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neellscapsule · 7 days ago

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My Heart — Part Four

summary | your family realizes how much they have missed. the problem is that you are a grown up by now, and terrible hurt by their neglect.

pairing | platonic yandere batfam x batsis!neglected!reader. future conner kent x reader.

warnings / tags | angst, hurt/little comfort, y/n is mentioned as a female, trauma, family issues, mostly trust and daddy issues. they all love each other (PLATONICALLY) they just don't know how to feel it and express it correctly. it gets darker. you are a bit of a yandere later as well. make out with conner, a bit steamy.

word count | 6k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :) please vote <3 dick is 28. jason is 23. reader will be 22 in a few months. cass is 21. tim is 20. duke is 18. damian is 13. conner looks 22 as well.

taglist | @cebrospudipudi @jjoppees @corvoqueen @nirvanaxx1942 @lilyalone @aixaingela @lettucel0ver @time-shardz @pix-stuff @galaxypurplerose @cupid73 @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @vanessa-boo @timebomb1101 @chemicalwindexbottle @chiizuluvr @ihavenomuse @mat5u0 @thismessyshe @lovebug-apple @myjumper @angwlart @esposadomd @nisarelle @mrmacwaffles @mazixxss @ememgl @naomi-xxi @bbmgirll @ash0-0ley @rowan-no-rizzz @hearts4mica @sillyheartmoonnyx @crumbs-and-covers @nininehaaa @ironsaladwitch

previous. next.

Cassandra has always spoken a language sharper than words.

It weaves in the crook of a wrist, in the subtle twist of a shoulder, in the precise slope of someone’s spine when they think no one is watching. Where others stumble over syllables, Cassandra reads the sentences of bodies with ease. Your discomfort? It screams at her. Louder than any broken sentence ever could.

You stand by the bar, your weight shifted onto one foot, arms crossed in a deceptively casual way that only someone like her could recognize for what it is: armor. You laugh in measured bursts, calculated, like the sound is another layer of silk draped across your ribs to hold you together. Your eyes? They dart, tracing the exits, the shadows, the spaces between your siblings like you’re searching for gaps in enemy lines.

You are a castle made of glass. Polished, glittering, beautiful. But one good stone, one poorly-aimed word, and you’ll crack.

She sees it. She always has.

Your weight shifts slightly, never fully planting your feet, like you’re poised to bolt the second the walls breathe too close to you. Like you’re still half feral. Like you never came back to stay.

And yet, she doesn’t move immediately. She watches instead — the way a panther observes a wounded sibling, patient, waiting for you to settle, to understand that the threat doesn’t lie here. Not tonight. Not with them.

Because you are theirs.

Even if you’ve forgotten how to speak that language.

Cassandra approaches quietly, her heels barely clicking against the marble, her mask a delicate thing that frames her sharp eyes without hiding them. You’ve never been good at reading people the way she does. You speak in music, in color, in the stretch of silk across muscle as you soar on aerial ribbons. She speaks in the curl of a lip, the tremor of a hand, the tension braided tight across your shoulders.

When she stops beside you, you don’t flinch. You never flinch for her.

You glance over, your expression smooth, carefully blank behind the pearlescent lace of your mask.

“Cass.”

Your voice is cool. Detached. But there’s warmth coiled underneath, the remnants of late nights spent side by side as teenagers, both of you tucked into the shadows of the Manor, too aware of your ghosts, too quiet to disturb them.

Cassandra studies you for a moment longer, reading the precise angle of your spine, the tight pull of your knuckles as your hand curls around your drink. Her own mouth tilts in the smallest, subtlest of smiles.

“You hate it here.” The words are low, soft, unassuming. Observational, not judgmental.

You huff a breath, the corner of your mouth twitching faintly. “I’ve always hated galas.”

Lie. You both know it.

You loved them once. You loved the attention, the glint of curiosity in strangers’ eyes, the performance of perfection. You loved the music, the cold crystal glass against your palm, the fleeting illusion that maybe, maybe tonight, your father would look at you the way he looked at Dick or Jason. That he’d see you.

But years carve new truths out of old bones.

You swirl the remnants of your drink, voice slipping into dry amusement. “I hate this gala.”

Cassandra tilts her head, raven-dark hair brushing her shoulder, eyes steady. “Because we’re here.”

It isn’t a question.

You don’t answer immediately. Your gaze drifts across the room — the swirling crowd of Gotham’s elite, your siblings clustered in their careful constellation. Dick standing close, just not enough to hear. Jason watching with guarded eyes, Tim already halfway buried in his phone, Stephanie laughing too loud, Duke leaning into every conversation, Damian glaring possessively from a corner like he owns the air around you. Bruce… distant, observing, a stone sentinel no mask can soften.

They are a pack. A unit.

And you? You’ve been orbiting too far for too long.

You shrug, the movement delicate, brittle. “I don’t belong here.”

“Wrong.” Cassandra’s voice is gentle, firm. A blade wrapped in velvet.

You meet her gaze properly then — your sister, your shadow, the girl who speaks better with her hands than her tongue, who reads the battlefield written across every tendon and muscle like scripture.

For a moment, the noise of the gala fades — the hum of music, the click of heels, the soft murmur of old money exchanging lies. It’s just you and her. Two daughters of a man too broken to love properly, two women who know the ache of silence and the sharp edges of being overlooked.

Cassandra reaches out, fingers brushing lightly along your wrist — a question disguised as touch.

You let her.

Her hand settles briefly against your forearm, steady, grounding. “You are uncomfortable.”

You exhale, a soft, rueful laugh. “That obvious?”

“Only to me.” Her mouth quirks faintly. “They don’t see yet. Too… distracted. Too loud.”

Your eyes flick back to the others, their orbit still spinning, conversations layered over possessive glances, overprotective edges buried in strained smiles. You recognize it now — the panic beneath their excitement. The desperation coiled beneath their bravado.

They want you back. They need you back.

And Cassandra can’t help but think maybe you don’t know yet. Maybe you don’t understand how needed you are. How tightly they are tethered to you. How much of their lungs you quietly occupy.

So she waits.

Because you will learn. Slowly. Gently. When they wrap around you tight enough, when they stop letting you escape between the cracks.

You can claw, you can bare your teeth, you can run.

But you are still theirs.

Cassandra’s fingers press lightly against your wrist, pulling your focus back to her.

“You’ll get used to it,” she says simply. “When you remember.”

You arch a brow. “Remember what?”

Her eyes soften, unwavering. “How much we love you.”

The words land with more weight than they should.

Love.

The concept coils around your ribs, unfamiliar, half-withered, like a foreign language you used to speak fluently before neglect turned your tongue to stone.

You scoff, half-bitter. “You all have a funny way of showing it.”

Cassandra shrugs, the movement small, unapologetic. “We’re not good at… showing.” Her gaze sharpens, reading every flicker of doubt in your posture. “But we feel.”

You hesitate, the words lodging like splinters in your throat. You want to believe her. You do. But years of silence, of invitations unanswered, of milestones ignored, of empty chairs and colder rooms — they weigh heavier than sentiment.

“We hurt you,” Cassandra says quietly, reading the protest in your stance before it leaves your lips. “But we didn’t stop loving you.”

You hate how easily she strips you bare, how precisely she deciphers the language you’ve tried to bury beneath silk and sharp words. Your walls — glass. Your armor — transparent.

You hate how much you missed her.

“Cass…” Your voice falters, softer now, the facade cracking at the edges.

She leans in slightly, her touch still featherlight on your wrist.

“You’ll get used to it,” she repeats gently. “When you see it.”

You glance back at your family — their glances lingering, their conversations fractured, each of them orbiting you even when they pretend not to.

Possessive. Broken. Desperate.

But love? Love might still linger beneath the wreckage.

Cassandra steps back, her hand slipping away, her posture loose but coiled, patient as ever.

“We’re not letting you disappear again,” she says simply.

You huff a breath, wry. “Is that a threat?”

Her eyes glint, the faintest smirk curling her lips.

“No. Promise.”

And the worst part? You almost believe her.

And it sends a shiver down your spine.

You glance at her, eyes half-lidded behind your mask, glass tapping against your bottom lip.

“I don’t like performing,” you say simply.

“You’re not performing.”

You scoff lightly. “Aren’t I? Look at me, Cass. Look at us. Look at this.”

You motion vaguely toward the room — the golden pillars, the chandeliers heavy with old money, the sharp black suits and sparkling gowns, the curated smiles and the clink of crystal.

“This is a stage,” you murmur, voice tasting like a distant ache. “It always has been.”

Cassandra tilts her head slightly, absorbing the cadence of your words, the small tremors in your throat when you swallow.

“But you love the stage.”

Your lips twitch faintly. “I loved my stage.”

She steps a little closer, a pulse of gravity pulling her to you like an orbit she can’t escape.

“This can be yours again,” she says, voice steady, smooth.

Your shoulders stiffen, but you don’t pull away. Your body betrays you though — your heartbeat hiccups, the shallow breath slipping a fraction too quickly.

“Why now, Cass?”

Cassandra shrugs lightly. “Maybe it’s because you came back.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“Maybe you had to.”

You look at her fully now, studying her calm posture, her hands resting loosely against the bar, her gaze unwavering. “Did they send you?” you ask, the bite in your tone dulled by exhaustion.

“No.”

You quirk a brow. “Not even Dick?”

“He knows I see things he doesn’t.”

You hum. “I’m not staying.”

“You will.”

You laugh, dry and low. “You’re sure of that?”

“Yes.”

Her certainty is a strange comfort and an irritation all at once. The music swells, the floor shifts, the lights catch on the curve of your mask.

You don’t run. Not this time.

And maybe — maybe — you’ll let yourself stay, if only for a little while longer.

The song changes. Slow, heavy. Something old and familiar that wraps around the ballroom like velvet, soft and suffocating all at once.

You’re still on the floor with Cass when you feel it. The shift. The ripple of eyes turning, attention coiling tighter, a new presence anchoring itself to your space.

You don’t need to look to know.

But you do.

Bruce stands at the edge of the dance floor, dark and polished in that way only he can be, mask settled over sharp, unreadable eyes, jaw clenched faintly beneath the shadow of his cowl.

He’s watching you.

Your heartbeat falters for half a second, years of muscle memory and buried instincts prickling under your skin. You see the faintest crack in his armor—the tightness at the corner of his mouth, the stiffness in his stance that tells you this isn’t Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist, standing before you.

It’s Batman.

And yet, tonight, under the golden haze of the chandelier, pressed into a suit and bowtie, that armor looks laughably thin.

Cassandra follows your gaze, her eyes sharp and knowing.

You feel her hand brush your wrist, a subtle pressure of comfort, but she doesn’t say anything when Bruce takes a slow step forward, cutting through the crowd with the quiet command of a man who has never been denied a thing in his life.

The orchestra’s strings hum, the floor parts, and your shoulders pull taut without your permission.

“May I?” His voice is low, almost too steady, a thread of tension buried beneath each word.

It’s not really a request.

There are eyes on you.

Of course there are.

The Gotham elite never miss a Wayne. Never miss a show. Never miss the subtle shifts in power or affection or loyalty written in these carefully curated performances.

It’s all a performance, isn’t it?

So you swallow the knot in your throat, force your expression flat, and nod.

“Of course, father.”

The title tastes foreign, jagged, but it rolls off your tongue with the grace you’ve spent years cultivating.

Cass slips away, melting into the crowd like smoke, her dark eyes lingering on you one last time before vanishing into the sea of black and gold.

Bruce’s hand hovers, waiting, and you place yours in it with reluctant precision.

His palm is warm. Familiar. Calloused from years of work that only you and a select few will ever know. The pressure firm but not crushing, guiding you to the center of the dance floor with the kind of confidence that has always belonged to him. He was never unsure in these spaces. Not in the boardroom, not in the battlefield, not in a waltz.

Except maybe now.

Maybe here, with you, there’s a tremble under the armor he forgot to shed.

The other hand settles lightly against your waist, and you suppress the instinct to tense again.

You’ve danced with him before. Countless times. Gotham galas, charity benefits, stiff family events when you were still young enough to believe you had his full attention.

But nothing ever felt like this.

The music pulls you into motion. You fall into step without thought, the years of training, of posture, of silent grace slipping over your bones like muscle memory refusing to die.

It’s almost funny. You’ve fought beside him more times than you can count. Shadow to his shadow. The Huntress at Batman’s side.

Your blades carving through alleyways, your fists silencing threats, blood escaping villain's noses, mouths, always respecting your father's code, your shared glances in the dark. The quiet, unshakable language of partners.

You remember the feeling of your boots scraping against wet gravel, the sweet sting of exhaustion in your muscles after nights chasing Gotham’s monsters, the brief flashes of pride you used to catch in his eyes when you landed a perfect strike, when you solved a puzzle before he could.

Those memories burn, bright and cruel.

Because no one here — no one but this family — knows the truth of who you were, of what you meant to this city in the shadows.

You have always been his sharpest blade. Always been the daughter who bled to be seen.

But here, in this room? Under the crushing weight of crystal chandeliers and champagne laughter?

This is where the cracks show.

It’s not your territory. Not really.

“I forgot how heavy your hand is.”

His grip eases immediately, his jaw clenching. “Sorry.”

You don’t offer comfort. You never learned how.

“You didn’t have to come,” Bruce says, his voice low, carrying only to you beneath the hum of strings.

You let out a quiet breath, eyes fixed over his shoulder. “You didn’t have to invite me. Well, Dick did. Suppose you don't have anything to do with that.”

His hand tenses fractionally at your waist, almost imperceptible, but you catch it.

You catch everything.

“I wanted you here.”

You arch a brow, letting your gaze drift back to him, sharp and cool behind your mask. “And now that I’m here, what? We pretend everything’s fine? You smile for the cameras, I play the good daughter, and we dance for the press?”

His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking at the corner of his cheek. “It’s not for the cameras.”

“No?” Your voice lowers, bitter amusement coiling under your ribs. “Then who’s it for?”

He hesitates. That alone is rare enough to sting. “I wanted to dance with my daughter,” he replies finally.

The words are quieter than you expect. Honest. Stripped of performance.

And you hate how much they twist something in your chest.

“You remember how to call me that?”

His gaze flickers briefly to the crowd, to the watchful vultures pretending to sip champagne while their ears sharpen like knives.

“Lower your voice,” he murmurs, guiding you into a smooth spin.

You want to look away, to sneer, to cut the conversation off at the knees, but the pressure of his hand guiding you into the next turn forces you to stay.

The crowd around you blurs. It always does, when it’s just the two of you.

The same way it used to blur when you stood shoulder to shoulder on Gotham’s rooftops, cape and cowl shrouding you both, the city sprawling beneath your boots, yours to protect, yours to conquer.

But those nights feel like a lifetime ago now. Like someone else’s memories.

Your throat tightens.

“Don’t do this,” you whisper, voice cracking despite your best efforts. “Don’t pretend.”

“I’m not.” His eyes soften, only a fraction, but it’s enough to rattle your defenses. “I’ve made mistakes.”

You scoff under your breath, bitter and brittle. “That’s one way to phrase it.”

“I should’ve been there.”

Your steps falter for a heartbeat, but he adjusts, guiding you seamlessly back into rhythm.

You hate how easy it still is. How perfectly you move together when words fail you both.

“I waited,” you murmur, the confession slipping free before you can stop it. “I waited, and you were always looking somewhere else.”

“I know.” His voice is tight. Heavy. Guilt coils between you like smoke. You feel the weight of it, old and sharp, pressing against your ribs.

“For them,” you continue, unable to stop now. “For the city. For your mission. For your sons.”

Bruce’s grip doesn’t waver, but the cracks show in his eyes, stormy blue flickering with regret.

You almost laugh.

“But never for me.”

The words settle like ash between you, bitter and final.

You expect him to deflect. To deny.

But he doesn’t.

“I failed you.”

It’s not loud. It’s not grand. But it’s the closest thing to an apology you’ve ever heard from him.

Your fingers curl faintly against his shoulder.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The music carries you through the dance like nothing’s wrong, like your skin isn’t itching to pull away, like your heart isn’t clawing at your chest, desperate and aching for something you lost years ago.

And yet…

Part of you—small, foolish, feral—still begs for him to look at you the way he did when you were a child.

When you were his. Before the missions. Before the masks. Before you became just another soldier in his endless war.

You swallow hard, blinking away the sting in your eyes.

You speak low, your voice coated in something sharp. “You only see me when I’m useful.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

His hand shifts slightly, tightening at your waist like he can anchor you there, keep you from slipping through his fingers again.

“You’ve always been important to me.”

Your lips twitch into something faintly cruel.

“‘Important’ isn’t the same as loved.”

His steps falter for half a second — a crack in the perfect choreography — but he catches it before the crowd can notice.

“You think I don’t love you?” His voice dips, lower now, rougher, threading frustration and something dangerously close to desperation.

“I know you don’t know how to.”

Your body stays cold, distant in his arms, your eyes catching the flicker of your brother's at the edge of the floor — Dick’s frozen stare, Jason’s clenched fists, Tim’s worried glances, Damian’s livid, possessive glare, Duke on full alert. Cassandra is the only one who just expects, knowing what could and possibly would come out of all that.

They can’t hear you. Not fully. But they feel the tremble in the air.

The weight in your throat thickens.

“You loved the Huntress,” you murmur, your fingers curling tighter in his. “You loved the soldier. You loved the weapon. But me? The daughter? You didn’t see her.”

“I did,” Bruce says, barely breathing.

“You weren't there.”

“I was—”

“Busy?” Your teeth flash, sharp and humorless. “I know. Saving Gotham. Carrying the weight of the world. I know.”

His silence cuts deep.

Your chest tightens as the music sways around you, your steps precise, your face carefully unreadable for the vultures still watching.

But inside, you ache.

You ache like you did as a child, waiting on cold marble steps for a father who never showed.

“You don’t get to show up now,” you whisper, your throat thickening. “You don’t get to pretend this is normal. You don’t get to waltz me around like you remember who I am.”

“I never forgot you.”

Your laugh is low and cold.

“I forgot me.”

His brow furrows, his grip firm but not suffocating.

“You’re still my child.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

The desperation flickers again, barely restrained under the mask.

“I missed too much,” he says, the words pulled from somewhere raw. “But I want to—”

“To what? Make up for it now?” You sneer softly, the bitterness clinging to your ribs. “You want to be my father again? You want to start over? You can’t.”

His chest rises and falls slowly.

“I want to know you.”

“You knew me.”

“I didn’t know enough.”

“You didn’t want to know.”

“I was afraid.”

That — that makes your breath catch.

You hadn’t expected that. You glance at him, really glance at him, your mask a faint shimmer against your skin. For the first time, he sees your shiny eyes, full of tragic tears.

“Of what?”

“Of what I’d see.” His voice is quiet, honest in a way that strips you bare. “Of the cracks. Of the things I couldn’t fix. I didn’t want to fail you.”

You shake your head, blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “You did anyway.”

His throat bobs with the weight of what he can’t swallow.

You don’t raise your voice. You don’t shatter the fragile picture they’re all watching, but you don’t soften either.

“You missed so many things,” you murmur, gaze slipping to the golden chandeliers. “You missed the shows. The exhibits. The nights I sat at the piano because I thought maybe this time you’d come in and just… just sit. Just watch me be something that wasn’t a weapon.”

“I should’ve been there.”

“But you weren’t.”

“I can be now.”

You close your eyes briefly, the music pulling you through the motions like it always has.

“You don’t know how to love people who don’t fight for you.”

“I love you.”

You breathe out, trembling, trying to keep the cracks from surfacing.

“You love the version of me you built in your head.”

“I want the real you.”

You look at him finally, fully, the aching part of you — the part still thirteen, still small, still desperate — begging to see that spark in his eyes again. That warmth. That father.

You search his gaze. You search it like you’re searching for a home you locked yourself out of.

“You don’t know me,” you whisper, your throat tight.

“Then let me try.”

The song fades.

The silence between you doesn’t.

But you don’t pull your hand from his.

Not yet.

Not until Clark Kent appears, accompanied by the one and only Wonder Woman.

You spot them weaving through the crowd like gravity itself parts the air around them. The gods walking among mortals, and everyone in this room knows it — though most pretend otherwise, lifting champagne flutes with tight smiles and practiced indifference. The only ones foolish enough to believe they belong in the same echelon.

But you? You’ve seen them without the glamor, without the press conference glow. You’ve seen them bone-tired after fights, bruised, battered, laughing softly under dim Watchtower lights, their capes draped over chairs like discarded armor. You’ve seen the cracks beneath the myth.

And they’ve seen you too.

Their eyes light up the moment they spot you, their smiles — honest, unfiltered things — cracking through the heavy air you’ve been drowning in all night.

You remember the warmth.

And you remember how you clung to it, how you were always orbiting their presence like a child desperate for gravity.

You straighten your shoulders as they approach, brushing your fingers along the edge of your mask like it could shield you from the sudden, raw tenderness that swells in your throat.

Diana is the first to reach you. Her hand finds yours without hesitation, fingers warm and strong, curling around yours like an anchor.

“You look breathtaking,” she says, her voice low and velvet-smooth, like the steady hum of storm clouds promising rain. “Though, I expected no less.”

A faint, genuine smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “Flattery from a literal goddess? Dangerous territory, Diana.”

Her eyes sparkle, amusement clear as water. “You’ve always been dangerous. Even at twelve, shadowing the Watchtower halls, wearing that Huntress suit far too big for you.”

Your cheeks flush lightly at the memory, and Diana’s thumb brushes the back of your hand, soothing, familiar.

“I thought it made me look taller,” you murmur.

“It made you look fearless,” she corrects, her gaze softening with something achingly maternal, threaded with pride. “You were always curious. Always watching. Always so sure of your place, even when the rest of us weren’t.”

Clark joins the circle then, his presence as gentle as it is commanding — all broad shoulders and boyish charm wrapped in the mild-mannered facade that never quite hides the steel beneath.

“You’ve grown,” he says warmly, eyes crinkling at the edges as they sweep over you. His voice is the same — low, steady, threaded with the kind of fatherly concern that makes something tight coil behind your ribs. “Not that I expected anything less. You were never exactly… subtle.”

You raise a brow. “Says the man who wore his underwear over his pants.”

Clark chuckles, the sound low and familiar. His hand settles briefly on your shoulder, grounding, gentle, the kind of touch you always wanted from your own father and never quite managed to receive.

“I see your sense of humor’s still sharp,” he says. His eyes soften as they linger on your face, quiet memory flickering there. “I remember when you were shorter than my belt.”

“I remember tripping you in the Watchtower training room.”

“Still have the bruises to prove it.”

The easy banter slices clean through the weight pressing against your chest, letting your lungs expand for the first time tonight.

It’s Diana, though, who reaches deeper — always has.

Her hand brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, her thumb grazing your cheek, her expression so openly fond you almost flinch.

“You used to cling to my lasso,” she teases gently. “Tug at it during debriefings. Sit beside me while I braided my hair and begged for stories.”

Your throat tightens. You remember that. Too vividly.

You remember curling at her side, wide-eyed, marveling at the myth spun from her lips — Amazonian battles, distant islands kissed by gods, the weight of justice worn like a crown.

She had made you feel seen. Small, yes, but capable. Curious. Full of fire.

You clear your throat lightly, swallowing the ache. “You never made me feel like a kid.”

Diana smiles, radiant and proud. “You never were.”

And it doesn't feel good hearing it.

Clark’s gaze lingers a little longer, soft, reflective, and then — a glint of amusement sharpens his expression.

“Conner’s around,” he says casually, but his tone carries the weight of knowing, the faintest nudge hidden beneath the words. “Have you seen him?”

Your brows lift, the reaction too quick to mask entirely. Your lips twitch in betrayal of your cool facade as the memory of the bar — the sparkling smirk, the teasing words, the shameless flirtation — slides uninvited through your mind.

You nod slowly, fingers wrapping around the stem of your forgotten glass.

“Briefly,” you say, careful, measured.

Clark’s smile deepens, equal parts teasing and gentle warning — the same look he used to shoot you when he caught you dangling too close to Conner’s orbit as teenagers.

“Good,” he says simply, but the implication curls around the space between you.

Diana chuckles under her breath, her sharp eyes not missing a thing.

“I see some habits are hard to break,” she muses, arching a brow at you.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Some people grow up,” you counter lightly. “Some people…”

Clark’s chuckle interrupts. “Conner still hasn’t figured out how to act his age.”

“He’s Kryptonian,” Diana adds. “Time never sits still for them.”

Your lips curve, the weight on your shoulders easing slightly under their warmth.

The conversation drifts, gentle, filled with quiet stories, brief updates, subtle glances that reassure and ground you. You listen, you smile, you let the nostalgia curl around your ribs like soft smoke.

But even as they speak, even as Clark’s familiar cadence fills the space, as Diana’s hand rests lightly at your arm, your father's voice turning serious once again, your gaze slips.

Across the room, past the glint of crystal chandeliers and silver-threaded gowns, you catch sight of him. Leaning casually against one of the marble pillars, drink in hand, eyes fixed unashamedly on you. His mouth quirks into that cocky, knowing grin that always made your pulse skip when you were younger — the same grin that’s sharper now, older, more dangerous in its charm.

Clark follows your gaze, hums softly, and doesn't say anything. But he smiles once you slip, orbiting towards Conner without a warning behind.

Conner stands there, smile curling lazy and confident at the corner of his mouth — but there’s something else, too. Something softer tucked behind the bold lines of his expression. Familiarity. Nervousness. The quiet sting of unspoken years.

“Could’ve sworn I saw you hiding,” he says, voice smooth as aged bourbon, that small Kansas lilt still lingering beneath the practiced ease. “But you? At a Wayne gala? Hiding? Doesn’t sound like the girl I used to know.”

Your brow arches automatically, muscle memory pulling the teasing into place. “Maybe you never knew me.”

“Unlikely,” Conner says, taking a slow step closer. His gaze sweeps over you, not leering — just… cataloguing. Memorizing. Like he’s re-learning old territory. “You were everywhere back then. Practically glued to my side.”

You roll your eyes lightly, but the ghost of a grin betrays you.

“You were lost,” you counter. “I’m a sucker for lost things.”

His smile deepens, warm and genuine, softening the edges of his sharp jawline.

“You were a sucker for projects,” he corrects, gesturing to the bar with his drink. “Wanna make me one again? Come grab a drink, Birdie.”

The nickname, stolen right from Dick’s vocabulary, makes something twist low in your stomach. From anyone else, it’d be obnoxious. From him? It rolls easy off his tongue. Teasing. Comfortable.

For a moment, you hesitate.

But it’s Conner. And with Conner, it’s always been different.

There’s a rhythm there. A flow. A space that never quite closed, even when distance, time, and your own stubbornness shoved everything else to the side.

You sigh dramatically, feigning reluctance.

“Fine,” you relent, brushing past him with enough proximity to let your shoulder graze his arm. “But only because I pity you.”

“Pity,” he echoes, falling into step beside you as you approach the bar. “Harsh.”

“True.”

The bartender barely blinks as you order — your drink, crisp and familiar, sliding across the marble with ease. Conner orders the same, his grin cocky but his eyes never straying far from yours.

“You clean up nice,” he says after a beat, his gaze drifting, lingering just long enough to make your pulse skip. “Not that I didn’t know that already.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Bold of you to assume I need help.”

You snort softly, sipping your drink, the burn a welcome distraction as you tilt your head, studying him properly.

It’s unnerving, almost, how little he’s changed — and how much.

The broad shoulders, the sharp jawline, the easy charm that never fully disguised the insecurity curled behind his bravado — it’s all there. But there’s more weight now. More quiet steel in the way he carries himself. The recklessness tempered, if only slightly, by time.

“I thought Smallville boys were supposed to have manners.”

Conner grins, sharp and easy. “I was born in a lab. I missed the memo.”

You click your tongue, feigning disapproval.

And it’s too easy, slipping into the old rhythm, the way your shoulders settle, the way your tongue sharpens, how the years between you flicker and collapse like they were never there to begin with.

You remember the early days — how quickly you let him in, how you made it your mission to make him laugh, to teach him that he didn’t have to be a shadow of someone else.

You remember sitting too close on rooftops, fingers brushing when you passed him comms, pretending not to notice the flush that followed.

You remember wishing for something to happen. You remember how nothing ever did.

Until now.

Until you find yourself backed against the cool marble of the bathroom door, his breath warm and unsteady against your mouth, his hands splayed against the dip of your waist like he doesn’t quite know how to hold you but refuses to let you go.

It spiraled so quickly you barely remember leaving the bar.

One look, one lingering touch, one too-long stare that told you both exactly where this was heading.

Your fingers knot in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer, daring him to press in like you’ve wanted him to since you were both kids playing dress-up in a world that always asked too much.

His mouth is rough against yours, all heat and unspoken years crashing together in the sharp clink of his belt against the counter, your breaths coming too fast, too close.

You bite his lip, hard enough to make him grunt against your mouth, and he laughs through it, a low, breathless sound that sends heat crawling up your throat.

“You kiss like you fight,” he mutters against your jaw, his hands sliding up your back, pressing you closer, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again.

You tilt your head back, breath ragged, the faintest smirk curling your lips despite the heat twisting under your skin. The mask not longer in your face, neither the one in his. Both of them thrown in the counter.

“And how exactly is that, Kent?”

His mouth finds your pulse, the scrape of his teeth making your knees threaten to buckle, the low rumble of his voice vibrating against your skin.

“Sharp,” he breathes. “Stubborn. Dangerous.”

Your laugh catches, breathless and sharp, your nails scraping lightly along the nape of his neck, threading into the short, slightly curled, dark strands of his hair.

Conner’s body hums against yours. His hands shift, one trailing up your spine until his palm corners around your shoulder blade, the other sliding lower, anchoring against your hip. His grip is neither timid nor assured — more like remarkable desperation distilled into two hands trying too hard not to let go.

“I should be offended.”

“You should be flattered.”

You don’t get a chance to retort — his mouth captures yours again, more certain now, like the floodgate’s been ripped off its hinges and he’s done pretending this isn’t happening.

The kiss is everything it shouldn’t be.

Messy. Unrestrained. All teeth and tangled promises never spoken aloud.

His hands skim your ribs, the warmth of his palms steady through the thin fabric of your dress, fingers spreading along your sides like he’s trying to memorize every inch, every curve, every soft line you’ve spent years perfecting beneath layers of distance and pride.

You fist your hand in the collar of his jacket, dragging him impossibly closer, your teeth catching his lower lip again — softer this time, deliberate — and the sound he makes is nothing short of sinful.

“Years,” he mumbles against your mouth, his forehead pressing to yours between rushed kisses. His voice is rough, strained, frustration bleeding through. “Do you have any idea how long—”

“Yeah,” you interrupt, breathing hard, your other hand sliding along his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “I do.”

You kiss him again before he can speak, shutting him up with the easy, reckless confidence that’s always defined your connection — all edges and unspoken history threatening to spill over.

His tongue traces yours, exploratory, familiar and new all at once, the kiss deepening with every second you let yourself sink into it until you’re dizzy from lack of air, from the heat coiling low in your belly, from the years of pretending this didn’t simmer beneath the surface.

The marble at your back is cold. His hands are not.

One slips to your lower back, the other tangling in your hair, and he pulls you to him with that careful, near-desperate possessiveness that makes your chest ache in places you thought you’d fortified long ago.

You break apart for air, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths tangled, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth — smudging lipstick, maybe, but you don’t care.

“God,” he breathes, grinning despite the mess of you both, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. “You’re… still impossible.”

Your lips quirk, your fingers lightly tapping his chest.

“And you’re still predictable.”

He chuckles, the sound soft, his thumb ghosting along your cheek.

“Wanna do something predictably stupid and kiss me again?”

You don’t answer.

You just yank him back down, mouth slanting over his with practiced ease, your teeth nipping playfully, your laugh muffled against his lips as he groans, his grip tightening just enough to remind you exactly how much he could crush you if he wanted — how much he doesn’t.

Because with you? It’s always been careful chaos. Messy, reckless, but never cruel. Never careless.

He kisses you like he’s spent years waiting to.

Like he’s making up for lost time with every scrape of teeth, every hurried press of lips, every breathless noise that slips between you.

It’s addictive — the weight of him pressing you to the wall, the warmth of his hand at your hip, the certainty in the way he moves now, all hesitation stripped away.

And for all your bravado, for all your practiced indifference, you let yourself sink into it — let yourself feel him, familiar and dangerous, the one person who ever made you forget the Huntress mask and the Wayne name and the fractured pieces that came with both.

Your fingers slide along the edge of his jaw, memorizing, grounding, your nails scraping lightly along his skin as you pull back just enough to breathe.

His eyes stay locked to yours, intense, blue, unwavering.

For a beat, neither of you speak.

Then, softer, quieter, his thumb brushes your cheek again.

“Missed you,” he says, the words slipping out like confession, raw and honest and untethered.

You swallow hard, throat tight, years pressing heavy against your chest.

Your hand curls into his shirt, fingers tightening slightly.

“Don’t make this complicated, Kent.”

His smile is small, but it never reaches his eyes.

“With you?” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, the words a ghost of a promise. “It’s already complicated.”

You don’t kiss him again.

Not yet.

But your hand doesn’t move. And neither does he. And the space between you? Still dangerous.

You don't think you care.

#batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #batsis #batfam x neglected reader #batsis reader #platonic yandere #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batboys #neglected reader #yandere batfam x neglected reader #my heart #conner kent x reader

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celestiamour · 10 months ago

Text

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ pretty tipsy ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ he brings you home after a night out drinking┊2.5k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: alcohol & intoxication, this man is WHIPPED, age & size difference, emotional drunk human reader, ooc? calling him kitty

➤ author's note: idk what this is but it’s my longest logan piece yet because i have yet to write any more than a thousand words for him

tonight was one of the few nights logan could finally have some alone time. wade was going out for drinks with vanessa with the plan to stay over at her place, the ever so mysterious blind al was off doing her own thing, and mary puppins was resting peacefully in her little bed, tuckered out after a long day of playtime. he could finally get some long-awaited peace and quiet, a moment to himself to relax and breathe. while he’s grateful for the presence of others since he arrived in this dimension, he’s still a lone wolf at heart who treasures his privacy above all else.

humming a little tune from the eighties, he sunk into the beat-up leather couch with a beer in one hand and a lit cigar in the other, taking a long drag on it and preparing himself for a relaxing evening until his flip phone started ringing. when he opened it up to read the “wade wilson” contact name staring back at him, he rolled his eyes with a groan before answering.

“what the fuck do you want?”

“not even a ‘hello?’ damn bitch, okay then— well, we ran into some friends and had some drinks together, but one of them is pretty shit-faced right now and her phone is dead, could you pretty please with sugar on top come and pick her up?”

“the fuck? that’s not my problem, just call her an uber—” he stopped mid-sentence when he heard a familiar giggle in the background, one asking a different partygoer to have another drink with her, “is that the neighbor who lives at the end of the hallway?”

“yeah, it’s your little crush~! you recognize her from just her voice over the phone, oh my god, you have it bad wolfie!! well, if you don’t wanna come, then fine, whatever, but you know, it’s not unsafe for a pretty lady to be alone this late at night! some guy might just swoop her up, actually, there’s some guy asking for her number right now—”

“alright, alright, i’m coming! send me the address.” he nearly shouted into the receiver, putting out his cigar on the ashtray atop the coffee table and slipping on his jacket to leave the comfort of his shared apartment.

the night was chilly in comparison to the cozy warmth of the indoors and the bar was filled with loud chattering and cheers, the clinking of glasses, yelling at the game being televised, and the general buzz of extroverted fun on a weekend night.

“ayyy, there he is! come here, peanut, sit, sit, sit, have a drink with us!”

logan hesitated, not because he would ever shy away from free booze but because he was here on a mission with one sole goal in mind (and because he wasn’t familiar with this particular group of people, he didn’t feel like socializing tonight) “no, it’s fine, i’m just here to take her home.” his voice was uncharacteristically mellow, finding you napping on the table with your arms folded to be a makeshift cushion for your head.

you peeked at the man coming up next to you and your face changed from exhausted to ecstatic to upset in the span of a few seconds, “looggann!! how are you doing, i feel like i haven’t seen you in foreverr— how come every time i see you in the hall, you always run off, are you avoiding me? did i do something wrong?” you cling onto his hand and shake his arm, paying no attention to your friends giggling at your behavior in the background, pouting and tearing up.

oh god, you’re an emotional drunk, that’s so cute. neither he nor wade could get drunk at all on account of their systems constantly cleaning out the effects of the alcohol as soon as it’s consumed, but when he drinks around others, it’s a trait he typically finds so annoying quickly becoming so endearing when worn by you.

“i’m not avoiding you, you haven’t done anything wrong,” he consoled in the most gentle voice a wolverine could muster, also cringing at the fact that he wasn’t half as discreet as he thought he was. it’s true, he has been avoiding you, but only because he couldn’t stand the way you made him feel, smoothing out the rough edges of his personality and making him feel stupid butterflies he was far too old to be feeling, not to mention the nonstop teasing from everyone else when they noticed the way he seemed to look at you from afar. it was as if he was a child who thought hiding from it would make it go away, but it has become apparent it has only grown stronger.

“you’re telling the truth?” you sniffled.

“yes, i am. come on, bub, let’s get you outta here. i’m here to take you home.”

you didn’t protest or try to convince him you weren’t wasted, knowing your limit had been reached, and slowly picked up your things to follow him out of the building. he allowed you to intertwine your arm with his, providing support to your unbalanced mind and stumbling legs since you couldn’t even walk straight.

“why would you drink so much if you’re such a lightweight?”

“how do you know i’m a lightweight? you weren’t there, i could have drunk an entire bathtub full of booze before you showed up!”

“nah, i can smell it, there’s no way you drank anything more than a few pints.”

“oh, so the kitty is a dog now? i thought you were more cat-like this whole time, but i guess i was wrong.”

“what?” they say what a person says when intoxicated comes from their soul and true thoughts with little to no filter, but he certainly wasn’t anticipating those words to come out of your mouth.

“you look like a kitty, you know? with the way your hair does the little swoopy things— do you wake up like that or do you need to style it? you act like one too, grumpy ass kitty.”

“don’t call me that, kid, i hear it enough from wade already.”

“i’ll stop calling you kitty when you stop calling me kid! i know you’re old as hell, but i’m a grown-ass adult!”

“yeah? well, you’re certainly not acting like one right now.”

you were silent for a minute, making him worry for a second that he offended you by calling you childish, but when he looked back down at you, you were simply staring in astonishment. “i’ve never seen you smile before! you look a lot more handsome, you should do it more often!”

was he smiling? he didn’t even notice, grinning ear to ear and revealing his pearly white teeth, chuckling at your ridiculous words. was this really the first time you saw him smile and heard him laugh? no wonder you assumed he was avoiding you, he was surprised you didn’t hate him just because of a misunderstanding.

it took some time to get you up all of the stairs to your floor without tripping, and logan was almost sad the night was over so quickly. even if the conversation was mostly one-sided and you were intoxicated with slurred words, he swears he listened to all you had to say between comedic bits, insightful knowledge, random bullshit, and found it all fascinating. luckily for him, his time with you wasn’t up yet as he watched you fumble with your purse and frown.

“oh, fuck… i lost my keys… oh no…” you slumped against the wall until you fell to the floor, feeling yourself starting to cry at this inconvenience with heightened emotions.

“god, please don’t, not again…” he’s the absolute worst at comforting others, it isn’t his strong suit, and acknowledging this weakness seemed ten times more difficult when you were the one in need. “come on, you can sleep at my place for the night and charge your phone.”

“...really?”

“yes, come on.”

you took his outreached hand and found yourself in his grasp again as he held onto your shoulder to steady you, unlocking the door and leading you into his shared apartment. he felt somewhat grateful that you were too drunk to notice how messy the site was, seating you on the couch as he got you a glass of water to sober up. you looked so out of place among it all, so young and feminine with your vibrant club clothing around all of the aging, scratched-up furniture and muted colors.

“thank you,” you murmur, downing the entire tall glass with a few gulps, “uh, where is the bathroom?” he directed you to where it was and allowed you to use it, quickly hearing you turn on the shower after a minute and just as quickly hearing you swearing in regret over the loud pitter-patter of the steaming hot water. “i’m never drinking again, why am i being so fucking stupid?!”

“are you okay?”

“yeah, except for the fact i forgot that i don’t have a change of clothes and i stepped into the shower with my current ones on because i forgot to take them off!” your voice cracked, feeling yourself starting to cry once again from yet another inconvenience. you were really just embarrassing yourself and couldn’t wait for this shitty day to be over.

he let out a sigh of relief, “god, don’t scare me like that— i’ll get you something, hold on, please don’t cry.” he could have stolen some of al’s clothing since she wouldn’t have noticed, or he could have stolen some of the clothes vanessa left behind after spending time with wade, but for some odd reason, he pulled out one of his canadian hockey jerseys for you. the fabric was soft and worn with time, smelling slightly of him and laundry detergent, and arguably the most comfortable thing he had at his disposal. “i’ll leave it outside the door, okay?”

“thank youu!!” (and thank god your underwear is still clean and dry enough to wear again, you have no idea what you would have done if you didn’t realize your mistake soon enough and stood under the water for long enough to be soaked to the bone.)

logan allowed his fatigued body to rest for a moment, sinking into the couch just as he did an hour ago in hopes of relaxation. what the fuck was he doing? since when did the wolverine play babysitter for drunk young women, walking them back to play guard dog against possible creepy men, letting them into his home, and lending them his clothing to wear? this was so uncharacteristic of him, he couldn’t think of a single person he was willing to do this for other than laura, but you certainly weren’t nearly as close to him as he was to her! lord, he’s so pathetic, he thinks he probably would have carried you back bridal style too if you asked him.

the water stopped and he waited for you to exit so that he could show you where you could sleep, but he could now see he didn’t need to. your apartment layouts are nearly identical, and it looks like your brain was switched onto autopilot after cleaning up, mindlessly strolling into his bedroom and plopping down on his mattress as if it were your own. (his shirt was practically a dress on you, falling to your mid-thigh and ill-fitted on your smaller frame, his eyes lingering on it for a second longer than what would have been polite.)

he leaned against the doorframe, watching you make yourself comfortable and preparing to stay there until the early afternoon with a banging headache. “are you comfortable? do you need anything else?”

you murmured something in response and stretched out your arms, making grabby hands and inviting him to join you, “come cuddle with me! herree, kitty, kitty, kitty~”

are you really calling a fifty-something-year-old, six-foot-tall killer mutant with adamantium bones and razor-sharp claws that come out of his knuckles ‘kitty’? yes, yes you are, and you’re going to scream into your pillow from embarrassment when you recall it the next day.

“i don’t do cuddles, princess,” he chuckled even though he intended to scoff. “and i already told you to quit calling me that.”

“pleaseee? pretty pleasee?” you chirped, eyes going big and round just like a puppy in a cartoon, begging him to humor you in this request.

are you truly a human, or are you secretly a mutant who has hypnotic powers? the answer is obvious, he’s just an old loser who apparently answers at your every beck and call now because all he could do is sigh, slip off his jacket, and get under the blanket with you.

you rolled on your side and wrapped your arm around his body, nuzzling your face into his comforting touch and inhaling the mild scent of pine and tobacco. humming a satisfied “good night” and dozing off within a few minutes, you clung to him as tightly as a koala onto a branch, and he couldn’t separate himself from you without making you stir and whine.

trapped in the embrace of a beautiful neighbor whom he possessed a soft spot for, wearing his clothing and laying in his bed, he would be trapped like this until morning it sounds like a dream to most men, but to logan, it’s the fear of getting attached and losing someone else important to him rearing its ugly head to the forefront of his mind. it scares him to think what could happen if he allowed himself this pleasure of becoming close to you, and yet when he admires your slumbering face, he feels like it would be okay and work itself out in the end somehow.

he fell asleep more quickly than usual when you held him, and for the first time in forever, he wasn’t tormented with horrid nightmares of the past that always plagued him before now. when he woke up, his weary soul was well-rested and energized, almost as if he was twenty years younger again. the wonders of a good night’s sleep, or perhaps, the wonders of being with you.

it felt so… natural to wake up with you next to him.

you were practically a dead weight by now, not rousing in the least when he slowly got up to leave the bed. he did feel a little back about undoing the grasp you had on him though, felt a bit like abandoning you in a vulnerable state. he sauntered into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee as per his routine, only to find the most annoyingly loveable scarred face sitting in a chair waiting for him, legs crossed and hands in his lap like a supervillain.

“sooooo, how was your night, you smitten kitten? you dirty dog!” there was a stupid smirk on his face, trying his best to hold back a fit of giggles. he knows nothing suggestive happened and was just teasing, but he still wanted to hear him say that it was a wonderful night nonetheless and to thank him for playing matchmaker.

“shut the fuck up before i stab you again. don’t ruin this morning for me.”

#📜. her works #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #deadpool and wolverine #marvel #marvel x reader #x men #x men x reader

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littlelamy · 3 months ago

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while on break, rafe thought he should spend his time wisely, so when you said you have always wanted to be fucked by a dildo, your handsome boyfriend obliged. presently, he’s has you completely stretched out, legs spread wide, and knees pressing into the mattress; with your breath coming out fast and shaky.

“hold still baby,” he murmurs, voice low, almost amused, because he knows you can’t. knows your thighs are already trembling, stomach tight, hands clutching uselessly at your sheets. you whimper when the thick headed tip of the silicone presses against you, cold at first, then warm as he drags it through your folds, teasing.

“fuck, look at you,” he mutters, watching how your body twitches under the slow, torturous glide. “you’re so wet and i haven’t even put it in yet.”

you shift, hips rolling up, desperate, and his free hand presses flat against your stomach, holding you down.

“needy little thing,” rafe chuckles, and then, without warning, he pushes it in, slow but relentless, watching the way your mouth falls open, how your fingers clutch at the sheets. “yeah, that’s it. take it, baby.”

the stretch makes your eyes flutter shut, pleasure spreading deep in your belly. he moves it in and out, twisting his wrist, watching your every reaction, drinking in every whimper, every gasp.

“you like that?” he taunts, voice thick with heat. “feels good, huh? think you can take more? maybe i should add my dick in too, would you be able to handle that?”

your breath stutters, and he grins, already un doing his belt.

“oh, you will.”

tags (lmk if you want to be removed; using the list from my recent series): @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @bevstofu @wintercrows

#png credits: pinkcore-png #rafey ᘚ #littlelamyposts༄࿔#dividers from plum98 #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe #rafe cameron x reader

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lizzobetumblin · 1 year ago

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Melissa hated her feelings.

She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings.

“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name,

‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list:

1.) Don’t cry.

2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate

3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you

She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking,

‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.

‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion.

‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,

“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”

Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry.

9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow.

It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.

Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong.

When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that.

When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.

When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again.

She carried that.

Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:

‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her.

‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’

She cried.

She escalated.

She took it personal.

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music.

‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose.

The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too.

Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow.

So... She broke rule number 1 on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks.

Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified.

And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power.

Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her.

And she finally loved them back.

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dreamwritesimagines · 10 months ago

Text

Theory of Gravity

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Making small talk can be difficult with a crush.

Word Count: 1234

Genre: Fluff Oneshot

Content: Drinking, reader being awkward because she has a crush, flirting

Contrary to popular belief, snitching on the whereabouts of a very dangerous mobster in the bar you worked in and possibly getting killed or maimed in the process was not a good plan for a Friday night but to be completely honest, you had done worse things over a silly little crush.

Like back in college freshman year when you pretended to be into music biopics just so that the hot guy in your elective would think you two were meant to be.

So if anything, this was a pattern.

“Logan?” you said as you put his drink in front of him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“What was Galileo like?”

He blinked a couple of times, the familiar scowl that seemed to be etched on his handsome face getting deeper and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” he said. “I will lose all the belief I’ve never had in the first place in this country’s education system if you’re serious.”

You gave him a bright smile. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I figured it was better than asking how the public took it when Newton came up with the theory of gravity.”

The look on his face couldn’t be described with anything but complete horror and you let out a laugh, then went to serve another customer before quickly making your way to him.

“I’m just messing with you,” you said, leaning against the bar as you stole a look at the mobster sitting by the table with his men, then to Wade who was very, very busy with Vanessa by the corner.

“You look nervous,” Logan pointed out, making your head whip up before you cleared your throat.

“Nah, not at all,” you said. “I’m just thinking that if I die tonight, I’ll die doing what I love.”

“Which is?”

Gazing at older men who couldn’t look less interested in me.

“Being surrounded by drunk people who want to give me money,” you said. “Not a bad way to go.”

He scoffed into his drink before taking a sip while you nibbled on your lip, shifting your weight.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” he said, his voice gruff. “We’re just waiting for his partner to show up, then we will deal with them both.”

You nodded your head. “Yeah. Sure, I know.”

“Do you?”

You nodded again, absentmindedly reaching out to play with the cocktail straw on the counter, painfully aware of his gaze on you that made your face burn.

“How’s grad school?”

…He remembered.

He remembered you saying that the last time he and Wade were here.

One simple observer would’ve thought he was on his knees proclaiming his undying love for you with the way your heartbeat went insane and his eyebrows rose as if he could hear it, but you quickly casted the thought away from your mind; that was surely impossible.

“Oh it’s going well!” you said, your voice going high-pitched for a moment. “Came for the hot professors, stayed for the education—I’m joking,” you added in a haste, waving a hand in the air. “I’m a very…very deep and intellectual individual.”

“Uh huh.”

“And none of my professors are hot,” you muttered and wiped at the damp spot on the counter with a napkin. “They should put that on the brochure if you ask me, it’s important information.”

“So you’ll be a doctor?”

“If by some miracle my dissertation goes through the jury,” you pointed out. “How about you? How’s your roommate situation with Wade going?”

He only grumbled something under his breath and you bit back a smile, then topped his drink.

“Thanks sweetheart.”

If there was one thing you hated the idea of more than dying was proving Freud right but it looked like you were going two for two tonight.

“So uh,” you said, trying to ignore the goosebumps rising on your arms because of his deep voice. “Hey, at least you have the place to yourself sometimes, no? When Wade is with Vanessa? Should give you some time to…bring someone home.”

And I volunteer as tribute.

He raised his brows, his unwavering gaze pinning you to your spot and you cleared your throat.

“Or—or someones,” you stammered. “Sky is the limit if you’re into that sort of thing. Now that it came up by the way, are…are you?”

“Am I bringing people home?” he asked as if he wanted to make sure that was what you were asking and you shrugged your shoulders, your face on fire.

“I’m just asking because, you know,” you began the sentence without having a clue on how you would finish it as usual. “I’m great at giving relationship advice, so if you were in a relationship I could be your own personal relationship coach.”

He pulled his brows together in confusion and you reached out to get the bowl full of peanut shells from his right just so that you could keep yourself busy, then turned the bowl over the garbage can.

“I’m not,” he said and you swallowed thickly.

“Who has the time for that these days, am I right?”

“Do you have—”

“Yes I have the time!” you cut him off, nodding your head in enthusiasm, your heart beating in your ears but he had already finished his sentence;

“…ice?”

You hoped to God tonight was the night you’d die because if that mobster in the corner didn’t shoot you, you were going to have to ask Wade to do it just to save you from this embarrassment.

“Oh,” you said after a beat as he stared at you. “Yeah—yeah I have ice, sorry.”

You rushed to get some ice and put it into his whiskey, biting inside your cheek and he cleared his throat.

“You don’t want to go out with me sweetheart.”

Well good news was that you had already made a fool of yourself so one could think the bar for your self-respect couldn’t get any lower, but boy oh boy you had already brought your metaphorical shovel.

“I disagree,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I would very much love to if you were interested.”

“You think I’m not interested?”

“I feel like I’d have a better chance at proving you’re not interested with dates and references than my own thesis,” you pointed out. “And that’s saying something—”

“I am interested,” he cut you off, making your eyes widen and you gawked at him, frozen in your spot. “Trust me, that’s not the problem here.”

“Am I getting the I’m too dangerous for you speech?” you heard yourself ask through disbelief. “Because screw that speech. Honestly, the only thing I’m focused on in here is if you—fuck!”

He pulled his brows together. “If I—?”

“No no!” you said as you pointed at the back door where two men were dragging Wade through. “Wade!”

Logan cussed under his breath as he shot up from his stool.

“Don’t go anywhere, we’ll talk about this later,” he told you and made his way to the back door while you heaved a sigh, leaning back to the counter as he stepped outside and you caught the sight of him grabbing a man by the neck before the door slammed shut. You pressed a hand over your chest, then tilted your head back with a groan.

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself. “That was smooth.”

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan wolverine #logan x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #james howlett #fluff #logan howlett imagine #logan x you

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roosterforme · 10 months ago

Text

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 22 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It's terrifying to realize you don't know if Bradley is safe. As the lonely days stretch on and on, you try to savor the notes from him. Once the final two envelopes have been opened, you know you need the real thing.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, romantic as hell Bradley, 18+

Length: 2600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Other than your car, everything you owned was inside Bradley's house. Over the last few weeks, Natasha helped you load up his Bronco and make a few trips down, but she looked at you like you were crazy when you told her you were going to leave most things packed up for now.

"Why?" she asked, leaning on a stack of boxes in the living room. "Even if he gets stationed in Norfolk, you'll finish out your school year here before he sells the house."

But you didn't want him to sell his house. You loved it here. Being in his living space was the closest thing to being with him when he was deployed, and you didn't think it was fair that he might have to give this up. What would Edith do without Bradley to help her? What would Bradley do in a different state without his best friend? No, you simply couldn't unpack, just in case, but you also couldn't accept Virginia with any finality until you were explicitly told it was happening.

"I just wish I could talk to him," you whispered.

"Soon," Nat replied, and you jumped, surprised to find you weren't alone in your thoughts. "I just moved a million boxes. I deserve a trip to the wine bar, and so do you. Bradley will be back soon enough."

"Nine days. Not soon enough."

It was nine days until he was supposed to get back to Norfolk. On Valentine's Day. Then right after that, it was Career Day at your school. You had been holding onto a few of the envelopes and gift cards from him, trying to make them last, but you were almost out. You needed the real thing again.

Natasha groaned. "You are so in love with him, it's kind of gross. Let's go drink wine, and I'll tell you more tales from before the mustache."

You took one more look at the few unopened letters lined up on the coffee table before grabbing the gift card for the wine bar. But even southern California looked gloomy on the drive up. The wine was good, but you were just tired. Natasha told you all about how she tried to give Bradley the call sign Chicken Man, and you laughed at the idea of that emblazoned along the side of his jet. She also seemed to be able to tell just how melancholy you were.

"You're doing great," she told you, setting down her wine glass. "You're counting down the hours until you can talk to Bradley again. Vanessa would have probably been too busy with her water bottles to remember to pick him up from the airport. There's a reason why it's hard, and it's because he loves you as much as you love him."

You did your best to keep it together after that, but there was a lump in your throat, holding back your emotions, and when you got back home, you started crying on the couch. Big, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, blurring your vision, but you knew which envelope you were reaching for.

Open me when you've had a bad day

As you tore into the envelope, you realized there was another envelope inside it. The second envelope said Take me to The Bayside Florist and give me to someone who works there.

"What is this, Bradley?" you whispered out loud, reaching for your phone to see if the shop was still open this late on a Saturday. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized they closed in an hour, and you grabbed the envelope along with your phone and keys and ran out to your car.

In a matter of minutes, you parked in front of an adorable flower shop with The Bayside Florist in pink lettering on the awning. You felt a little silly taking the envelope inside, but when you were greeted by an older woman with a warm smile, you started to hand it to her.

"This might sound odd, but my boyfriend is deployed, and he left me this envelope," you said with a laugh. "Apparently I was supposed to bring it here?"

The woman adjusted her glasses as a smile found her lips. "Oh, yes. I remember him. Tall? With a mustache? Handsome?"

You bit your lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. "Yeah, that sounds just like him."

She nodded and opened the envelope, humming in agreement with whatever she read inside. "I have something for you. Wait right here."

Then she disappeared through a doorway, and you walked around the inside of the shop, examining the arrangements and enjoying the scent of so many types of flowers mingling together. You weren't quite sure what Bradley had up his sleeve from thousands of miles away, but you were almost positive it was about to make your day so much better.

"Special delivery from your boyfriend."

Startled, you spun around to see a stunning bouquet of flowers in every color on the counter, complete with an envelope tucked in amidst the blooms. "That's for me?" you whispered.

"From your boyfriend," she confirmed.

You stifled a whimper as you reached for the flowers. "Am I supposed to pay for this?"

"He already did."

Tears stung your eyes as you pulled the envelope that said Gorgeous from between two roses. It was written in his handwriting. You thought you should read it in the privacy of your own car, so you thanked the woman and then headed back outside. Once you were sitting behind the steering wheel, you set the flowers aside in favor of the note.

Gorgeous,

I never want you to have a bad day, but I really hate that you're having one when I'm not with you. If I could be anywhere in the world right now, I'd choose to be next to you. Will you write about your day in your journal so we can talk about it later? I can't wait to talk about everything with you. I love you.

Bradley

Now that the tears started, you just let yourself cry.

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

Constantly wondering if your boyfriend was even okay was taking a toll on you. Your classroom was supposed to be your safe haven right now. Your place of comfort. Your refuge. But a few days before Bradley was supposed to get back into Norfolk, you were short and snippy with your class. You didn't mean to be, but it was happening anyway.

"Just sit down," you told Oliver, voice taking on a sharp, scolding edge that was usually never there. All eighteen of your kids sat with their backs straight in their seats and their hands folded on their desks like they were worried you were going to start yelling. This was never how you wanted to conduct your class. These kids were really well behaved for the most part, and you wanted them to have a lot of fun mixed in with their school lessons.

You turned away from them to try to catch your breath. The past few nights had been filled with restless sleep and a pain in your heart that wouldn't go away until you knew Bradley was safe. You cleared your throat, trying so hard to figure out what you wanted to say for your social studies lesson, but you couldn't shake your mind free from the anxiety you were feeling.

Picturing the flowers that you put in a Miller High Life pitcher you found in the kitchen after Bradley didn't appear to own a vase made you smile enough that you were able to turn around again.

"I need everyone to open their textbook to page eighty-seven." The only sound was pages rustling as you added, "And I promise I'll make this a fun unit for us."

When you finally left work that afternoon, you decided to let yourself open the last envelope from Bradley. It had been in your tote bag for a few days, just waiting for the right moment. Open me when you really want some coffee. You could clearly use the extra caffeine today, so you tore into the envelope as you walked across the parking lot. Just like before, there was an envelope inside the first envelope.

Take me to Starbucks and give me to someone who works there.

Now you were smiling. You got to go to another place of business with an envelope like an absolute lunatic, and you were really looking forward to it. You stopped at the Starbucks closest to your school, and when you handed the envelope to the girl who tried to take your order, she raised one eyebrow.

"Your guess is as good as mine. I think it's kind of a treasure hunt of sorts from my boyfriend who is deployed," you told her with a shrug.

Then you watched her open the envelope and remove a note along with a gift card. Her eyes skimmed the text, and her face transformed into the sappiest smile. "Oh my god," she said, looking back up at you. "I wish someone loved me this much," she muttered and then turned away from you, reaching for the biggest cup and a Sharpie.

You waited awkwardly for a few minutes while she made your drink. You could tell it was your favorite drink. Bradley somehow ordered your favorite drink for you to enjoy. Warmth filled your body, and you accepted the cup from her. "Thanks," you murmured as she paid using the gift card, and that's when you realized she had written something on the cup.

Gorgeous, I love you. I can't wait to come home. Bradley

"Does he have a brother?"

You looked up at the girl who made your coffee. "What?" you asked, taking the note and the gift card from her.

"Does your boyfriend have a brother? Because that note is the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

You shook your head, but you were smiling. "No. No brother. Sorry. Thanks for making my coffee."

As you walked outside you read the note, already feeling calmer at the sight of his hand writing.

Dear Starbucks Employee,

The beautiful woman who handed you this envelope is my girlfriend. I am desperately in love with her, and I would be there with her if I could, but I'm fucking deployed, if you can believe it. Please make her favorite drink for her, and if you wouldn't mind, please write 'Gorgeous, I love you. I can't wait to come home. Bradley' on the cup? Thank you so much.

He had scrawled your favorite drink to your exact specifications below that, and it even tasted perfect. You spent the ride back to Coronado planning out your upcoming Monday. If Bradley arrived back to Virginia on time, you'd be hearing from him by then. Every fiber of your being was hoping he'd call and tell you to pick him up in San Diego, but if he had to stay in Norfolk, you'd take a day off from work to fly out and see him. You had to. You wouldn't be able to go an extra minute without him now. You wanted to hug him and kiss him and give him a blowjob. You needed to feel his hands on your body and listen to his voice while you ran your fingers along his scars.

Monday couldn't get here fast enough.

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

The only thing Bradley wanted to do right now was get his phone in his fucking hands, but he thought that if he brought it up again, someone would tell him the thing had been mysteriously misplaced. He already asked for it three times. He'd been dropped back in Norfolk by air transport, and after a short debrief with a national security team, he would hopefully be allowed to be on his way.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw. This way."

He was led into a medical facility first where his bruises and strained neck were examined and the findings were documented. When he realized he got caught up in a dog fighting scenario with the other aviators, he had been more angry than anything else. Didn't these people know he had a perfect girlfriend to get back home to? Did they even care? He made it out mostly unscathed and back to the carrier deck safely, if not a little sore. The one thing that made him almost laugh was the fact that Cyclone would undoubtedly see his medical report, and there was a good chance Admiral Walker would hear from him again.

After the medical consultation, he was led into a debriefing room where he really didn't have much to say about the mission. It had been successful, sure, but he wasn't going to be allowed to discuss it with anyone after this, so he just stuck to answering the questions he was asked.

Then finally, he was given his phone and left on his own. Of course it was nearly dead when he turned it on, but it should be good enough to reach you. Talking to you would come as his top priority before figuring out how he was getting home, but that was a close second. His heart pounded in anticipation of hearing your voice after so many weeks.

It was barely six in the morning in San Diego. Maybe you were up and getting ready for work, but maybe you were still sleeping. It didn't matter. He needed you to know he was coming home. He tapped on your photo, pulling up your contact information as the warm sun and cold Virginia air hit his skin at the same time, and he shivered as soon as the phone stopped ringing. Your voice in his ear was his reward.

"Bradley!"

"Gorgeous," he sighed, suddenly so exhausted, he could barely stand. One word from you, and all he wanted to do was curl up on his couch with his head on your lap and let you take care of everything.

"Bradley!" You shrieked this time, and he smiled.

"Baby, I'm coming home."

"For good?" you asked, voice soft with an edge of concern that he wanted nothing more than to ease away. "Or just long enough to pack some things and head back to Norfolk?"

He hoisted his duffle onto his shoulder and started walking. "I'm coming home for good. Coming home to you."

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

He's safe and he's coming home! I'm working on mapping out the remaining chapters of this story, so if there's something you want to read about, hit me up. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 23

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starkeyslibrary · 18 days ago

Text

The Bachelor - Episode 3 | Week 3

the bachelor masterlist | previous part

pairings: rafe cameron x female!reader

words: 11.4k

The house was quiet in that early morning way. Somewhere, a kettle clicked off. A few girls had gathered in the kitchen, bare-faced and wrapped in hoodies, passing around a fruit bowl and trading theories about this week’s date cards. In the living room, someone had already claimed the coziest corner of the couch, knees tucked under a throw blanket, eyes flicking to the front door every few minutes – just in case.

Daniella sat cross-legged on the main couch, wrapped in cardigan and drinking her coffee. She flipped through a magazine, not really reading it. Next to her was Alyssa, she had her knees pulled to her chest, hair up in a claw and a hoodie.

Kayla was perched on the windowsill with her legs stretched out. She was watching the driveaway like something exciting might roll in it if she stared long enough.

Y/N leaned against the arm of the couch between Daniella and Alyssa, one leg over the other, a soft oversized sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder. She held a mug of tea.

“Okay,” Daniella said suddenly, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table, “someone tell me he has a flaw. Just one. Anything. I’ll take crooked teeth. Weird laugh. Something.”

“Please,” Y/N muttered. “The man walked out of a painting. He’s probably good with animals and children too. Just to spite us.”

“He probably supports local shops,” Alyssa added.

“I bet he’s a bad texter,” Kayla offered. ”Hot people are usually terrible at texting.”

“He probably types full sentences and uses punctuation,” Daniella said, voice light. A ripple of laughter.

“I can’t lie” Daniella said after a beat, tucking her feet beneath her. “That group date felt like it was weeks ago.”

“It was five days,” Y/N deadpanned.

“Exactly.”

The girls chuckled. From the kitchen, footsteps padded across the hardwood, and a few girls more trickled in. Sierra, Naomi, Zara and Lana wandered through.

“Is this like the unofficial group therapy circle?” Sierra asked, eyebrow raised.

“More like group denial,” Alyssa replied, gesturing at the couch. “Take a seat.”

Selene and Kelsey appeared next. “There is a weird energy today,” Kelsey said as she flopped into a nearby chair. “Like we’re all waiting for something.”

“Because we are,” Zara muttered. “There’s a date card coming, you just know it.”

Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze flicking toward the hallway, then back to the group. There was a kind of comfort in this, the shared waiting, the lowkey panic woven between the jokes.

“Okay, real question,” Alyssa said, glancing around from her seat on the couch. “Is anyone actually feeling good about where they stand with him?”

Selene exhaled, stretching her legs out. “I mean… I think? We talked at the last cocktail party, and it felt easy. But also, like, he is talking to everyone. So who even knows.”

“I get that,” Lana said. “I had a good moment with him on the group date, but I haven’t had anything since. I keep thinking… what if that was it?”

Kelsey shook her head. “It is weird, right? One second you feel confident, the next you’re spiralling because he laughed at someone else’s joke.”

“That’s because we’re all trapped in a romantic Hunger Games,” Alyssa muttered.

They all laughed.

Confessional – Y/N

“I am really hoping to see him today.” She said, her voice softer, thoughtful. “Last week.. it just felt easy. There is something about him, this calm, like I can actually breath when I am around him.”

“I miss my pillow,” Vanessa said suddenly. “My actually memory-foam, perfectly broken-in pillow. Not this polyester nonsense they gave us.”

Brianna groaned in solidarity. “Yes. I swear the one in my room feels like it was stuffed with peanuts.”

Daisy spoke up. “I miss my dog. Like.. my whole chest kind of aches for her.”

Madina nodded sympathetically, “What kind?”

“She is a rescue golden retriever. She does this thing where she presses her face against mine when I’m sad. I don’t even know if she remembers me right now.”

“She does. They always do.”

“I left one of my sweatshirts with her,” Daisy murmured. “For the scent. It was either that or cry into her fur for six hours before I left.”

A laugh bubbled up between them.

“God,” Vanessa said, “We are officially the most unhinged girl group in Bachelor history. Missing dogs and foam pillows like we’re stranded in the woods.”

“You mean we’re not?” Brianna said dryly.

“Feels like it.” Madina murmured, making them all laugh.

Confessional – Madina

“Being here... you miss a lot of things. Your bed, your people, your routines. But you also start realizing how much energy you’re spending trying to be seen.”

“And yeah, last week at the cocktail party.. I got interrupted mid-sentence.” She gave a short breath of a laugh, no heat behind it. “I get it. Everyone wants time. Everyone’s trying to make something happen.”

“But there is a difference between showing up for yourself and stepping over someone else to get ahead. And I think, at some point, that difference matters.”

Across the room, Zoe and Britt had tucked themselves into a quiet corner where the low hum of the other girls voices faded into background noise.

Zoe curled her legs beneath her, glancing over at the group by the kitchen. “Do you ever feel like we’re extras in someone else’s love story?”

Britt lets out a dry laugh. “You’re definitely not.”

“You think some are playing a game?” Zoe tilted her head.

“I think everyone is, in their own way,” Britt said. “Some of us just haven’t figured out our strategy yet.”

They fell quiet for a beat as laughter bubbled up from across the room. The mood in the corner didn’t shift dramatically, but there was something unspoken sitting between them.

Zoe let out a small sigh. “Honestly I’d rake one real conversation at this point. Just enough time to feel like I exist in his world.”

Britt didn’t say anything right away. Then, with a quiet shrug: “Yeah. Same.”

The front door opened like a cue and every head turned. Jesse Palmer walked in, relaxed and polished in a blazer and dark jeans, holding a crisp white envelope.

“Good morning, ladies.”

The room chorused back: “Morning, Jesse.”

“Everybody feeling good?”

A wave of yeahs, mhmms and polite smiles passed through.

He nodded, stepping closer to the center of the room. “Well, congrats, you’re the nineteen women who made it through last week. Which means you’re the women, Rafe really sees something with. A future. So let’s keep things moving, shall we?”

He held up the envelope. “This week there are going to be two fun group dates.. and one very romantic one-on-one.”

Jesse smiled and set the envelope down on the coffee table. “Here’s your first group date card.”

He looked around the room. “Best of luck, and I hope to see you all, later this week. Have fun.”

He waved once and disappeared just as quickly as he arrived. And the room? Instantly on fire.

Silence lingered for half a beat. Then Daniella nudged Lana with her foot. “You’re the closest. Go.”

Lana raised an eyebrow but reached for the envelope, flipping it open with a small smirk. Her voice dipped low for the drama.

“Madina, Maya, Alyssa…”

A pause.

“Zoe, Daisy, Brianna ...”

Y/N felt her breath catch.

“Vanessa, Kayla..”

Another pause.

“And me.”

A moment of silence stretched in the air like static before it all dissolved into a chorus of oh my gods and scattered claps.

Y/N didn’t say anything at first. That flicker of disappointment that rolled through her before she could stop it. That subtle, sinking feeling of being left out, edged in doubt she didn’t want to give voice to. Across the room, Daniella’s eyes met hers, the same shared sting of being left out but she didn’t need to say anything. They both knew. But they didn’t let it linger.

Still, Y/N reached across and squeezed Alyssa’s hand with a quiet smile. “You’re gonna crush it.”

Daniella bumped Kayla’s shoulder gently. “Okay, okay. Try not to outshine the whole planet, please.”

Kayla grinned. “No promises.”

Lana turned the card over. “There’s a quote,” she said, then read aloud:

“Looking for my Mrs. Right. – Love Rafe”

Daniella bumped Kayla with her elbow. “No pressure or anything.”

Kayla smirked. “Just casually planning my wedding with a man I’ve spoken to for maybe forty minutes total.”

The room buzzed with nervous laughter and a growing swirl of speculation. A few of the girls exchanged glances excited, maybe a little terrified as they realized this wasn’t going to be just another group hang. It was going to be something bigger.

As the girls began drifting off to get ready, voices lifting with questions and guesses about the date, a producer’s voice called from the hallway, “Ladies, please head to the styling room!”

Back in the living room, those who remained sat quieter now, each retreating to their thoughts, some hopeful, some restless.

And Y/N, stared at the closed door a second longer. Soft smile, but quieter now. Because in the silence after the laughter, the doubt crept in. She thought things had gone well with Rafe. Thought the group date rose, their conversation, that kiss, all of it, had meant something.

But now her name hadn’t been on the card. And maybe that was fine. Maybe it was just how the show worked. Still, it was hard not to feel the little sting of being overlooked. Even harder to stop the spiral of wondering why.

The SUV with nine girls all dressed in white rolled to a stop in front of a coastal estate, where white roses lined the walkaway and a string quartet played softly in the distance. The girls stepped out one by one, their white dresses catching the sun.

Laughter bubbled from a nearby tent, where a faux reception had already been staged up. White linens draped long tables, champagne flutes sparkled and strangers, dressed as wedding guests, turned in their seats, ready to welcome the nine brides.

“Okay, this is crazy,” Maya whispered, wide-eyed as she took in the scene. “Like… are we actually fake marrying him?”

Rafe stood near the center of the setup in a crisp navy suit, boutonnière pinned, a grin tugging at his mouth as each woman approached.

“Ladies,” he called, voice warm and playful, “you ready to get married?”

A mix of nervous laughter and dramatic gasps followed, heels clicking against stone as the women made their way toward the fantasy waiting for them.

“I wonder if they’ve started already,” Naomi murmured, arms crossed over her chest.

“They left like an hour ago.” Kelsey replied from the kitchen barstool. “So yeah, probably mid-chaos by now.”

Sierra, curled up in the chair across from Y/N, gave a soft sigh. “Honestly? I kind of wish I was there. Even if it’s awkward. At least then you’re part of the storyline.”

Across the room, Zara was picking at the cuff of her sweater. Her expression was tight. Too still.

“Z?” Leila said gently, her voice soft from the armchair beside her.

Zara didn’t answer right away. Then, suddenly, she stood up. “I need air,” she muttered, already heading for the back door.

“Zara-” Naomi started, half-rising.

“I’m fine,” Zara insisted, though her voice wobbled just slightly. “Just… give me a sec.”

The door clicked closed behind her.

Silence hung thick in her absence.

“She’s been off all morning,” Kelsey said quietly.

Britt crossed one leg over the other, her voice cool. “Maybe this just isn’t for her. If watching other girls play pretend bride is enough to break you, that’s kind of telling.”

Selene looked over. “Bit harsh.”

Britt shrugged. “It’s the truth. No one’s entitled to a rose or a breakdown.”

Y/N looked up from her mug. “You know there’s a way to be honest without being an asshole.”

“I’m not being an asshole,” Britt said flatly. “Just realistic.”

“Realistic doesn’t mean cruel.”

“Oh, come on,” Britt scoffed. “She walked out like someone died. We’ve all been overlooked by now, it’s part of the deal.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said, voice sharper now, “and we don’t all turn around and use that to drag someone else down. There’s a difference.”

Britt’s brows lifted. “Why are you even pressed? This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“It does when you talk like you get to decide how people are allowed to feel.”

Britt opened her mouth, but Daniella cut in quietly, “Maybe dial it back before you sound even more heartless.”

No one laughed. Even the background music had stopped or maybe it just felt that way?

Y/N stood up. “I’ll be back.”

No one stopped her.

Y/N found Zara in the far corner of the backyard. “Mind if I sit?” Y/N asked, voice low.

Zara nodded her head. Y/N sat beside her. For a while, they just sat like that.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Zara finally said, voice low. “Everyone else seems to be floating through this. I’m… stuck in my own head.”

Y/N didn’t push, just waited.

“I keep overthinking everything. What I said, how I looked, whether I’m doing too much or not enough. And every time I think I’ve found my footing, I lose it again.” She let out a shaky breath. “It’s exhausting.”

Y/N glanced over. “That sounds… really hard.”

Zara gave a small laugh, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “I keep wondering what Rafe sees when he looks at me. Or if he sees me at all. Like, what if I’m just background noise in someone else’s love story?”

Y/N’s heart pulled. She reached over, gently brushing Zara’s arm. “Hey. You’re not background to anyone.”

Zara looked down at her hands. “It just feels like I’m falling behind. Like I should be more confident, more open, more sure. But I’m not. And then I wonder if that means I’m not cut out for this.”

“You’re human,” Y/N said softly. “And you’re allowed to have doubts. You’re allowed to feel all of this.”

Zara’s eyes shimmered, but she blinked quickly. “I just hate how small I’ve started to feel. Like I’m shrinking inside myself.”

Y/N leaned her shoulder gently into hers. “You’re not small, Zara. You’re brave. Brave enough to admit you’re struggling instead of pretending you’re not.”

Zara gave a quiet exhale, like something inside her had loosened just a little. “Thanks,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N offered a soft smile. “Anytime.”

And they sat there, not trying to fix anything just letting the quiet stretch out around them, holding space for whatever came next.

Back at the group date there had been equal parts surreal and theatrical. Each woman had walked down an aisle. Toasts were made, mock guests were charmed and champagne glasses were raised in pretend celebration. Rafe moved through it all with warmth and ease, lifting veils and playing the part of groom more convincingly than some had expected.

The final moment came with the “first dance” reserved for just one. Daisy.

She made the fake wedding feel, somehow, honest. When her name was called, she looked stunned, cheeks flushing pink as soft music cued up and Rafe offered his hand.

The rest of the girls watched from the sidelines, as the bride and groom swayed slowly under the fairy lights.

Confessional – Rafe

“Today was really fun. Kind of surreal. Watching them give speeches, laugh with the guests. I saw different sides of them today.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Everyone was piled into the living room, scattered across the couches.

“They’re taking so long on the group date,” Sierra muttered, pulling a blanket tighter around her. “I wonder what they’re up to.”

“Probably fake-cutting a wedding cake,” Selene said dryly, earning a few half-smiles.

Leila yawned, “Feels like they’ve been gone forever.”

Daniella sat on the floor with her back to the couch, hair piled on top of her head in a lopsided bun. She didn’t say anything, just tapped her fingers against her knee, like she was waiting for something.

Confessional — Daniella

“It’s getting pretty late and we’ve been sitting around all day, and as much fun as I’ve had, like in the back of my mind I’m thinking, when’s the next date card coming?” She shrugged, smiling faintly. “So I’m hoping it’s tonight.”

Knock. Knock

Half the room jumped.

“Oh my God,” Leila said, clutching her chest. “That scared me.”

Naomi walked to the door and cracked it open, glanced outside then turned back, holding a single white envelope.

Confessional – Britt

“There’s a one-on-one and a group date. We don’t know what order they’re coming in,” she said, arms crossed, tone light but clipped. “But I hope it’s a one-on-one with my name on it.”

“Let’s see,” Naomi said, sliding a finger under the seal of the envelope.

She cleared her throat, reading aloud:

“Let’s chase the rush – together, love Rafe”

A beat. Just long enough for every girl in the room to brace.

Then: “Y/N”

Silence cracked wide open.

Y/N blinked, lips parting slightly, as if the words took a second longer to land. Her heart stuttered. She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for hours. “Oh my god…”

The room shifted around, soft claps, a few cheers, Daniella was already turning toward her with a grin, grabbing her hand, Selene giving an encouraging nod, Naomi reaching out to squeeze her knee and Zara giving her a warm, quiet smile.

She laughed small, breathy and almost shaky. “I’m really happy,” she admitted, half-laughing again. “Also maybe slightly spiralling, but like… the good kind?”

Confessional – Y/N

She was glowing.

“I’m excited. I really am. But also nervous in, like… a full body kind of way?” She laughed again, covering her face for a second. “First date nerves. You know?”

Back on the group date, all nine women were gathered around him on a couch, fire pit flickering softly in the middle. The atmosphere had settled into something quieter now, something more expectant.

Rafe looked around at each of them, hands resting loosely in his lap.

“So… how’s everyone feeling?” he asked, voice warm.

There were murmurs “Good”, “Really good”, “Amazing” followed by a round of soft laughs and nods.

He smiled, letting the energy breathe for a moment before continuing.

“Well, I feel like all of you leaned into what today was. You had fun with it, and it meant a lot to see that. And the conversations tonight too I felt the same way. I just think you’re all doing such an amazing job being here and opening up.”

As he leaned forward slightly, his hand reached for the rose resting beside him. The movement alone shifted the air, subtle but felt.

A soft swell of suspenseful music built underneath.

“I really wanted to be intentional tonight,” he said, voice lower now, more grounded. “Let each of you know how much I appreciated today, the energy, the effort, the honesty. And I know there’s only one rose, but what this really means to me is someone being real. Showing their heart through all this craziness. Trusting the process… and me.”

He looked up, eyes scanning the circle.

“With that being said…”

A beat.

“Maya.”

Her name landed gently, but firmly.

Maya’s breath caught as she looked up, eyes wide.

Rafe smiled. “Will you accept this rose?”

She blinked once, then nodded, her voice soft: “Yes.”

As he handed it to her, a few of the women clapped lightly.

Maya took her seat again, rose resting delicately in her lap.

Rafe stood then, brushing his hands along his jeans.

“Thank you all again. For today and for tonight. I’ll see you soon.”

He moved slowly, giving each woman a quick hug on his way out, a quiet word or a small smile, something personal.

THE NEXT MORNING

In the quiet vanity space just off the bedrooms, soft golden light filtered through the curtains, warming the cool tile floor.

Y/N slipped into a soft white two-piece set. Light, summery and just the right amount of flirty. The top had an open back that showed just enough skin to feel romantic. The matching skirt sat perfectly around her waist, flowing gently with every step.

Behind her, Daniella appeared in the mirror’s reflection. “You look like an angel. He’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Y/N turned toward the mirror again, pressing her lips together, then swiping on a warm-toned gloss. “I just want it to feel like… me. Not like I’m trying too hard. Not like I’m pretending.”

Daniella smiled. “Then it will.”

She opened the front door slowly. Rafe was already halfway up the path.

He wore a plain white t-shirt and a pair of charcoal gray shorts, sunglasses hooked at his collar, his hair slightly tousled. It was simple, effortless. But there was something in the way he moved, the relaxed confidence, the quiet steadiness in his eyes that made her breath catch before she even stepped outside.

Y/N stepped out into the morning sun, her eyes finding his like muscle memory. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said, voice low and easy, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Wow,” he murmured near her ear, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You look incredible.”

She felt heat rise to her cheeks, but her smile didn’t falter. “Thanks.”

He nodded toward the sleek black car behind him, “You ready?”.

“As I’ll ever be,” she said, trying to sound steady, even as her pulse ticked faster. He walked her to the car, opening the passenger door like it was second nature. Not showy, just thoughtful. His hand hovered at the small of her back as she climbed in, warm through the fabric of her skirt.

Once he was in on the driver’s side, he glanced over at her again slower this time. Like he was just now letting himself take her in.

“You look..” he started again, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was teasing himself more than her. “Wow.”

She gave him a look. “You already said that.”

“I know,” he said, smirking a little. “Couldn’t help it.”

Y/N laughed under her breath and turned toward the window, smiling like an idiot. Then she turned back. “You know, you’re not supposed to be this charming this early in the morning.”

He grinned, one hand already on the wheel. “You haven’t even seen my real moves yet.”

“Oh?” she raised a brow.

“You’ll know when you see them,” he said, pulling out onto the road. “But fair warning, I play dirty. Especially when I want someone to like me.”

Y/N gave him a long look, then rolled her eyes with a smile. “Mission accomplished.”

That made him glance at her and something flickered behind his eyes. Like he wanted to say more. Maybe he would.

As the road curved along the coast and the first hints of the ocean glinted between the trees, Y/N squinted toward the horizon, then glanced back at Rafe.

“So… this date,” she said, dragging out the words as she glanced at him. “The card said ‘Let’s chase the rush together.’ That’s either really exciting… or really terrifying.”

Rafe smiled, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. “Little mystery never hurt anyone.”

She turned toward him a bit more. “Should I be scared?”

He glanced at her, serious for just a beat. “Do you trust me?”

Her gaze lingered on his, steady. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I do.”

That smile returned, softer this time. “Then you’ve got nothing to be scared of.”

They didn’t say anything else for a second,the moment stretching just enough to feel real. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

Then she smirked. “But if I end up clinging to you screaming, you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

“No promises,” he said, but the warmth in his voice made it clear, he wouldn’t mind at all

She laughed, shaking her head. “Seriously though, ‘chase the rush’? That could mean anything. Are we zip-lining into the ocean? Jet skiing into a whirlpool?”

Rafe glanced at her, sunglasses still hooked at his collar, eyes glinting. “You’ll see.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” he admitted. “But also? I think you’ll love it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips was real. “You better not be bluffing.”

He tilted his head, gaze flicking to her and lingering for half a second longer than necessary. “You don’t strike me as someone who scares easy.”

“I don’t,” she said. “But I do like to know if I’m about to be flung off a cliff.”

“No cliffs,” he promised. “Just… trust.”

Y/N shifted slightly in her seat, fingers brushing her skirt. “Can I tell you something kind of... embarrassing?”

Rafe glanced over at her, brows raised just a little, but his voice was steady. “Always.”

She hesitated. “When I didn’t see my name on that first group date card? I don’t know. I felt stupid for how much it got to me. I knew not everyone would get picked, obviously. But I guess I just— I don’t know..” she let out a breathy laugh, “I felt disappointed. Like maybe I wasn’t on your radar the way I thought I was.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just let her keep going.

“I guess I just wanted some kind of sign that you… saw me. And when I didn’t get it, I started second-guessing everything.”

Rafe’s fingers tapped once on the wheel before he looked over, eyes softer than before.

“I did see you,” he said quietly. “That’s exactly why you weren’t on that group date.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

He smirked a little, eyes flicking back to the road. “Because I didn’t want to share you. Not in a group setting. I wanted this, us, today. Real time. Without distractions.”

She went quiet, warmth blooming under her skin. “Okay… stop. You’re gonna make me blush.”

He grinned, glancing sideways. “Mission very much accomplished.”

The car dipped lower, winding down toward a hidden stretch of coastline. As the trees thinned and the beach came into view, soft sand, open sea, and a small setup of boards and towels tucked near the dunes, Y/N’s breath caught slightly.

“Wow,” she murmured.

Rafe pulled the car to a stop and turned off the engine, glancing over at her with a grin.

“You told me you loved the water,” he said, nodding toward the waves. “So I figured... why not start where I feel at home?”

Her brow lifted, curious. “You surf?”

“Charleston, remember?” he said, flashing a quick smile. “Grew up chasing waves before I ever thought about chasing roses.”

She let out a soft laugh. “So this is your way of showing off?”

He shrugged, playful. “Not showing off just trying to impress you in the most low-key, kind of way.”

She grinned. “Well... consider me curious.”

“Then let’s hit the water.”

The wetsuits were half-zipped, boards propped upright in the sand. Y/N sat on a wooden bench just outside the beach shack, fingers twisting her damp hair into a bun before it slipped again.

Behind her, Rafe strolled over, slowing when he noticed her struggling.

“You want a hand?” he asked.

She glanced back, giving him a sceptical look. “You know how to do this?”

He crouched beside her, easy smile in place. “I’ve got two little sisters. Hair emergencies used to be a regular thing in our house.”

That earned a small laugh from her. “So you’re telling me you’re qualified?”

“I mean, I survived middle school mornings with a brush and a hair tie. I’ve got decent odds.”

She gave a mock sigh and tilted her head toward him. “Alright. Show me what you’ve got.”

He carefully took the hair tie from her wrist and gathered her hair, fingers moving with a quiet sort of ease.

“Wow,” she murmured. “You actually know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

She shrugged, a smile tugging at her mouth. “You don’t give off strong hair-braiding energy.”

“Well, I try to keep people guessing.”

A pause settled between them, comfortable. His knuckles brushed the back of her neck as he worked, and she sat a little straighter without meaning to.

“There,” he said after a moment, tying it off neatly. “Should hold up at least until the wipeouts start.”

She turned to face him, their eyes meeting at close range. “Thanks.”

He nodded, lingering just a second longer than he needed to. “Anytime.”

Then she stood, smoothing her wetsuit. “Okay, braid boy. Let’s see how you are on a board.”

He grinned. “Alright, show-off. Let’s go.”

The water was cooler than expected, but not shocking. Y/N shrieked as the first wave lapped over her knees, the hem of her wetsuit darkening instantly.

Rafe was already ankle-deep, board tucked under one arm, turning to grin at her over his shoulder. “Come on! This is the easy part.”

Y/N raised a brow, lifting her board like it weighed twice as much. “Right, because balance has always been my strong suit.”

“Balance takes focus,” he said with a grin. “And maybe a little bit of pretending you know what you’re doing.”

She gave him a look. “You’re full of something, that’s for sure.”

He laughed, slowing as she caught up. “Alright, surf school 101. Start on the sand. I want to see your form first before we take on baby waves.”

“You mean humiliating warm-ups in front of you? Sounds dreamy.”

But she followed, dropping her board and mimicking his movements as he demonstrated. Palms flat. Chest up. Feet staggered.

“Like this?” she asked, squinting down at herself.

“Almost,” he said, stepping behind her.

She felt him before she saw him, the shift in the air, the quiet heat of him close behind her. His voice dipped low, the edge of teasing gone, replaced with something slower, warmer. “Try keeping your weight here,” he murmured, gently nudging her elbow into place.

Y/N swallowed. Her pulse jumped. Not from nerves, exactly, but from the way his hand lingered, the warmth of him just at her back.

She turned her head slightly, eyes finding his just over her shoulder.

His gaze held hers for a beat too long. “You’re tense.”

“You’re close,” she said, breathier than intended.

His smile tugged higher, amused but not mocking. “Can’t help it,” he said softly. “You’re kind of distracting.”

She glanced up at him over her shoulder, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “So what happens now, coach?”

He met her eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Now?” he said, his voice just a little softer. “Now I give you some luck.”

And before she could answer, he leaned in and kissed her. Soft, certain. Just long enough to make her forget her footing, just short enough to leave her chasing it.

When he pulled back, his forehead nearly brushed hers.

“For luck,” he repeated, quieter this time.

Her cheeks flushed. “That’s cheating.”

He grinned as he stepped back. “Not if it works.”

She turned away, heart thudding, trying to reset her stance but her balance wasn’t the only thing off anymore. Not even close.

“Okay,” she managed, focusing back on the board. “I think I got it.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, watching her. “I think you do.”

Ten minutes later, they were in the water, boards bobbing beside them, the steady pulse of the waves rolling in around their ankles. Rafe moved with calm ease, like he belonged there. Y/N.. less so.

“Alright, when the wave starts to lift you, that’s your moment,” he called gently from a few feet away. “Paddle, then pop up.”

She nodded, bracing herself. The next wave came. She paddled, tried to stand -

And wiped out instantly.

The ocean flipped her like a coin, water rushing up her nose. She surfaced with a gasp, blinking against the sun, hair stuck to her face.

Rafe was already beside her. “Hey, hey,” he said, laughing softly but checking her face. “You good?”

“Think I swallowed half the ocean,” she said, breathless.

“You’ll build immunity,” he grinned. Then, without thinking, he reached out and gently pushed a few damp strands of hair away from her cheek.

Y/N stilled slightly at the touch, and their eyes met, a pause in the middle of all the motion. Quiet, but full.

“You’re fine,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re doing great.”

She gave a half-smile, still catching her breath. “Not sure that counts as standing.”

“You got up,” he said simply. “That’s the hard part.”

She let out a shaky laugh and pushed her hair back again. “Alright. Again?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

They paddled out side by side. A new wave rolled in, smaller this time. She caught it, stood, and managed to stay upright just long enough to feel the wind cut across her skin before she dropped back into the water.

When she popped back up, laughing, he was already next to her again.

“That felt almost real!” she said.

“It was real,” he said, grinning. “You’re getting there.”

They floated for a second, shoulder to shoulder, boards drifting closer. She looked at him again, wet hair, sun on his skin, that steady kind of warmth in his eyes and the words came out without thinking.

“Thanks for doing this.”

He met her gaze. “You told me you love the water.”

Y/N smiled. “I didn’t mean nearly drowning in it, but... yeah. This means a lot.”

A beat passed. He looked like he was about to say something else but then another wave started rolling in.

The water was calmer now, waves mellowing into a soft rhythm that pulsed around their legs. Y/N had waded in up to her hips, her braid damp from earlier wipeouts, her wetsuit unzipped halfway to reveal the edge of her bikini top. The ocean breeze played with the loose strands of hair that had slipped free, and her eyes never left Rafe as he rode the last wave in.

He cut cleanly across the water, graceful and sure, before stepping off his board and catching sight of her.

“Still watching me?” he asked, breathless as he approached, board trailing behind him.

“Someone’s gotta judge your form,” she said, the corner of her mouth curving.

“Oh yeah?” He slowed as he reached her, water swirling around their waists. “And?”

Her eyes flicked down his chest, still dripping, then back up. “You pass.”

“Barely?” he teased.

She shrugged, like she wasn’t already smiling. “You might need to prove it again.”

Rafe didn’t answer not with words. He reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair off her cheek with a touch that lingered. Then his hand slid to her waist, warm even in the cool water, drawing her in.

Their bodies bumped gently in the current, salt clinging to skin.

And then he kissed her.

Soft at first, slow and exploratory. Her hands slid up over his shoulders, fingers curling at the nape of his neck. He tasted like sea and adrenaline, sun-warmed skin and the quiet tension of something that had been building all day.

Her breath caught when his thumb brushed under the edge of her bikini top, not possessive, just familiar, like he already knew her shape.

The waves rocked gently around them, water lifting and falling at their sides, and it felt like they were suspended in it — this little pocket of ocean and heat and want.

When they finally broke apart, she was breathless.

“I thought this was supposed to be a surf lesson,” she said, lips still grazing his.

He smiled, hand still on her waist. “Call it... extra credit.”

The tide had eased into a slower rhythm, each wave rolling in with a hush like it had nowhere else to be. Y/N stood barefoot at the edge of the shoreline, toes sinking into damp sand, her wetsuit unzipped halfway down her stomach to reveal the edge of her bikini top. Her braid clung damply to her back, salt still on her skin.

Out in the water, Rafe paddled hard, then popped up, smooth and effortless, catching the swell just before it broke. He rode it clean, low and controlled, the board tilting beneath him with practiced confidence.

Y/N watched, shading her eyes with one hand, a small smile tugging at her lips. When he hit the final stretch of the wave and hopped off with a neat, easy dive, she gave a single clap, shaking her head with a quiet laugh under her breath.

“Alright, I’m impressed,” she murmured to no one.

He came up grinning, pushing his hair back, scanning until his eyes found hers. From the water, he raised a brow like he’d caught the tail end of her reaction. She didn’t say anything, just tilted her head and shrugged like, yeah, okay — you’re good.

He grinned wider, already moving back toward shore.

And from where she stood, the sea in front of her, him swimming back, that look still on his face, something about it felt good. Easy. Like maybe she’d been waiting for a moment like this without realizing it.

The afternoon light stretched long across the beach, still warm but softening, the kind of light that made the ocean sparkle like it was holding onto summer. Y/N walked beside Rafe, hand in his, the sand cool and powdery under their feet, the rhythmic hush of the waves a steady backdrop to their quiet moment.

Just ahead, nestled in a shallow dip between two dunes, was the kind of setup that felt too pretty to be real, a low wooden table surrounded by striped pillows and folded blankets, a woven basket off to one side. Candles flickered inside hurricane glass jars, and a small bottle of champagne sweated in an ice bucket.

Y/N let out a quiet breath. “Oh my.. this is adorable.”

Rafe glanced over at her, their fingers still loosely intertwined. “Yeah?”

She nodded, a smile playing at her lips. “Yeah.”

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s enjoy it.”

They sank down onto the cushions, still a little salt-kissed from the ocean. Rafe reached for the bottle and popped the cork with a clean twist, the sound light and easy. He poured two glasses and handed her one, their fingers brushing.

Rafe poured carefully, handing her a glass before lifting his own.

“To us.” he said, voice a little softer now.

Y/N’s gaze met his, steady.

“To us,” she repeated, tapping her glass gently against his.

They clinked glasses, they sipped and the silence that followed was the comfortable kind. Rafe reached into the basket and pulled out the containers, spreading them between them.

“Tacos, fruit, little bit of everything,” he said.

Y/N peeked inside, lips already curving. “Okay, you just won major points.”

He laughed softly. “I figured it was safer than trying to impress you with my cooking.”

She took a bite, nodding with clear approval. “This is exactly what I needed.”

They ate slowly, passing the fruit between them, brushing fingers now and then small grazes that lingered longer each time. The stories turned quieter, less about the past and more about the now. He watched her laugh over a piece of mango, eyes crinkled, sunlight catching the curve of her lips.

When she leaned back on her hands, eyes on him, something shifted.

Rafe mirrored her without thinking, elbow brushing hers as he settled beside her. He turned toward her slightly, gaze dragging from her mouth to her eyes and back again.

She caught it. Didn’t look away.

“What?” she asked, voice low, teasing.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, just above a murmur, but there was no joking in it.

Her smile curved slow. “I think I’m starting to.”

Their knees touched. Then his fingers reached, brushing a piece of hair from her shoulder, fingertips skating lightly along the exposed skin at her collarbone. The kind of touch that wasn’t about fixing anything, just feeling.

Her breath hitched.

Without a word, Rafe reached for her waist and gently tugged, guiding her up then shifting her into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hands settled on her hips, steady, warm.

Y/N’s arms looped around his neck, knees bracketing his thighs now. She looked down at him, playful, flushed, and just a little breathless.

Rafe leaned in like he couldn’t help it anymore. Their mouths didn’t meet at first, just hovered. Close enough to taste the possibility.

“Are you gonna kiss me again,” she asked, “or just keep looking at me like that?”

His lips brushed hers, not quite a kiss more like a dare.

“Depends,” he whispered. “You want slow… or do you want me to forget the cameras are even here?”

That made her laugh, soft and low before closing the gap with a kiss that wasn’t slow at all.

It was heat and salt and want. His hand slid up her back, drawing her closer until her chest was flush to his, her fingers curling in his shirt like she needed something to hold onto. He kissed her like they were alone on the planet like the moment had been waiting for them to catch up.

When they finally broke apart, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, they didn’t say anything right away. Just breathed, still tangled in each other, like neither of them was ready to pull back.

Rafe smiled against her temple. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Y/N grinned, curling a little closer. “Only the good kind.”

And he kissed her again just because he could.

The sun hovered just above the horizon, casting everything in that soft golden wash that made the world feel quieter – slower. The ocean glinted with ribbons of orange and rose gold, each wave reflecting the sky.

Y/N and Rafe sat nestled on a blanket near the edge of the dunes, a little distance from their now-empty picnic setup. She leaned back into him, her body relaxed against his chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was second nature. He rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, his breath warm near her ear.

They didn’t talk. Not yet. The quiet was full, but not heavy just comfortable.

Y/N tilted her head slightly toward his. “We’re gonna blame the champagne if I get emotional, right?”

Rafe let out a soft laugh, brushing his nose along the curve of her jaw. “Deal. Champagne… and sunsets. Dangerous combo.”

She smiled, fingers threading with his over her stomach where his arms held her close. “It’s just… nice, you know? To not feel like I have to talk or impress or perform.”

“You don’t,” he said quietly. “You never have to do anything but just… be here.”

Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, letting that settle in her chest.

She shifted slightly, turning in his arms until they were almost face to face, her legs drawn up between them. Her fingers moved up, slowly combing through the back of his hair, soft gentle strokes that made him close his eyes for half a second.

When he opened them again, she was watching him, brows slightly raised in curiosity.

“I really like you,” he said, voice low, not shy just honest.

She smiled, soft and slow. “Do you?”

He leaned in, pressing a small, lingering kiss to her lips. “Mm-hmm. I do.”

Her thumb brushed along the side of his neck as she whispered, “I think I like you a little bit.”

He raised a brow, playful. “Just a little bit?”

“Mm-hmm,” she teased.

“Yeah?” His voice was warm, a quiet smile spreading across his lips.

And then he kissed her again, deeper this time. Her hand stayed tangled in his hair, his arms tightening gently around her like he didn’t want to let go.

When they finally pulled apart, they were still nose to nose, foreheads nearly touching, breath mingling in the last golden light of the day.

After the make-out session, Y/N rested against Rafe’s side. One hand in his lap, gently tracing the veins along his forearm. Her fingertips moved slowly, following each line with quiet curiosity, like she was memorizing him by touch, the warmth of his skin, the strength beneath it, the way he didn’t flinch or pull away, just let her.

Rafe glanced down at her hand on his, then back at her face. She was focused, soft in the way she always was when she thought no one was watching.

“Comfortable?” he asked, voice low.

She smiled without looking up. “Very.”

The silence between them wasn’t really silent it held the sound of waves, a gull overhead, and that hush that happens when two people know they’re not in a rush to leave.

Then Rafe shifted slightly, reaching behind him to grab something from under the edge of the blanket. When he turned back, the familiar red rose was in his hand — bright against the soft dusk tones.

Y/N sat up just enough to meet his eyes, her hand falling to rest lightly on his knee.

Rafe’s gaze didn’t waver. “Today felt... easy. But also kind of electric? You were open, fun, honest and I think I saw more of you than I have of most people in a month.”

He paused, thumb brushing the edge of her knee as he held out the rose between them.

“I want more of that. Of you. So…” He smiled. “Y/N, will you accept this rose?”

A beat. Then her mouth curved gently, eyes never leaving his. “Yeah. I will.”

Rafe leaned in, meaning to kiss her cheek but she turned just enough to meet him, lips catching lips, soft and easy.

She tucked the rose carefully beside her on the blanket and leaned back into him, his arm curling around her waist. Her head found its place on his shoulder again, and they stayed that way, limbs tangled, breath synced, skin still buzzing from everything and nothing.

The sky above stretched into early violet, fading toward something darker.

Confessional – Rafe

“This might’ve been my favorite date so far. And not just because of the surfing.” He pauses like he’s about to say more, then smirks, smile deepening.

“She’s got this way of looking at you, like she already knows what you’re thinking. And then laughs like she doesn’t take any of it too seriously. I don’t know... I think I’m already a little wrapped around her finger.”

“And the craziest part? I don’t even mind.”

He exhales, sitting back slightly, eyes still soft. “I could’ve stayed on that beach with her all night.”

Confessional — Y/N

“I can’t stop smiling. Which is ridiculous, I know, but… it felt like real life today. It didn’t feel like a first date. It felt like something I’ve done before. Or something I want to keep doing.�� She let out a soft laugh.

THE NEXT DAY

Sunlight filtered through the lemon trees, casting soft shadows across the stone patio. The girls had sprawled across lounge chairs and picnic blankets with oversized mugs of coffee and half-eaten bowls of fruit and granola in front of them. A low speaker played something mellow and easy. Someone had lit a citronella candle that flickered lazily in the breeze.

Y/N sat cross-legged on a cushion, tracing her finger around the rim of her mug, looking entirely too content not to be interrogated.

Alyssa was the first to break. “Are you gonna make us beg, or?”

Y/N smirked behind her mug. “Beg for what?”

“You’re glowing. You’ve been glowing since you walked back in,” Kayla said, laughing.

Daniella, lying on her stomach with her chin propped on her arms, glanced up. “She’s not even trying to hide it.”

Y/N gave them a mock innocent look. “Hide what?”

“Oh my god,” Kayla groaned, flipping onto her side dramatically. “You had your date. With Rafe. On the beach. Alone. Start talking.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, a little too pleased. “It was… really good. Better than good even.”

The girls collectively lost it. Laughter. Pillow nudges. A chorus of “We knew it!”

Alyssa sat up. “Details, please.”

“It was…” Y/N’s voice softened, eyes drifting for a second. “Real. Just… us. Surfing, talking, messing around in the water.”

“Wait,” Alyssa said, sitting up straighter. “You surf?”

“Absolutely not,” Y/N said with a laugh. “Mostly I swallowed saltwater and embarrassed myself. But he tried to teach me.”

“He totally loved that,” Kayla said knowingly.

Y/N shrugged, cheeks warm. “He said he did.”

A beat passed.

Daniella raised a brow. “And?”

Y/N tilted her head. “And what?”

Alyssa leaned in. “Did you kiss him?”

Y/N just smiled into her coffee.

Kayla gasped. “YOU DID.”

Y/N gave a small, helpless laugh. “In the water.”

Daniella collapsed backward. “And the chemistry?”

Y/N’s cheeks went a little pink. “Let’s just say… the ocean wasn’t the only thing heating up.”

Alyssa tossed a strawberry at her. “Shut. Up.”

They all laughed again, the kind of easy, morning-after laughter that felt like friendship and sunscreen and too much sun. Somewhere in the background, a bee buzzed lazily past.

Daniella eventually glanced sideways. “Did he give you the rose?”

Y/N nodded slowly. “He did.”

The girls beamed.

“Well,” Kayla said, stealing a grape. “Let’s just say... if I were him, I would’ve too.”

“We officially have a frontrunner.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Not even a little.

Then she glanced down at her hands, fingers brushing the side of her mug. “I know I’m smiling like an idiot, but... I really don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to rub it in or make anyone feel bad. I know how much all of us want this, and you guys deserve it too. Honestly.”

Daniella leaned over and squeezed her hand. “We know that.”

“Seriously,” Y/N added, voice softer now. “I just... really hope you all get moments like that. You deserve to feel seen.”

“I’m just glad it’s with someone who actually gets it,” Alyssa said.

Kayla nodded. “And we’re rooting for you. No weird energy, just love.”

Y/N smiled, heart swelling. “I love you guys.”

“Love you too,” Daniella murmured.

Alyssa lifted her mug. “To good dates and even better friends.”

They clinked coffee mugs, bursting into laughter again. For a second, it didn’t matter who had a rose or not.

The second group date came and went, a whirlwind of cowboy boots, line dancing, and unexpected rhythm from girls who swore they’d never two-step. Laughter echoed through a converted barn lit with string lights, where boots scuffed the floor and hands found their way to hips between spins.

By the end of the night, the energy had settled into something quieter, sweeter.

The group date rose went to Daniella.

THE DAY OF THE ROSE CEREMONY

The heat clung to the afternoon like it had no plans to leave. Most of the girls were scattered around the back patio, sunglasses on, legs stretched out, half-lounging with iced drinks in hand when a voice called from inside:

“Jesse’s here!”

Chairs scraped. Flip-flops slapped against tile. In a matter of seconds, the living room buzzed.

Jesse stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, that usual unreadable grin on his face.

“Hey ladies,” he said. “I know it’s been a big week. Two group dates, one-on-one, lots of emotions…”

Some nods. Some wary looks.

He smiled. “So Rafe thought, instead of waiting for the cocktail party to get more time with all of you, why not do something a little more fun?”

“He’s throwing a pool party.”

The room broke into surprised laughter. “Get your swimsuits ready,” Jesse added with a smirk. “He’ll be here soon.”

The music had already been turned up. Girls darted in and out of the bedrooms and bathrooms in a blur of bikini straps, cover-ups and lip gloss. The backyard sparkled, turquoise pool, pitchers of mocktails sweating on the table, beach balls drifting lazily in the water.

And then the sliding door opened.

Rafe stepped outside and the volume of every conversation dipped almost immediately.

He wore a short-sleeved linen shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal just enough of his chest to be noticeable. Sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” he said, grinning.

That’s all it took, a rush of footsteps and laughter. A few girls surged toward him with excited greetings, arms thrown around his shoulders.

Zoe, predictably dramatic, didn’t stop at a hug, she leapt up and wrapped both arms and legs around him like a koala, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Missed me?”

Rafe caught her with a quick, surprised laugh, hands steady at her waist. He offered Zoe a grin that was light, then gently lowering her back to the ground, the looked up at the rest with a soft shake of his head, “Glad to see the energy’s high already.”

The rest of the girls exchanged a few amused, and not-so-amused looks.

Y/N stood a little behind the front row of girls, shoulder to shoulder with Daniella. She wasn’t pushing forward, just watching. From behind his sunglasses, Rafe’s gaze swept the group until it landed on her.

He didn’t say anything. Just let the corner of his mouth lift and sent her a quick, subtle wink.

Her breath hitched, barely. No one else noticed. Just her. Just him.

Someone cranked the music a little louder. Drinks were passed around. Naomi started pouring something fizzy into plastic glasses.

“Okay!” Kayla called. “We need a toast before anyone starts pushing anyone in.”

Rafe raised his glass, the sunlight catching the rim. “To a day off with the best company I could ask for.”

The girls cheered, a happy clink of plastic cups echoing over the pool.

And just like that, the party officially began.

Rafe barely had time to finish his drink before Zoe pulled him toward one of the loungers near the pool, already launching into a conversation with a laugh and a flip of her hair.

A few feet away, Y/N had drifted toward a shaded corner with Alyssa, Daniella, Kayla and Zara, each of them holding onto drinks and dripping in SPF.

“So..” Daniella said “How are we feeling about today?”

“Besides slightly sunburned?” Y/N smirked, then hesitated, eyes flicking briefly toward the far side of the patio. “There’s just been... a bit of tension.”

“Still with Britt?” Alyssa asked.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, tracing the edge of her glass with her fingertip. “It’s not like we’re throwing drinks at each other or anything. It’s just.. weird. Off.”

Zara frowned slightly. “Did something happen?”

Y/N hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Sort of. The morning after the first group date… she made this comment about you being too sensitive after you went outside, like in a really dismissive way. I called her out on it.”

Zara blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Y/N said gently. “She said if someone can’t handle the pressure of this, they shouldn’t be here. I just.. couldn’t let that slide. I’m sorry I should’ve said something to you.”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “I didn’t want it to turn into drama, but it’s been tense since. I’ve been thinking maybe I should talk to her. Just clear the air.”

Zara gave a small, appreciative smile. “I might talk to her too. Not to confront her, I just... I don’t want to leave here with any loose threads either.”

“Thanks for standing up for me,” she added a beat later.

“Of course,” Y/N said. “I just hate the feeling of something lingering like that. I don’t need us to be best friends, but I don’t want it to get ugly either.”

Y/N spotted Britt by the cabana. Y/N took a breath, adjusted her sunglasses and walked over.

“Hey,” she said, keeping her tone neutral but not cold.

Britt glanced up. “Hey.”

“Can we talk for a sec?” Y/N asked, nodding toward a quieter corner of the patio.

Britt hesitated, then nodded her head and stood. “Sure.”

They stepped away from the buzz of the group, stopping near a shaded patch beneath the pergola where the breeze softened the heat.

Y/N folded her arms lightly across her chest. “I don’t want to make a big thing out of this, but… it’s been a little tense between us.”

Britt raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

Y/N exhaled through her nose, holding back the urge to snap. “I’m not here to argue. I just wanted to clear the air.”

Britt didn’t say anything at first. Just waited.

“That morning of the first group date,” Y/N continued, “what you said about Zara... it didn’t sit right with me. It felt harsh. She was hurting, and I just couldn’t pretend it was fine.”

Britt’s jaw ticked. “She was having a moment. I made a comment. That’s all.”

“And I get that,” Y/N said. “But it felt like more than that. Like you were minimizing what she was going through. You don’t have to agree with how she feels, but dismissing it like that? It wasn’t cool.”

Silence settled for a moment.

Britt looked away, eyes narrowing slightly. “I wasn’t trying to be cold. I just don’t have time for people falling apart every five minutes. This is hard for everyone.”

“I’m not saying it’s not,” Y/N said, her voice calm but firm. “But you don’t get to decide how someone else handles it.”

There was a long pause. The wind moved between them.

Finally, Britt exhaled. “Alright. You’ve said your piece.”

Y/N nodded once. “Yeah. I just didn’t want to pretend like nothing happened.”

Britt met her eyes, unreadable. “Noted.”

A beat.

“I don’t expect us to be friends,” Y/N added. “But I don’t want this to get uglier.”

Britt’s tone was cool. “Then don’t make it uglier.”

That one stung, not sharp, but firm. Final.

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She just nodded again, more to herself this time.

“Okay,” she said softly. “That’s all.”

She turned and walked away, her chest feeling heavier than before.

Y/N stood near the far end of the pool with Rafe, her drink balanced in her hand, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked gently, eyes scanning her face.

She gave him a half-smile, brushing her thumb over the condensation on her glass. “Yeah. Just – I don’t know. One of those days.”

Rafe studied her a moment longer, then tipped his heads toward the back gate. “Come on. Let’s walk for a sec.”

They slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the edge of the garden until the noise faded into a low hum. He found a shaded spot near the trees, just quiet enough to feel like a separate world and stopped there.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said softly, “but I can tell something’s on your mind.”

Y/N exhaled and leaned against the trunk of a lemon tree, fingers fidgeting with her necklace. “It’s nothing major, just... girl stuff, I guess. There’s been some tension with Britt. I don’t really want to get into it because I’m not the type to badmouth someone –“ she paused, eyes flicking to his, “but it got under my skin today.”

Rafe didn’t interrupt, just watched her quiet, present.

“She said something that didn’t sit right with me,” Y/N added “And I stood up for someone else, but now things between us are just... weird. I don’t like the energy.”

His brows drew slightly, concern soft but real. “You don’t need to apologize for having a backbone.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “I know. I just.. I didn’t come here to fight with other girls. That is not who I am.”

Rafe stepped closer, hand brushing her waist in a slow, grounding touch. “You’re not. You’re the kind of person who stands up when it matters, and still worries about doing it kindly. That’s rare.”

She blinked at him, her voice smaller now. “Why are you so good at this?”

He grinned, warm and a little crooked. “I’ve got a thing for girls who lead with their heart.”

She laughed softly, the tension beginning to ease, and when his hand came to rest along her back, she leaned into it. He dipped his head slightly, close enough that their foreheads nearly touched.

“Still trouble,” she murmured, teasing, but her voice was quieter this time, vulnerable.

“And still wrapped around your finger,” he said, thumb brushing the hem of her cover-up.

She looked up at him, gaze soft, and for a moment they just stood there, close and still.

Then he kissed her slow and quiet, a reassurance more than anything else.

And when they returned to the party a few minutes later, the weight she’d been carrying felt a little lighter.

The patio had thinned out as some girls slipped inside to freshen up or grab another drink. Zara took a breath, “Can we talk?” she asked, voice steady but quiet.

Britt didn’t look up. “Didn’t realize we had anything left to say.”

Zara didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to like me. But you don’t get to treat me like I’m a weak just because I process things differently than you.”

That got Britt’s attention. She looked up slowly, brows arching. “Wow. Okay.”

“No—listen,” Zara said, voice tightening. “What you said the other day? About me not being cut out for this? That’s just you being a mean girl and for a second I was thinking maybe you were right.”

Britt rolled her eyes, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t say you weren’t cut out for it. I said if you can’t handle the pressure, maybe this isn’t the place.”

“Which is basically the same thing,” Zara said, her tone sharper now. “You don’t get to decide how someone should handle their emotions. I’ve been trying. I’ve shown up. I’ve been honest. That doesn’t make me fragile—it makes me human.”

A few heads were turning now, quiet glances from nearby girls, uncertain but watching.

Britt stood up, arms crossed. “You’re twisting my words. Everyone’s going through it. You don’t see the rest of us falling apart.”

Zara’s jaw clenched, and she blinked hard once. “You don’t know what people are going through. Just because someone isn’t falling apart in front of you doesn’t mean they’re fine.”

Britt scoffed, like it wasn’t worth her time.

Zara took a half-step back, eyes glassy but not breaking. “You act like you don’t care, but honestly? That’s arrogance and you being a mean person.”

And then, without turning, Zara muttered, “I’m done,” and walked off, shoulders stiff.

That’s when Rafe stepped out from the hallway, catching the tail end, Zara walking away, visibly shaken, Britt standing there with her jaw tight and unmoved.

Rafe didn’t say anything to Britt.

Instead, he followed the direction Zara had gone, leaving the noise behind.

Rafe found Zara near the garden, away from the noise. She didn’t see him at first, but when she did, she didn’t hide the tears welling in her eyes. He didn’t ask anything, just stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She held on tight.

They talked in low voices, her words barely audible over the music drifting from the patio. Whatever was said between them, it ended with another hug. His hand rubbed gently along her back. She nodded once as he pulled away, and he gave her a quiet look before turning and walking back toward the house.

Britt hadn’t moved from the lounger.

When Rafe stepped into view, she straightened subtly, slipping her sunglasses to the top of her head and giving him a small smile too quick, too smooth.

“Hey,” she said lightly, like nothing had happened. “Didn’t expect you over here.”

He didn’t return the smile. “Can we talk?”

Her smile faltered, but she nodded. “Of course.”

He didn’t sit.

“I just spoke to Zara,” he said, voice even. “And I overheard enough before that to understand what’s been going on.”

Britt’s expression froze for half a second before she recovered, reaching for composure. “Look, if this is about—”

He held up a hand, stopping her.

“No spin. No explanation. I’ve seen the way you talk to people when you think they’re vulnerable. How quick you are to pull away when someone’s struggling.”

She looked off to the side, jaw tight.

“I didn’t expect that from you,” he said. “I thought there was more kindness in you. More awareness of how hard this experience can be. But the way you handled that? That’s not what I’m looking for.”

Her voice was lower now. “So that’s it?”

He nodded, steady. “This journey deserves people who lift each other up. And right now, I need to follow what I know is right. I’m walking you out.”

She stared for a beat, mouth parted like she might say something but she didn’t. Just set her drink down with a soft clink and stood.

“Guess that’s that,” she muttered.

He walked beside her, quiet, out through the open doors.

The evening air had cooled by the time the girls lined up on the rose ceremony platform, heels clicking softly on the stone. The tension was undeniable, the kind that quieted even the usual whispers.

Y/N stood near Daniella and Maya, the three of them already safe with roses from their dates, watching as Rafe stepped forward with the remaining flowers.

His eyes moved across the group, lingering in places just long enough to make hearts race.

“Tonight wasn’t easy,” he began. “You’ve all shown me different sides of yourselves, and I’m grateful for every conversation, every laugh even the hard moments. But I have to follow what feels real. So… here we go.”

He called the names one by one.

Leila. Naomi. Kayla. Alyssa. Sierra. Zara. Kelsey.

Each rose handed with a hug or a quiet “thank you,” leaving three women standing at the end.

Selene. Brianna. And the now-empty space where Britt once stood.

Jesse returned quietly to deliver the final rose.

Rafe took a breath, then looked up.

“Zoe.”

Zoe stepped forward slowly, visibly relieved.

That was it.

Selene’s smile was small but gracious, while Brianna looked stunned, like she hadn’t expected to be on the edge of goodbye. Hugs were exchanged, some tighter than others.

From the sidelines, Y/N glanced toward Daniella. Neither said anything, but the shift in the air was real.

The circle had grown smaller again. And everything ahead? Only more real.

To be continued...

the bachelor taglist: @xoxo4chrisss @serendippindots @akobx @wandabillywrites @drewsephrry @justdamnpeachy @thewackywriter @drewsphswife @astridwisp @carisd @itsamusical4lifee @ts1mp0ne @fairyjinn @chaotickittenanchor @sophiesmovingcastle5 @saviorcomplexrry @smutwzrd @destinymoena @alinavalentine @lumbiiii @xeneasworld @earth2azi @watashiwastarr @lilithblackkk @leather-n-velvet @asapkeepmerockyyy @fastlovela @acidfeens @wuluhwuhmaster @hrtshapedblg @stelleduarte @jae-n0 @xealia

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angel-writes-skz-here · 13 days ago

Text

Ruin The Friendship

Han x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: You and Han have been dancing around your feelings for a while, but what happens when things come to jealous head at a party the night before he leaves for tour? Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v, oral (both rec), fingering, masturbation, (f. only), pet names (Sweet girl, my girl, etc,) praise, overstim, i think thats it. A/N: My brand is mostly sappy romance at this point and I refuse to run from it anymore. Comment to be added to the taglist! I hope you all enjoy!💜

You and Han had been friends since you were kids, you grew up together, studied together, and when the day came that he told you he was going to debut, you couldn’t have been happier for him. But you were also sad for yourself. He’d be leaving you and you knew with his talent and ambition he’d be a star. He’d grow bigger, possibly forget where he came from, though he was a humble man, and that broke your heart; still you plastered a smile on your face and supported him the whole time.

They’d been working super hard and tomorrow starts their traveling for tour. Tonight, you surprised them with a house party, complete with good food, games and alcohol; and a little bit of drunken karaoke.

The night goes well, everyone’s having fun, and while you know Han likes to talk to people he knows, you had hoped you’d spend his last night home for a while together, and yet he’s on the other side of the room with some blonde girl who you invited because it was a mutual friend of the boys.

“Is the alcohol that bad?” Chan asks as he pours himself another drink in front of you, catching your staring.

“Huh,”

“That sour look on your face.” He quirks a brow before following your gaze and he can’t keep the smirk off his lips. Chan nods his head understandably.

“He’s just talking to her.” he says casually before taping a sip and staring at you over the rim.

“I know,” you shrug as you turn your gaze away.

“Then why do you look upset?”

“I just thought we’d spend a little more time together tonight, I mean I know it’s a party but he said hi and bye basically.” You look into your now empty cup; a pout fixed onto your face.

Chan puts his arm around you brotherly and kisses the top of your head.

“If it bothers you talk to him about it.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug him off and leave the room, frustrated with Han. You weave through the crowd of people bumping into Han’s back on the way catching his attention. He see’s you run off to the opposite end of the house.

He bids a polite goodbye to his friend and follows you. When he comes to the secluded part of the house, he see’s the stairs to the attic have been taken down and drawn back up, noting the soft lighting he sees in the crack between the stairs and ceiling. He sighs and jumps catching the little string, pulling the stairs down. He walks up them, drawing them up when he gets up there, turning the lock so no one can disturb you. He turns on his heel noticing you staring out the window.

You hear him, but you don’t acknowledge him.

“Hey,” he says in your ear, arms going around your waist.

“Get off me,” you pout and wiggle out of his grip.

“Woah, what did I do?” his face is scrunched up.

“Go back to Vanessa or Clarissa or whatever her name is.” You say as you sit down on the bed, not looking at him.

“Y/n/n, what are you talking about?” you hear the slight amusement in his voice and it causes your blood to boil.

“You’d rather spend your last night home with her, so go. Get out!” You push him lightly once and you go to do it again but he catches your hands.

“Is this really about Claire? Or is this about the fact that I’m leaving tomorrow?” he asks; a knowing in his voice. You pull out his hands and turn away from him, eyes brimming with tears.

“I just figured since you are leaving tomorrow, we’d spend more time together, but all night you’ve been stuck up her ass.” You say, voice quivering a bit.

“Because I knew I’d have all night with you.” He says, arms once again coming around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“I stay the night every time,” he whispers in your ear. You turn around in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck, biting back tears.

“I just hate when you leave, I miss you so much and I,” you sigh and he holds you.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. Just go back down to the party, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Nah, I wanna stay here,” he says as he tucks his face into your shoulder. You smile as you hold each other for a minute.

You let him go, signaling the same to him and he releases you.

“Do you remember when we were kids,” he snickers and walks past you, “we took a bunch of water balloons and rained them down on your dad and brother from up here!”

“Ah, you did that and got me in trouble for a month!”

“Worth it,” he smirks with a cocky grin.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Only thing that sucked was I couldn’t see you.” He says.

“Or the time when we hid up here from my brother when he thought you stole his skin mags?” you giggle remembering the memory.

“We almost didn’t make it!”

“I swear I didn’t take them!” he defends.

“Yeah, mom felt so bad. She finally admitted she found them and threw them out!” you both fall into fits of laughter.

“You tripped getting up the stairs and he almost got your collar before I hit him with a freaking nerf gun bullet straight to the eye,” you cackle out and the two of you fall onto the bed laughing. Staring at the ceiling as the two of you catch your breath, you two share a look and the laughter starts all over again.

After another moment the laughter comes to halt. Han blindly reaches for your hand, interlocking your fingers. Your heart races a little faster at the contact. You turn your head and Han’s eyes are already on you. You smile, an easy silence falling over you.

Suddenly, Han sits up on his side, his hand that was interlocked with yours now supports his head and his hair flops as he gets himself situated. He looks down at you and you look back at him, the moment feeling slightly charged.

“I hate leaving you,” he admits quietly.

“Yeah, but you love it too,” you try to joke, trying to lighten the palpable tension.

“I hate being away from you for so long,” his eyes quickly flit to your lips before they go back up to your eyes.

“I hate it when you leave to, but it’s your job. The job you love and I knew you’d be successful at.” You remind him and he smiles. He leans down, placing his lips on your forehead, letting them linger for a moment longer than necessary. Both of you freeze, unsure of the next move. He pulls his lips from your flesh, looking down at you, hesitantly resting his forehead on yours.

Your breath catches as you look between his brown eyes, noses daring to touch each other.

You open your mouth to say something, but the words are caught in your throat. Han dips his lips down to meet yours, the kiss stunning the both of you for a brief moment before you melt into it, wrapping your arms around his neck as your eyes flutter closed. The kiss is cautious, easy, unhurried.

Han’s hand goes to your cheek, resting there as he turns his head, risking your entire friendship and runs his tongue over you bottom lip. You whimper against him before opening your mouth, tongues now gently exploring each other’s mouths. Your breaths mix as your fingers tangle into the ends of his soft hair.

“Han,” you breathe in between a kiss.

“We shouldn’t,” you breathe again but don’t stop.

“Why?” he asks against your lips as he strokes your cheek with the pad of his thumb; not stopping or even slowing down.

“It’ll change things, we can’t come back from this,” you say against his lips.

“Thank God,” he sighs as his lips move against yours harder, still slow, and romantic, but also a little more desperate. Han rolls over, supporting himself with one arm.

His lips move to your neck, allowing your lips to feel the kiss swollen effect.

“Hannie,” you whimper as he sinks his teeth into the skin of your neck, hand gently tugging at the roots of his hair. He whimpers against your neck, licking over the spot and sucking on it, leaving a purple mark.

He moans at sight of the bruise appearing.

“So pretty,” he rambles before kissing down to your neckline on your top. He picks his head up, looking at you, silently asking permission. He sits up, allowing you to sit up and he helps you pull the shirt over your head, revealing your bra.

He lets out a guttural moan at the sight. And attaches his lips down to your collar bone. He plants kisses atop your chest, reaching his hands behind you and unclasping your bra. You slowly let it fall down, Han discarding it to the side and his brows go up when he looks at you. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, quickly holding your hands up to cover yourself.

“No, no, no, baby. Don’t hide from me,” he whispers just before kissing you again.

“You’re beautiful,” he says against your lips before he pulls back and removes his shirt. Your hands reach up and feel his stomach and he flexes under your touch. Your fingers shake slightly, the adrenaline taking over. Han notices and guides you back against the mattress.

“If you want me to stop, tell me,” he says searching your eyes. You shake your head no, giving him clearance to flick his tongue over you hardened nub. You gasp, his tongue warm against the cooled flesh of your breast. Han watches you through his lashes, studying your face to see what feels good. He sucks it into his mouth, teeth gently nipping at the sensitive nerves, sending waves of pleasure to your core, soft moans and whimpers falling from your lips as your back arches into him.

He turns his attention to the other one, giving it the same treatment, tongue moving against the middle of it, putting slight pressure against it and you gasp, eyes closing tightly as he works his tongue with a satisfied grin on his face, loving the way your noises sound.

“Han,” you moan as your nails dig into his forearms.

“Fuck,” he breathes as he kisses your lips once more.

“Say it again,” he begs, “Say my name again.” You moan his name one more time and he smiles like an idiot.

“My girl,” he murmurs gazing into your eyes before kissing down your sternum. He gets down to the hem of your pants, kissing at your waist line, nipping at the skin across your tummy playfully.

“Stop teasing,” you whine as your hips shift beneath him. He smirks and places a kiss below your navel before your hips are lifting for him to pull off your pants and panties. He groans at the sight of you and an idea strikes him. He climbs back up to you, lips brushing your ear.

“Touch yourself for me,” he whispers and heat floods your cheeks.

“Wh-what?”

“Take your hand, and show me what you like, I wanna see if it’s better than I’ve imagined,” he smirks. You look at him. Slowly your fingers go to your mouth, tongue visible as you coat your fingers and they travel down to your damp cunt, eye contact never breaking with him, and you start to rub slow circles on your clit. Han’s eyes drift over your body, making there way to your hand, watching it like he’s in a trance. He hears your gasps, and watches as your eyes flutter closed, body arching slightly as a small moan escapes you.

“Insert a finger for me, baby.” He whispers as his eyes never leave you. You moan as you shift, trying to angle your body to get deeper into your hole, slowly curling up and making the come hither motion.

“Ah,” you gasp as you hit your sweet spot, more noises trailing out of you as you repeat the motion, slowly increasing the pace.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he encourages.

“Mmngh, not enough,” you whimper with pleading eyes as he watching your hips shift and chase your hand.

Han doesn’t respond, only moves his body between your legs, spreading them wide and watching as your finger exists your tight cunt, and before you can move it away Han licks your finger clean, groaning at the taste, eyes closing as his tongue twirls around your finger. He lets it go with a ‘pop’ and shoves his face into your core.

“Fuck you smell divine,” he moans. His tongue automatically attaches to your clit, licking and watching you, seeing your face twist in pleasure as your legs bend up and thighs squeeze his head. His hands go around your thighs holding you in place as he works, drunk on the way you taste already.

“Han,” you whimper as you gasp when his tongue swipes from side to side, pressing into the most sensitive part of your clit.

“Oh, wow, keep going, please, don’t stop.” You beg, breathless, heart rate erratic as you feel the tightening in your stomach.

“Ah-ha,” you cry out back arching off the mattress as he adds a finger, pumping it in and out of you, tongue still circling your clit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you say and Han works faster.

“That’s it, that’s my girl, come on, cum on my tongue,” he encourages as your body goes rigid, head digging into the mattress. You gasp once your muscles relax, the white-hot feeling of your orgasm ripping through you. Hans fingers replace his tongue, causing you to squirm under him.

“You can take it, baby,” he says as he quickly works his fingers, and your hips violently jerk, sharp painful pleasure mixing as you cry, tears in your eyes from the feeling. One falls and Han kisses it away, licking the salty liquid from his lips.

“You’re taking it so well, I’m so proud of you,” he says in your ear and your hands grasp onto his biceps, your next orgasm quickly approaching.

“Please don’t stop,” you whisper as your legs start to lock. He moves even faster, if that’s possible, applying more pressure, watching as your body shakes beneath him, legs trapping his hand, mesmerized by the way you look falling apart because of him.

“Fuck!” you cry out as you gasp. For a moment, breathing doesn’t exist, only the intense feeling of your body letting go.

Han places his forehead on yours, your breath fanning his face.

“God that was amazing,” he whispers.

He lets you take a moment to come back, kissing your lips gently to help ground you from the intense feeling.

You push him down onto his back, climbing onto his waist as you stare down at him. His face is surprised but he welcomes your actions no less. You lean down, fervently connecting your lips and he moans against you.

You kiss down his body, teeth grazing his skin the way his did yours, leaving a purple mark on his hip bone. You slide his pants off, his cock springing free, larger than you had expected, the tip angry and wet from the precum. You lick you lips subconsciously, finally realizing you’re about to know how he tastes. You look to him for any signs of hesitancy and find none, he only sits up as to get a better angle to watch you.

You move your hair to the side before licking a stripe up the underneath side of his cock, and he watches as it disappears into your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat as your nose touches his pelvis. He whimpers pathetically as he gathers your hair into a make shift pony tails for you.

“Fuck, baby,” he whines as he feels your tongue swirl around the head. He gasps as he feels you tease his slit, looking up at him through your lashes before you sink back down.

“God you’re so good at that,” he groans as he tries to keep himself from pushing you down on his own, letting you control the pace.

You can sense that he’s holding back and pick up the pace a little, a little bit of drool, spilling from your mouth as suck on his cock.

“Such a messy girl,” he chuckles and you work faster, feeling your walls clench, desperate to be filled.

“Oh fuck, keep going,” he says as his eyes flutter closed. You hollow your cheeks, working quickly, the soft sounds filling the room.

“Aish, I’m gonna cum,” he whimpers face scrunched as you play with his balls, tipping him over the edge and his cum shoots down your throat; thick white ropes of saltiness coat your tongue. You swallow it, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you look at him.

Han pulls you over to him, forcing you back onto your back.

“I love you,” he whispers. You smile at him, cupping his face with your hand.

“I love you more, Hanji,” you share a sweet kiss before he lines himself up and inches himself forward, both of you groaning at the feeling. You can feel everything, every little piece of him as he pushes in until he bottoms out.

“Fuck you’re so warm, so tight,” he groans. He laces your hands together, foreheads resting against each other, and his hips begin to rock slowly, letting you feel every little drag of his cock against your walls, the feeling surreal.

He thrusts inside again, hitting your sweet spot and he watches the way your body reacts to him, already fluttering around him.

“Keep that up and I won’t last,” he warns with a breathy laugh. He looks down noting the way you fit together.

Body to body.

Soul to soul.

He rocks himself into you a little harder now, hitting that same spongey spot repeatedly, causing you to grasp onto him, desperate to ground yourself.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathe out as he picks up the pace. Not too slow, but not too fast; not too hard but not too soft, just the right way you like it.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, “My beautiful girl, so good, so sweet, so perfect,” he groans, forehead falling to your shoulder.

“Han,” you whimper, walls squeezing him harder and he feel that your close.

“Cum for me,” he says and that’s all it takes, your nails scratch down his bare back and he groans at the sweet sting, as your walls suck him in, desperate to milk him. Your body trembles as the aftershocks hit and it’s not long into those that Han is whimpering in your ear, hips faltering before he stills and spills his load into you.

You both catch your breath, looking into each other’s eyes, realizing everything is different now.

“Was that ok?” you ask, insecurity daring to creep in.

“It was everything I ever dreamed of and more,” he smiles as he leans down to kiss your lips sweetly. You smile against his lips and can’t help the small giggle that leaves you.

“What’s funny?” he asks, genuine concern.

“We just had sex, Han.” You can’t help the nervous laughter.

“Why’s that funny?” he asks cautiously.

“Because, it’s us.” You cup his face, “I mean, it’s not funny, I’m just, I’m just happy? Besides what does it mean for us?”

“It means I come home to you now and get to kiss you, and love you and shower you with all my love, attention and affection. It means I’m yours and you’re mine. It means I’m your safe space.” He says seriously and your heart swells.

“You already were,” you admit sheepishly. Han can only smile in response before he kisses your nose, slowly pulling out of you. You both groan at the sensitivity. He gets up and you hear the shower running.

“Can you walk?” he asks from the door way and you get up, only to feel him drip down your leg. You shiver for a moment, the feeling not something you’re totally used to, but you walk into the bathroom and join him for a shower.

Han washes you off, cleaning you up from head to toe, rubbing the loofa across your body caressing you with soft, careful hands.

“Are you ok?” you he asks as you rinse off.

“Yeah, are you?”

“Never better,” he grins as the two of you trade places and you reciprocate his actions. You wash over his chest and stomach, down his legs and his back, cleaning him intentionally and carefully. The moment is soft between you, real care and intimacy.

“I’m going to find a way to bring you out to some shows, ok? There’s no way we’re staying apart for two whole months,” he says he washes off. A slight churn in your stomach happens when he talks about leaving, so much had happened tonight you almost forgot about it.

He notices you go quiet and cups your face, turning it to look at him.

“But let’s not focus on that right now, let’s just focus on us right here, right now. Ok?” he asks and you nod throwing your arms around his broad shoulders.

After you shower you get dressed in comfy pjs and lay down in bed together. It all hits you at once.

Han is no longer just a friend.

Your relationship is no longer casual.

Your time together could now be spent holding one another and kissing and touching.

It’s all overwhelming, exciting and scary at once.

And yet tonight, the only thing that matters is that you’re his and he’s yours.

Tags:@breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005 @velvetmoonlght

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darnell-la · 10 months ago

Note

Can you guys please do another fic about Logan and the bartender I’m so hooked on your page🫶🏾

pairing: sub soon dom!logan howlett x bartender!reader

warnings: heavy drinking, attachment issues, heavily drink, lots of begging, oral (fem receiving), face riding while standing up, orgasm, overstimulation, dominance, submission, scratching, choking, rough fuck, cream pie, baby trapping, etc.

note: Logan feels like he needs to be more of a man. he’ll get to that after he submits to his pretty girl.

———

Logan and y/n have been in a talking stage for a month now. The man would come to her work every day, bringing lunch and sitting in the building until she clocked out, and then they’d make their way over to the bar across the street.

Getting y/n drunk was something Logan loved seeing. She was so wild, loose, and beautiful. She got along well with Wade, and of course with Vanessa.

Logan thought that maybe he’d pick up his dominance by getting her so wasted, that he could do whatever he wanted to her, letting her know he was the one in charge, and not her.

Even though he loved the way she ducked him dry that night, he felt like he had to be more of a man. He grew up in different generations where being a man was something that he needed to be.

Every single time Wade brought y/n back him, he failed. She was so damn convincing when she begged to ride him or suck him until he saw stars.

At first, he thought he won the dominance title because she’d be the one on her knees submitting to him, but by the end of the night, he was the own squirming around and begging for more or for her to take it easy on him — “please,”.

Tonight’s another night where Logan took the girl home. She’s drunk, but not as drunk as he wanted her to be. Instead, he was the one who drank too much.

“Why won’t you let me move in?” Logan whined as he leaned back on her apartment door, closing it behind him. Y/n giggled as she bent over to take her shoes off, then his.

“You’re the one that said you didn’t want to move in too early. Said you wanted to make more money and move us out somewhere away from people,” y/n reminded the man, but he wasn’t fully thinking right either way.

“Well, that’s stupid! I-I can take the TVA money and escape from this place. With you,” the man said as y/n helped him to her room, which is basically his room as well since he’s stayed over almost every night since they met.

“I told you not to use your hero money on me, babe. They gave that to you to save and spend for yourself,” Y/n reminded him about that as well.

“B-But, I am doing this for me. Wanting you around me all day is way better without seeing you work behind the counter while I’m just fucking- fucking declining Amazon orders like some robot!”

Y/n had gotten Logan a job. An online job since he whined about wanting to be around he more. All the man had to do was decline the few hundred orders that came through every week, but that was too much for him.

The man talked to her about moving out to the country where he could chop wood for a living, and she could watch him do so while drinking coffee or tea.

Y/n felt off about that idea because Logan was a superhero. An old one at that, and he didn’t need to be working, right? Sometimes she doesn’t consider his strength, but at the end of the day, she feels like she should be the one working.

“Baby, let’s just take this slow, okay? You haven’t even gotten your second paycheck — They pay you monthly and you got a good check a few days ago, right?” Y/n asked the man as he finally sat down on her bed where she put him.

“Yes,” he pouted, not wanting to argue about that money he received. He spent a lot of it on y/n already. Buying her new clothes, shoes, cooking objects, and more. He loved her cooking.

“Alright then,” y/n smiled at the man with a shake of her head. He always worried, but he didn’t have to. Y/n felt good where she was at, but Logan had been planning with Wade already.

Wade didn’t see a such thing in a talking stage between them in the first place, so when Logan came to him, planning to move forty-five minutes out to a nice new cabin and getting that wood-cutting job, Wade was all the way in.

“Using all that money to impress a girl you just met — Sounds like a damn good plan, peanuts,” was all Wade could say. He loved this for Logan, and if he had to bully and make y/n feel bad for not accepting it, he would.

“Let’s get you undressed, baby. We’ll shower tomorrow since I have to change the sheets anyway,” y/n spoke in her soft and sweet voice as she undressed the huge man.

He was a big baby, and he’d always think about that. Even now, he couldn’t help it. He loved being taken care of like this. Having a job and providing a cabin is something he had to do eventually, but letting y/n baby him, was something he could deal with.

“Are you gonna undress too?” The man asked, eyes barely being able to stay open a focused on hers. His hands reached up and tugged on the girl's shirt, wanting to help her just like she helped him.

“Yes, I am,” y/n silently laughed at the man and helped him get her undressed. “So pretty, y/n,” Logan said as soon as y/n’s bra came off. The man grabbed her breasts softly, moving them around as she took her shorts and panties off.

“Logan, not tonight. I’ve gotta work,” y/n spoke as his hands traveled the girl's body and his lips attached to a nipple. “Logan,” y/n rolled her eyes but soon gasped at the instant pleasurable feeling.

“Please, just a little,” the man looked up at her, sucking on her toy with need. “Logan, I’m so tired, and you’re too drunk,” Y/n spoke to him like he didn’t understand, but he did. His reaction was just a bit slow.

“Please, y/n — Please,” the man begged with a low growl, fingers digging into her waist. Y/n stood there for a while, looking down at the man who continued sucking, and leaving love marks.

“Fine, but only for a little,” y/n said, thinking of what he could do for her to make her stay up longer than she wished. “Get on your knees, baby,” y/n said as she stepped back.

Logan looked at the woman, confused and a bit sad his mouth wasn’t on her skin anymore. “C‘mon, we ain’t got all night,” y/n said. Logan did as told and got on his knees without thinking.

“S-Sorry,” he said, cussing himself out that he didn’t listen the first time. His girl asked him something, and he just looked at her like a deer in headlights. So fuckin’ stupid.

“Want you to make me cum,” y/n said after she spread her legs right in front of his face. The man looked up at the young lady, eyes traveling from her eyes all the way down to her cunt.

The man slightly whined as he leaned in, not taking another second to dive into her cunt. He instantly began slurping, taking in the wetness she had been hiding tonight.

“Ah- That’s it,” Y/n said, tangling her hands in his hair and then pulling him closer, now rubbing his mouth in the right places. “Mhm hm?” Logan asked muffled, wanting to make sure he was doing good for her.

“Oh, yes, baby — Always eat me so well,” y/n looked down at the older man, locking eyes with him as he kept sucking in the right spot.

You would think y/n would be the one rolling her eyes, but the one doing the rolling was Logan. After making eye contact with the pretty lady, he couldn’t help himself.

His mind was foggy, and he felt like he was drunk. Almost like he was pussy drunk, but there’s no way, right? Fuck it — There definitely was a way. He’s always this drunk for her. He needs her.

“So hot under me — Might take a picture and keep it in my wallet,” y/n said, making the man groan into her heat. Y/n’s knees bucked, instantly making her feel her cunt pulse.

“S-So close, baby — So close,” y/n gave a heads up, only making the man groan more into her cunt. He was going to cum himself. He knew he’d feel embarrassed about it right after, but right now, he needed it.

“S-Shit,” y/n’s legs almost gave out, but luckily Logan wrapped his arms around her, keeping her up and pinned onto his face. “Fuck, Logan, fuck!” the girl tugged on his hair before right as she released on his face.

The man slightly pulled away, making sure her juice would leak right out of her and into his mouth as much as it could.

Y/n’s clit throbbed hard, feeling amazing like any other night as Logan’s vision blurred, cock twitched, and in seconds, he came.

The older man buried his face into the girl's heat, muffling his own moans as he shook from the hard orgasm he didn’t know he could experience.

Y/n cried out, trying to pull the man off, but he was too lost in his own high. “L-Logan!” Y/n cried out with a crack as an aftershock hit her. Her cunt throbbed harder than usual, making her eyes cross in a way that she’s never done before.

The loud moan she let out only made Logan feel the need to do more, so he did.

The man pulled away from the girl and threw her on the bed after he stood to his feet. “L-Logan, fuck,” Y/n said, trying to catch her breath, but it didn’t take long for the man to hover over her.

“Need to fill you,” the man said, now crawling in between her legs. “No, Logan — I-I can’t anymore,” the young lady shook her head as she leaned her head back, trying to rest.

“Well, I can,” the man said before plunging into her, giving her no warning. Y/n’s loud moan filled the room as he groaned in her neck, thrusting his hips at an ungodly paste. He needed to fill her.

“L-Lo!” Y/n cried, overstimulated, but the man couldn’t think straight. He felt so fucking good, and he knew she did too.

Logan’s breathing sounded deep. Deep and animalistic as his hands grabbed the young lady's thighs on the side, scratching upwards until he heard a pleasure cry escape her mouth.

“So fucking good, baby. Need this every fucking day. No breaks!” The man said, one hand now digging into her waist as the other gripped her neck. He finally had her where he wanted.

“So fuckin’ dumb to let yourself be like this. All drunk and overstimulated. It’s my turn to dominate, baby. Mine!” Logan gripped the girl's neck, watching her jaw slack and eyes roll back.

“Gonna buy that fucking land and take that damn job. You’re gonna sit your pretty ass at him or in my truck and watch me. No more working. No more being away from me. You’re fuckin’ mine,”

Y/n wanted to say yes to everything he mentioned, feeling like she had no choice, and she didn’t. He wanted this, so she had to give it to him. She had to and needed to.

“That’s it, baby — Cum,” Logan’s voice echoed through the girl's head as her walls clenched onto him. “Fuckin’ cum,” the man spat, looking down at her as his hips snapped forward. She swears he’s about to break her.

“C-Can’t anymore,” the young girl cried, but who cared? Not him. What he said, goes. This side of being drunk felt good. The horniness after being on his knees for her, was a boost before his cock begged to feel her walls. He needed the second climax to be in her.

“L-Logan — You don’t have a condom-“ y/n tried saying, but her orgasm stopped her. The young girl cried and whined loudly, her voice sounding crackly as she came all over his cock.

Y/n was the one who suggested a condom. She didn't want the man to regret anything. Logan told her for months that he regretted nothing and never will. Night, he'll prove that to her.

“Gonna fill you up, baby — Make you unemployed,” the man threatened, but it didn’t sound too much like a threat to y/n. She wanted it, rather she was drunk on his cock or completely sober through the day.

“Fuck, yes!” The man growled through his teeth, feeling himself get closer with every thrust. “Tell me to cum in you, baby — Tell me!” The mutant man demanded the warn-out human.

“C-Cum,” y/n tried saying as her head moved side to side slowly, trying to gain her vision back, but everything was spinning. “More — More!” He demanded again. “C-Cum in m-me,” she finally got out.

Logan groaned loudly, cock pushing deep inside of the woman as his grip on her waist and neck tightened. She swore she could feel him actually filling her up until she couldn’t take anymore.

“Fuck!” He shouted, slowly pulling out and looking down. His cock was coated with so much of him and her, and she leaked so much of her and him. This was perfect. She was perfect, and now she was staying with him forever.

529 notes · View notes

darknight3904 · 9 months ago

Text

𝘐𝘴 𝘐𝘵 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘠𝘦𝘵?

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘺.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘭 & 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦 (2024).

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦.

𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2.4 𝘬

𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Logan dislikes December. He always has. From the over priced gifts to the over played music, who could forget the biting cold. He hated it all. One of the things he hated most had to be some of the desserts people tried to pass off as edible.

"Get that out of my face." He growls as you try to feed him a forkful of something Al made

"One taste, Logan." You groan

"Don't like fruitcake. Makes me sick." He grumbles, "You eat it."

"But what if she screwed it up. Like those cookies she made that she used salt instead of sugar in?" You pout

"So I'm your guinea pig?" He asks with a sigh

"No! You're my loving boyfriend who will try Al's cooking for me."

"Nice try, bub." Logan takes the fork from your hands and set it back down on the plate, "I'm not dying of food poisoning."

You scoff, like food poisoning would be the thing to take him out.

"Hey, do we have any more lights? I think this strand is broken." Laura asks as she digs through boxes of decorations

"Uhh...I think we had a few more strands somewhere." You say, leaving Logan's side to help the girl with her decoration.

For whatever reason, you and Laura had insisted on not only buying an enormous tree but also that the entire apartment needed to look like an elf threw up in it. Odd little decorations had accumulated in every spare surface of the house. Even Logan's favorite coffee mug had been replaced by a Santa-shaped one that Wade had found at some store. He was pretty sure he was living in a nightmare.

"Do you think he's still scowling over the fruitcake?" You ask

"Probably. I bet his face is doing that dumb thing where it-"

"You two know I can hear you, right?" Logan asked, entering the living room and plopping down on the couch

"If you're not going to eat, can't you help?" You ask

"Help with what?" He sighs

You toss a big ball of tangled-up lights for the tree into his lap. Yes, this really was a nightmare he was stuck in.

Another issue Logan had was gift-giving. Not because he didn't think people deserved gifts, but he never knew what to buy. He'd been alive for nearly 200 Christmases and he still struggled with gift-giving. How's that for bad luck?

He already had something for nearly everyone in his life. Al was getting a container of that hair stuff she liked, Wade and Vanessa were getting matching Hello Kitty sweatshirts, hell he even found a toy for Mary sitting in a discount bin at the grocery store. Now, the two biggest struggles in his life, You and Laura.

Laura had asked for new games for her Switch but Logan had a suspicion you bought them already. So, here he was standing in a Macy's in the Young Women's section, hoping something would catch his eye for the teen in his life. Most of the clothes were either ugly or not her style.

Holy shit, there was no way that qualified as a top. Logan wouldn't let Laura two steps out the door in something like that. That had to be an undershirt or something...right?

An ugly sweater catches his eye. Perhaps he could get her a gag gift. There was a sweater with an overweight cow drinking beer. That seemed decent.

"Excuse me, son. I need to get by."

Logan glances down to see a little old lady pushing a shopping cart. He steps to the side and easily lets her slide past.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" He blurts out to her

"Of course!" She smiled

"I got this teen girl at home. I need gift ideas." He sighs, "She's not the girliest and I can't figure it out."

The woman stands there for a second and thinks it over. A small snap of her wrinkled fingers cut through the air.

"How about shoes? Girly girl or not, every young girl likes a new pair of shoes every once in a while."

Logan thought about it, what shoes did Laura even wear? Usually, she was in that black pair of boots. Surely this huge store had something like that.

"Sounds perfect." He nods, "Do you have any ideas for my girl?"

"Oh well, what does she like?" The woman asks

What do you like? He swears he knows yet his brain is empty right now. You like him, that's for sure, "She likes me. I think"

"You're a bit empty-headed, aren't you?" The woman chuckles

Logan slowly nodded in agreement, normally an insult like that would have him simmering but he couldn't fight this old woman. She looked like she was 90.

"Well, when I was young, I always liked receiving a nice pair of pajamas. Or, a candle that smells like cookies. Honestly, I still like getting those things. One of my favorite things though to get was a day of peace and quiet. I used to tell my husband Howard to clean the house and take the kids out in the snow so I could take a long bath and read a book."

Logan thanks the woman, who he learns her name is Darlene, and goes off to find a pair of boots for Laura. He guesses on the size and shoves the gift receipt in the box just in case. He feels a bit unsuccessful as he walks back to the apartment he shares with Laura and you. He had one day left. Christmas Eve was tomorrow and you had wanted to bake cookies and watch movies all day.

He stashed the gifts under the bed, making a mental note to wrap them tonight after you passed out in bed. He tossed the idea around his brain of just giving himself as a gift to you, he'd like that if you did that for him. Honestly, it was the perfect gift for him. Of course, it seemed lamer coming from him now since he had done that for your birthday. Sure, the sex had been great but he wanted to give you something better.

Darlene had suggested pajamas but all you ever wore were his t-shirts to bed, that or nothing. You already had a huge collection of candles, and Laura really wasn't that chaotic so he didn't see any need to keep her away from you.

Fuck, what was he going to do?

The loud slam of the front door has him groaning. You were back from work, and he was still empty-handed in the gift department.

"How was work?" Laura asks

"Good. I gave Matt his gift early since he is driving to his parent's house for the next few days. Oh! I also saw the cutest kitten in that Petshop's window. An itty bitty orange one, looked like he was a few weeks old." You sigh dreamily

Logan officially had an idea. Perhaps it was a bad one, cats never did like him. Oh, fuck it, it beats not having a gift.

The next day, he sets out early. Laura is still snoring in her bed and you've gone off to help Vanessa with something. It's the perfect time to sneak a cat into the apartment.

The pet store is just opening as he arrives. The single employee looks like he'd rather be anywhere else as he welcomes Logan to the store with a monotone voice. So much for the Christmas spirit.

"Hey, there was an orange kitten here. Where is it?" Logan asked looking around an empty cage that was labeled Cats

"What?" The guy asked, not listening

"The orange kitten." Logan huffs, "I want to buy him."

"Oh, he was sold last night. Some lady came in, said her kids wanted a cat for Christmas." The guy says

"What?" Logan asks

"He's gone, man." The guy snorts

"Well, when do you get more?" Logan asks he can feel his blood pressure rising but he took a deep breath.

"More what?" The guy asks dumbly

"Cats! When do you get more fucking cats?!" Logan angrily slams his hand on the counter, "I need one for my girl. Any color I don't give a shit!"

"Oh, not for a while. Probably after the new year. The holiday season, those kittens go fast." The guy shrugs, "The shelters don't really give us too many at a time anyway."

Logan wipes a hand over his face with a groan, "You're really unfuckinghelpful."

Back outside, Logan's legs carry him to the bar he always went to when he was stressed. Two glasses of whiskey deep he's still giftless. It was starting to look like he was going to be the gift. Maybe he could borrow that giant bow Wade had, wrap it around his waist, and surprise you. He was so fucking lame.

Logan stumbles back out onto the sidewalk. Thoroughly drunk, he thinks about hiding in Wade and Al's apartment until this Christmas is over. Seriously, is it New Year's yet? He was losing his damn mind over this entire month.

Down a back alleyway, he pukes into a dumpster. He might've overdone it this time. How long was he even at the bar? You were so going to chew into him about this. A loud crash behind him had him jumping. He spins around, ready for some fight. Instead, little pawprints in the snow catch his eye. They lead to the smallest drain pipe Logan's ever seen. He kneels down, feeling the snow soak into his pants as he peers into the pipe. A little black and white kitten with yellow eyes stares back at him.

Maybe he wasn't entirely fucked this Christmas after all.

"Hey, bub." He greets the kitten, "Wanna c'mon out?"

He sticks a finger into the drain pipe and recoils when the kitten slices it open with a claw.

"Motherfucker!" He curses at the sudden, unexpected pain. The cat hisses from inside the pipe and Logan groans.

He sticks his face closer to the pipe and the kitten backs up a few small steps.

"Listen here, you little shit stain. You're going to save my ass tomorrow morning, so get out here. Or so help me I'll- "

The animal mockingly meows in his face.

A can of tuna from the corner store, and multiple scratches later, Logan is victorious. The black and white kitten has been secured. Logan has it tightly bundled up in his jacket, in an effort to not only keep it warm but also keep it from scratching his eyes out.

When he reaches the apartment, he pushes the door open and calls your name. Lucky for him, you're still out with Vanessa. He enters the bathroom and shuts it behind him.

"Bath time you little monster. I can't have you stinking tomorrow up."

The kitten, despite it's size is elusively strong. It wiggles out of Logan's grasp multiple times and somehow manages to have his entire shirt soaked from the water that he's filled the sink with.

"It's warm water. Just gotta rinse the soap off." He reasons with the animal as it scratches at the door.

"Is someone in here?" Laura's voice calls

"Yeah, It's me. Bathroom!" He yells back

The bathroom door swings open just as he snatches the kitten back up and Laura stares at him in bewilderment.

"What are you doing? Is that a cat?"

"No, he's the devil. Help me rinse it." Logan huffs

To his dismay, Laura is able to get the cat to stay relatively still under the running water as she rinses the soap off.

"Where did you find a kitten? That local pet store is sold out." She says

"You know that bar a few blocks away?" He asks

"The one you go to when you stress drink?" Laura asks, her eyes narrowing in suspicion

Logan shoots her a look but nods, " I found him in a drain pipe nearby."

Laura coos down at the little animal as she wraps a big towel around it.

"What's its name?" She asks as she dries it off

"I dunno. Frank?" He shrugs sitting down on the edge of the tub

"Not everything can be named Frank," Laura judges him

"Alright, fine." He huffs, and a wreath that you hung on the bathroom door catches his eye. Jingle bells that gleam in the light are decorated with holly and berries adorn the wreath.

"Jingle. Or maybe Bell." He says staring at the wet kitten who seems hypnotized by Laura.

"Sounds good to me." She smiles at the kitten who meows back, "Hello, Jingle."

Logan sighs in relief and stands up, "Hide Jingle in your room."

"Where are you going?" Laura asks as he exits the bathroom

"Jingle needs a place to shit. We need cat stuff."

The next day, Logan is woken up by you gently kissing his neck.

"Morning." He mumbles

"Good morning." You smile, "It's Christmas."

He nods with a small grin.

"C'mon time to get up." You huff and stand up to pull at his arm

"What are you five?" He groans as you fail to move him

"Yes. Now get up."

Presents opened and a million pictures taken, Logan feels even more tired than when he went to bed last night.

To his glee, Laura loves the boots, and he's even managed to get the right size. Darlene as it turns out is full of good ideas.

"Last one." He says to you, "Put your hands out and close your eyes."

You give him a look like he's about to prank you.

"Wade put a cicada in your hands one time and now you distrust everyone?" He asks

"Yes. That was the scariest moment of my life." You affirm

"Just shut your eyes." Logan huffs

He has somehow gotten Jingle to stay in a little basket he found in the closet and he gingerly places it into your hands. The kitten shifts and nearly tips the basket over as you open your eyes.

"Logan!" You gasp, looking between him and the black-and-white fuzz ball.

"Like it? That orange one was gone when I got to the store. But I-"

You're jumping off the couch and tossing your arms around his broad shoulders. Jingle still sitting in his basket.

"I love him." You smile, leaning in for a kiss

"Good. You have no idea what I went through to get him for you." He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, aware that Laura is watching and just a sentence away from teasing him.

"What's his name?" You ask as he lets you go, "Or are you a girl?"

Logan hadn't bothered to check as he shrugs and you pick the kitten up, lifting it's little tail up.

"A boy...I think" You say

"We were going with Jingle." He says looking at Laura who nods, "But you can change it."

"I think that's perfect." You smile, petting the animal's head.

Luckily this cat likes you a lot more than it liked him yesterday. Logan's eyes narrow at the way the cat stares at him, what was this animal's deal?

"So how'd you get him?" You ask curiously

"Would you believe me if I said I nicely talked to him and then let him follow me home?"

"No, not in a thousand years."

Logan chuckles as you smile back at him. Alright, maybe the holidays aren't so bad. He still thinks New Years could come quicker though.

Next Extra

I was feeling like I needed Christmas when I wrote this. Fun fact, originally I was going to have Logan tell the reader he loved them with a kitten at Christmas. Scrapped that for the scene in the yard at the school. :)

Also, I've gotten a couple of anons sliding into my inbox asking if I'm doing kinktober or anything like that. I am not unfortunately as I have a busy college schedule that is somehow getting even busier... that being said I do still plan to write just not on a daily basis.

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