you should have been able to move. Lae’zel snarled, spinning to face you, but you were already striking out, landing a solid hit against her side.

She stumbled. She never stumbled. Lae’zel’s eyes snapped to yours, wide with disbelief. “You—”

You grinned. Lightning crackled at your fingertips as your wild magic lashed out again, this time turning the ground beneath her feet slick—not with water, not with ice, but with something unpredictable, something that sent her footing completely off balance.

She barely caught herself, growling, golden eyes narrowing. “You cheat!”

You laughed, full of reckless joy. “And?”

Lae’zel lunged again, and this time, you knew you had her. Your magic flared, pushing you just fast enough to evade her, just strong enough to flip her onto her back with a well-timed sweep of your leg. And then—finally—you pinned her.

Your body hovered over hers, hands braced on either side of her head, wild magic still crackling in the air around you—glowing embers and swirling wind, the scent of ozone thick between you both. You could feel the energy rolling off you, could see the way the world warped around your magic’s chaotic influence.

Lae’zel looked up at you, utterly unamused. “Well?”

You beamed.

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes. “Are you pleased with yourself?”

You let out a breathless, triumphant laugh, still grinning down at her. “You have no idea.”

Lae’zel clicked her tongue, shifting beneath you, her expression a careful mask of irritation—but you could see it. The slight curl of her lips. The way her fingers twitched against the dirt, as if resisting the urge to drag you down and flip you over instead.

“You fight like a fool,” she muttered, voice lower now, quieter.

“And yet,” you teased, leaning just a little closer, “the fool won.”

She huffed. “Only because they cannot control their magic.”

“Or maybe,” you murmured, feeling your magic spark warm and golden between you, “you just underestimated me.”

Lae’zel scoffed, but there was something else behind it now—something that made your magic hum for an entirely different reason.

“You will spar with me again,” she declared. “Without your magic.”

You grinned, slowly pulling away, offering her a hand. “And if I win?”

Lae’zel took your hand, gripping it just tight enough to remind you of her strength as she pulled herself up. She leaned in, voice low and deliberate. “Then, perhaps, I will allow you to celebrate properly.”

Your wild magic sparked, sending a burst of shimmering light into the sky. Lae’zel smirked.

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart pressed a finger to her lips as the two of you stumbled down the darkened path toward camp.

"Quiet," she whispered, though the word was barely more than a giggle. You tried to nod solemnly, but the movement made the world tilt, and you ended up bracing yourself against her shoulder instead.

"I'm always quiet," you mumbled, completely oblivious to the fact that you had not been quiet all night.

Shadowheart snorted. "Liar."

The two of you had spent the evening at the local tavern, ignoring Lae’zel’s strict warnings about muscle development and alcohol consumption. In hindsight, maybe that had been a bad idea. Not because of the drinking itself—no, that had been fantastic—but because sneaking back into camp while absolutely inebriated was turning out to be significantly harder than anticipated.

Especially because your magic had other plans.

The first sign of trouble came when you stepped forward—and promptly teleported ten feet ahead.

Shadowheart yelped as she was suddenly left behind, and you barely managed to stay upright, wobbling dangerously as you turned back to her. "Oops."

Shadowheart stared. "What—?"

Before she could finish, another magic surge took hold, and suddenly, a cluster of faintly glowing bubbles floated up from your skin, drifting lazily into the air like some kind of drunken sorcery hiccup.

Shadowheart’s mouth opened, then closed. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're going to get us caught."

"No, you’re going to get us caught," you shot back, even though it made absolutely no sense.

Shadowheart sighed and grabbed your wrist, tugging you forward. "Come on, before—"

A bright, multicolored spark exploded from your fingertips, arcing across the sky like a tiny firework. You both froze.

Shadowheart’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide with horror. "What was that?"

You gave a sheepish smile. "Uh… magic?"

"Why?"

"I—hic—don't know," you admitted. "It just does things sometimes."

Shadowheart groaned, rubbing her temples. "Lae’zel is going to murder us."

You tried to look serious, but then another hiccup escaped—and with it, the faint sound of tiny chimes.

Shadowheart exhaled sharply. "You are literally jingling."

You clamped your hands over your mouth in an attempt to stifle any further magical nonsense. It did not work. Instead, your magic decided to transform your hair into a shifting mass of glowing strands, like the aurora borealis.

Shadowheart just stared at it in awe and disbelief. You gave a weak chuckle. "At least it's pretty?"

"You are glowing," she hissed. "They are definitely going to see us now!"

Panicking, you tried to suppress the magic, to focus on keeping everything normal. But—unfortunately for you—the harder you tried, the worse it got.

Shadowheart gasped and shoved you behind a tree just as Astarion’s voice carried through the night. "Did someone light a bloody torch?"

Your heart pounded. You peeked around the tree, only to see Astarion squinting into the darkness, clearly suspicious. Shadowheart clamped a hand over your mouth. "If you make a sound, I will let Lae’zel have you."

You nodded rapidly, holding your breath.

For a moment, it seemed like Astarion was about to investigate further—but then, by some miracle (or sheer dumb luck), he shook his head and muttered something about not having enough sanity for this nonsense before walking back toward his tent.

You and Shadowheart stayed completely still. Then, slowly, she removed her hand from your mouth. You exhaled. "That was close."

Shadowheart glared at you. "If I get in trouble for this, I am blaming you entirely."

You grinned, grabbing her hand. "Fair. Now hurry up before—"

With one last, particularly unfortunate magic surge, the two of you vanished from the tree—only to reappear right in the center of camp, directly in front of Lae’zel.

She blinked. You blinked. Shadowheart swore violently.

Lae’zel crossed her arms, scowling. "I told you that alcohol ruins muscle development. You inebriated, reckless-"

You and Shadowheart exchanged a look. Then you both bolted in opposite directions.

Jaheira:

Jaheira walked a few steps ahead of you, the golden light of the late afternoon sun catching in the streaks of silver in her hair. She was effortlessly graceful, her movements as fluid as the wind rustling through the leaves. You, however, were slightly less composed—partially because you were trying (poorly) to be charming, and partially because your wild magic had other plans.

This was meant to be romantic. A peaceful stroll through the woods, away from camp, away from the chaos of battle, away from the many, many interruptions that came with traveling in a group. You wanted to impress her. You wanted to make her see that you weren’t just a reckless, chaotic spellcaster prone to magical mishaps—you were someone worth taking seriously.

Unfortunately, your magic had never been good at listening to what you wanted.

"So," Jaheira said, looking back at you with a raised brow. "You insisted on dragging me out here—what exactly was your plan?"

You flashed a grin, trying to exude confidence. "Well, I thought we could take a moment to enjoy the beauty of nature… and, you know, each other."

Jaheira hummed, amused. "Oh? Are you trying to woo me?"

You opened your mouth to respond—only for your words to be drowned out by the sudden, unmistakable sound of quacking.

You froze.

Jaheira blinked. "Was that a duck?"

You turned your head very slowly toward the source of the noise, only to find a small flock of ducks waddling through the underbrush, staring at you expectantly.

Jaheira followed your gaze, then turned her eyes back to you, suspicious. "Did you do that?"

"I—uh—" You swallowed, trying to play it off. "M-maybe it’s just… a very duck-heavy part of the woods?"

Jaheira folded her arms. "Is that so?"

As if to completely betray you, another surge of magic rippled outward—and suddenly, the ducks had tiny, shimmering capes sprouting from their backs. You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "Damn it."

Jaheira let out a low chuckle, her amusement barely contained. "I see. So you have enchanted ducks now."

You sighed, crossing your arms in a weak attempt at regaining some dignity. "This wasn’t part of the plan."

Jaheira smirked, stepping closer. "I certainly hope not. Otherwise, I’d have to question your approach to romance."

Before you could answer, another magic surge flared up—this time with a sharp pop—and your clothes completely changed. Gone was your usual traveling attire. Instead, you were now wearing an elaborate, flowery ball gown, complete with a ridiculous amount of lace. Jaheira clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh.

"Oh," she said, eyes glittering with delight. "That is quite the look for you."

You threw your hands up in exasperation. "I was going for charming rogue, not—whatever this is!"

Jaheira stepped back, pretending to appraise you like an art piece.

"Regal," she mused. "Elegant." Her smirk widened. "Utterly impractical for the woods."

"Jaheira," you groaned, fighting the blush threatening to creep up your neck.

She chuckled again, shaking her head. "You are truly something else."

You let out a long breath, finally giving up on controlling the situation. Instead, you turned to her, crossing your arms. "Well? Are you wooed yet?"

Jaheira tilted her head, as if actually considering it. "Mmm… I think I could be."

You perked up slightly. "Yeah?"

Jaheira leaned in just a little, close enough for you to catch the faint scent of herbs and earth on her skin. "If you kiss me before your magic teleports you into a tree."

Your heart definitely skipped a beat at that.

Not wasting a second, you surged forward and kissed her, pressing your lips firmly against hers. Jaheira responded in kind, one hand coming up to cup your face, the other resting lightly on your waist.

For a brief, blessed moment, there was no wild magic, no chaos—just the warmth of her lips, the steady strength of her presence, and the thrill of realizing that despite all of this ridiculousness, she still wanted you.

Then, of course—

Pop.

You disappeared.

And reappeared.

In a tree.

Jaheira let out a long-suffering sigh, looking up at you as you dangled from a branch in your ridiculous ball gown.

"Well," she said, hands on her hips. "That was predictable."

You groaned. "You are wooed, though, right?"

Jaheira shook her head, but there was undeniable fondness in her expression. "Yes," she admitted. "Unfortunately, I am."

Gale:

The fire flickered low in the camp, casting warm golden light over the both of you. Gale sat with his back hunched, staring into the embers as though they held all the answers in the world. His fingers were loosely curled, twitching slightly, as if resisting the urge to conjure something—anything—to distract himself from the weight pressing down on his shoulders.

You had seen him like this before. Pensive, lost in thought, burdened with the knowledge of what Mystra had tasked him with. But tonight, he looked particularly hollow.

You scooted closer, resting a hand over his. He barely reacted at first, lost in his own mind.

"You're thinking about it again," you murmured. He let out a slow, measured breath.

"I suppose I am," he admitted. His voice was softer than usual, devoid of its usual flair and wit. "It's a rather difficult thing to ignore. When a goddess tells you your death is necessary, it tends to linger in one's thoughts."

You squeezed his hand, shaking your head. "You know that's not going to happen, right?"

Gale gave you a ghost of a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And you know that certainty is dangerous. What if it does? What if there is no other way?"

"Then I'll find one," you said fiercely. "I'm not letting you go, Gale."

He looked at you then, properly, and for the first time that night, his expression softened just a little.

"You have a habit of saying things with such conviction," he mused. "It makes me want to believe you."

"Good," you said, squeezing his hand again. "Because you should believe me."

And just as you thought, just as you felt the mood settling into something steady and warm—your magic decided to act up.

It started as a tingling in your fingertips. Then a low, crackling hum beneath your skin, creeping up your arms and down your spine like an untamed storm waiting to break free. You tried to ignore it. You really did. You were saying something important, this was not the time for a random surge of magic.

But your magic had never cared about timing.

There was a sudden, sharp poof!—and Gale let out a very undignified yelp as a bunch of conjured blueberries rained down upon his head and several plump berries rolled off his shoulders and onto the ground.

"Ah," Gale said slowly, picking one up between his fingers. "A… fruit-based outburst, this time?"

You cringed, rubbing your face. "Oh, come on."

But then—Gale chuckled. It was quiet at first, but it quickly turned into a full, warm laugh. The kind of laugh you hadn't heard from him in far too long.

"You must admit," he said between chuckles, plucking a blueberry from his lap and inspecting it as if it were an artifact, "your magic has a rather dramatic sense of humor, my love."

You exhaled, shaking your head but unable to stop the smile pulling at your lips. "I swear, it knows when I'm trying to be serious."

Gale smiled—properly this time. "Perhaps it simply knows you well." He held out the blueberry toward you, tilting his head. You huffed but accepted the offering, popping it into your mouth. Sweet. Tart. A little ridiculous. Much like the moment itself.

But it worked. Gale was smiling again. The weight in his eyes had lessened. Maybe your magic wasn't so bad after all.

Astarion:

It was a rare, golden afternoon—the kind of summer’s day where the warmth of the sun soaked into your bones, easing every ache and tension. The air smelled of wildflowers and sun-warmed grass, and the only sound was the lazy hum of insects and the occasional contented sigh from Astarion beside you.

You lay sprawled on a soft blanket, basking in the sunlight, your head tilted back as you soaked in the heat. Astarion was doing the same, his shirt discarded, his pale skin almost glowing in the light. He stretched languidly, a smug smile curling at his lips.

“I think I was made for this,” he mused, shifting slightly so he was propped up on one elbow, gazing at you through lidded eyes. “Lounging, basking, looking irresistible…” He ran a hand through his silvery curls with a self-satisfied sigh. “Yes, I could certainly get used to this.”

You chuckled, turning your face toward him. “You’re just enjoying not bursting into flames.”

“Well, yes, obviously. But also, look at me.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “I am gorgeous in this lighting.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t exactly argue. He was gorgeous—always was, really, but there was something almost unfair about how the sunlight caught in his hair, how it made his usually pale skin look just the faintest bit warmer.

It was, in fact, the perfect moment. So, naturally, that’s when your magic decided to ruin it. The first sign was the chill against your skin.

Astarion blinked, then frowned, tilting his head toward the sky. “Darling, did you feel that? It just got—”

A fat, freezing-cold raindrop landed square on his forehead.

You winced. “Oh.”

Astarion’s frown deepened. “What do you mean, oh?”

You slowly turned your head, looking upward. A tiny, gray raincloud had materialized directly above you—no larger than a dinner plate, floating innocently against the otherwise perfect blue sky.

Astarion followed your gaze, eyes narrowing. “Are you kidding me?”

Another raindrop splattered against his bare chest. He screeched—a dramatic, offended sound—as if the heavens themselves had personally slighted him. You, meanwhile, tried very hard not to laugh.

“I swear,” he gritted out, sitting up and scowling at the little cloud, “your magic has a personal vendetta against me.”

“It’s not personal!” you protested. “It just… gets excited sometimes. Hard not to around you my love.”

“Flattery will not save you, my dear,” Astarion flicked damp hair from his forehead, thoroughly unimpressed. “Though, perhaps it could excite itself somewhere else.”

Before you could respond, the cloud trembled—and promptly doubled in size and a steady drizzle began to fall.

Astarion let out a highly offended gasp. “No. Absolutely not.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, but Astarion heard it. Slowly, he turned his glare on you.

“Are you laughing?” he accused, scandalized.

You shook your head furiously. “No! I would never—”

A sudden plop of water landed directly on the tip of Astarion’s nose. There was a moment of silence. Then, you lost it. You howled with laughter, clutching your stomach as you rolled onto your side. Astarion looked deeply unamused.

“I despise you,” he grumbled, running a hand down his soaked face.

“I’m so—pfft—sorry,” you wheezed, though you made absolutely no effort to stop laughing.

Astarion dramatically flopped back onto the blanket, arms spread as he stared at the sky in despair. “This is my eternity now. Soaked to the bone. Drowned in tragic irony. Oh, the suffering.”

The little cloud gave a tiny, happy rumble of thunder. You wiped at your eyes, trying to catch your breath.

“Okay, okay. I’ll fix it.” You held up your hands, closing your eyes in concentration. “I just need to—”

Your fingers sparked. Astarion sat bolt upright. “Wait—!”

With a loud whoosh, the cloud exploded. Instead of disappearing, however, it multiplied. Three more little storm clouds materialized above you, drifting in lazy circles. One gave an ominous rumble before releasing a tiny zap of static into the air.

Astarion yelped and scrambled away. “Oh, for the love of—”

You bit your lip, watching the clouds with a nervous chuckle. “Okay. That was… unexpected.”

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me, dearest, do you ever get tired of constantly defying logic and reason?”

You grinned at him. “Never.”

He gave you a long, long look. Then he sighed, moving to lie next to you. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“Owe you what?”

Astarion stretched, pulling you closer, now clearly enjoying your suffering. “A proper sunbathing day. Without your chaotic little curse ruining it.”

You grinned. “Deal.”

You both lay there for a while, the warm drizzle continuing to fall. And despite all his very dramatic complaints, you noticed Astarion didn’t actually move away. He stayed right there beside you, letting the warm summer rain kiss his skin, his hand eventually finding yours.

Maybe your magic wasn’t all bad.

Wyll:

It had been too long.

Between battles, group politics, and Wyll’s ever-present sense of duty, stolen moments had become few and far between. Every time the two of you had tried to sneak away, something had stopped you—camp business, emergencies, or someone just needing Wyll for something. It was infuriating. You loved him, but gods, the man was too beloved.

But tonight? Tonight, there was a window of opportunity.

Gale was deep in one of his long-winded magical lectures, Shadowheart was tending to her prayers, Lae’zel had gone off to sharpen her sword in solitude, and Karlach was keeping the others entertained with one of her enthusiastic stories. No one was paying attention.

So you grabbed Wyll by the wrist and all but dragged him into the privacy of a secluded tent. The moment the flap fell shut, Wyll let out a breathless chuckle. “Gods, darling, someone’s eager—”

You didn’t give him the chance to say anything else. You crashed your lips against his, hands already pulling at the laces of his tunic.

Wyll groaned into your mouth, hands finding your waist, pulling you in flush against him. “You really—mmh—don’t waste time, do you?”

“Not when we barely get a chance for this,” you muttered, tugging at his belt, desperate to rid him of the layers between you.

He laughed, but it was rough, needy. His hands roamed over your body, mapping out familiar curves and lines, fingers tugging at your own clothes with equal impatience. It was frantic, messy, all teeth and tongue and desperate hands fumbling to remove anything in the way.

And then—

The air crackled. You froze. Wyll did, too. A telltale shimmer of wild magic pulsed in the air around you, like static before a storm.

“Don’t,” Wyll said immediately, as you opened your mouth to acknowledge it. He cupped your face, pressing another desperate kiss against your lips. “Just try to ignore it my love.”

You wanted to. Oh, you really did. So you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, trying to drown in the feeling of him.

The magic had other plans. A sudden whoosh of wind swept through the tent, making the fabric ripple. Then, your fingers—your fingers in Wyll’s hair—began to spark. Wyll let out a startled grunt, pulling back just slightly. “Ow, love—”

“Ignore it,” you said quickly, mirroring his words, diving back in to kiss him. You both tried. You really tried.

But then Wyll’s levitated off the ground. You pulled back just in time to see him slowly, involuntarily, rising into the air. His eyes went wide. “Oh. Oh, no.”

You pressed your lips together, stifling a laugh.

Wyll tried to glare at you but his own amused smile gave him away. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

You held up your hands innocently. “I—”

A sudden pop of magic sent a rain of flower petals cascading from the air. Wyll, now hovering midair, arms crossed, let out a long-suffering sigh as pink and white petals rained down on him. “…I do hate your magic's timing sometimes.”

That did it. You lost it.

Dissolving into laughter, you clutched your stomach, shaking your head. “I’m’m so sorry—”

“You are not sorry!" Wyll half laughed incredulously. He was right, you weren’t. Not at all.

But you were very.... frustrated. Wyll, still floating, looked down at you with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Are you able to, perhaps, undo whatever this is?”

You huffed, trying to reign in your magic, but it was lively tonight. “Maybe if I focus…”

You took a deep breath, concentrating. The magic shivered—and then, with an audible pop, Wyll dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

“Oof—!” He grunted as he hit the floor with a thud, sprawled on his back.

You winced. “Okay, so, uh. That worked.”

Wyll groaned. Then, slowly, he opened one eye, looking up at you. “…You owe me for this.”

You smirked, crawling on top of him, pressing a kiss to his jaw, straddling him. “Oh, I plan to make it up to you. Thoroughly.”

Halsin:

You hadn’t meant for it to turn into an argument. Really, you hadn’t.

But you couldn’t ignore the way Halsin’s shoulders tensed every time you passed through the city streets. The way his usual warmth dimmed ever so slightly, his jaw tightening as his eyes flickered between the towering stone buildings and the struggling patches of green fighting to reclaim space.

And then there were his remarks. Always calm, always measured—too measured.

"The city suffocates the land, forcing nature into corners where it struggles to thrive."

"Civilization believes itself above the cycle, and yet it relies upon it more than it knows."

"It is a balance long since broken, though I still hope it may yet be mended."

Each time he spoke like that, with such a deep-seated melancholy in his voice, your heart clenched. Halsin put so much on his shoulders—he always had.

And he didn’t talk about it. Not really. So, naturally, you decided to push. Which led to the two of you standing in the middle of your shared tent, the flickering candlelight casting shadows against the fabric walls, you weren’t sure how things had escalated to this point.

Halsin stood opposite you, arms crossed over his broad chest, his brow furrowed. “I do not know why you insist on making this a debate.”

You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling. “I’m not trying to argue with you, Halsin. I just—” You paused, searching his face. “I want you to talk to me. Really talk to me.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “What would you have me say?”

You gestured, exasperated. “I don’t know, maybe that it bothers you? That the sight of Baldur’s Gate makes you want to rip your hair out? That it hurts you to see nature reduced to nothing but parks and gardens?”

Halsin sighed, rubbing his temples. “You already know how I feel about the balance between civilization and nature.”

“Yes, but I want to hear how you feel about it. Not as a druid, not as the former Archdruid of Emerald Grove—but as Halsin.”

His expression flickered, something shifting behind his golden eyes, but then—

A sudden zap of static shot through the air. Halsin stiffened and you did too.

“Oh no,” you muttered. You barely had a second to react before a gust of wild magic whooshed through the tent, sending the candle sputtering and the blanket on your bed suddenly jumping to life, flopping onto the floor and wriggling like a fish out of water.

Halsin blinked. “…Is that meant to be happening?”

You put your head in your hands and took a deep breath in, willing the blanket to stop. The blanket gave one last twitch only to scuttle off to sulk in the corner.

You shook your head, refocusing. “Look, I’m serious about this, Halsin. You don’t always have to be the wise, collected druid, you know? You can be angry about this. You can be—”

Pop.

Your clothes disappeared. All of them.

You let out a choked sound as you realized you were now completely, entirely, naked. Halsin went rigid. His gaze immediately shot up to the ceiling, his ears turning bright red.

“…I see.” He cleared his throat, voice suddenly very strained. “A rather unfortunate surge of magic.”

Your face burned. “Oh for the love of—!”

You hastily grabbed at the nearest thing to cover yourself, which, unfortunately, was the cursed blanket that had been sulking. The moment you touched it, it wrapped itself around you like a desperate lover, squeezing tightly and pinning your arms to your sides.

Halsin made a strangled sound that might have been laughter. You gave him a look. “Not. A. Word.”

He coughed into his fist, though the corners of his lips definitely twitched. “I… understand.”

You sighed, struggling against the blanket’s clingy grasp. “Anyway—as I was saying—”

Another pulse of magic crackled through the air and Halsin suddenly shrunk. Like, literally.

One second, he was standing there, arms crossed, looking like he was barely restraining himself from laughing at your predicament. The next? He was barely a foot tall, his clothes now comically oversized and draping over him like a discarded cloak.

You both stared at each other in stunned silence.

“…Ah,” Halsin said, his voice now ridiculously tiny and squeaky.

That was it. That broke you.

You doubled over, nearly toppling onto the floor as you wheezed with laughter. “Oh—oh my gods—”

Halsin sighed, pinching the bridge of his now miniscule nose. “I am glad you find this amusing.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you tried—and failed—to control yourself. “Halsin. Love. My dear. My tiny bear—”

“Don’t,” he warned, in his high pitch voice. You wheezed harder, your entire body shaking with laughter.

Halsin exhaled through his nose, crossing his tiny arms. “If you are quite finished…”

You wiped at your eyes, still grinning. “Okay, okay. I’m done. Just—hold on, let me—” You focused, trying to reign in your magic, trying to fix this.

A shimmer of energy pulsed through the tent—

And then Halsin was big again. But, now he was completely naked, too. However, he did not care and merely put his hands on his hips.

"Must we really continue this argument? It is evident your magic believes we should be participating in other heated endeavours." Halsin proposed as he began to saunter over to you, that sly look in his eye. But you were resolute, you were going to get through to him.

"Yes, Halsin it is important for us to-" Whoosh! The blanket was gone in a gust of wind that forced you to stumble forward into Halsin's massive frame, your naked bodies now pressed flush together. You groaned and rested your forehead against his chest. "Fine, but we are talking about this afterwards."

Halsin smirked and kissed you roughly, he was going to ensure that this argument would be the last thing that was on your mind.

I took a mixed approach with this, a bit of fluff, a bit of angst, a bit of crack. It was super fun to write and I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

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