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luvsferrariss · 3 days ago

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˚⟡˖ ࣪. ʚ 💌 ɞ who said that I hate you? - OO2

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Synopsis: Where Y/n, in an attempt to escape from Charles, her rival, fails because Charles keeps getting closer, and Y/n starts to like it.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Charles Leclerc x Female Reader! Red Bull Driver

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Warnings: Cute, Charles has improved from his foolishness, nothing too serious in this one, just fluff 🤍

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Author’s Notes: I didn’t really like this story, it feels like I couldn’t develop it very well, but I hope you like it! English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ part one here ! 🤍

You couldn’t deny how Charles’ proximity brought several consequences, like: the media. Everyone was speculating so many things that happened between you two, theories totally out of reality. You tried to avoid him as much as you could or push him away, but he was always there, and that irritated you.

When you thought the wave of bad luck had ended, the universe conspired against you again.

This time it wasn’t your fault. It was finally your chance to make it to the podium, you were in second place, and because of a mistake from your team, you ended up in sixteenth place. After the race, you didn’t want to talk to anyone, and everyone knew it.

Then you hear a knock on the door but completely ignore it.

“I know you’re in there,” Charles says, and you just ignore him again.

After a while, you hear another knock. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Go away, Leclerc,” you say straightforwardly.

After your response, there’s a deadly silence, then you just close your eyes and sigh. But within a few seconds, you get startled when your door opens.

Clearly, Charles hadn’t left, so he decides to check and see how you’re doing, then opens the unlocked door.

“Are you crazy, you idiot?” you say, irritated as he enters, still recovering from the shock. Charles smiles and leans against the doorframe.

“Before anything, I need to know. Are you going to break something? Because if you are, just let me know and I’ll leave,” Charles asks calmly, making your blood boil.

“I’ll break you, idiot!” you say, throwing a pillow at him, which he just catches.

“Look how bold you are,” Charles laughs, and you huff.

“Go to hell.” Your voice is quieter now. “What kind of idiot enters someone’s room uninvited?”

He ignores the provocation and gets closer, throwing himself on the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Stressing yourself out alone won’t help anything, you know?” You squint your eyes at his words.

“Since when do you care about what I do?” He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you, like he’s analyzing every expression.

“Since when did you stop hating me?” Charles says, and in that instant, you freeze.

And Charles notices.

His gaze locks on you for a second that’s too long, and for the first time, there’s something beyond rivalry there.

You look away, feeling your heart race in a way that annoys you deeply.

“Go screw yourself,” you say, still not looking at him, and Charles laughs softly.

“You’ve said that before, Y/n.”

He stands up and walks towards the door. But before leaving, he throws one last provocation:

“Try not to think too much about me, Y/n.”

And then, he leaves, leaving you even more confused and furious than before, not knowing what to respond.

( . . . )

The tension between you two grows to an unbearable point. Everything explodes in a tense practice, where Charles makes an aggressive move, and Y/n nearly hits the wall.

When you both get out of the cars, she goes straight to him in the pit lane, pushing him in the chest.

“What’s your problem?! You could’ve slammed me into the wall!”

Charles grabs her wrists, stopping her from pushing him again.

“You’re shaking. Are you scared, Y/n?” he asks, almost choking on the words.

You pull your arms forcefully, your face burning with anger.

“I will NEVER be afraid of you!”

He leans in slightly, closing the distance between them.

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?”

You pale.

Charles smiles.

You’re so angry that you almost punch him right there. But instead, you just glare at him with hatred and walk away.

But, for the first time, that hatred doesn’t feel so simple.

( . . . )

After that fight, Charles pulls back a bit. He stops provoking her so much, but Y/n misses it. This deeply irritates her.

Until one night, before an important race, she finds him alone in the pits, sitting with his arms crossed, staring at the car.

Without thinking, you approach him.

“So, you think sometimes too. I thought you only talked nonsense.” You say, stopping beside him.

Charles smiles, but doesn’t make a joke.

“Hey, what’s up, idiot? You’re way too quiet.” Her question makes him sigh.

You frown.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be tough,” Charles murmurs.

She frowns.

“You always say that, and in the end, you go speeding like there’s no tomorrow.” You respond, rolling your eyes, stating the obvious.

He lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his face.

“This time it’s weird. I’ve been feeling bad since yesterday, like I have a fever or something.” His words make you worry, but you don’t show it.

“What?”

“If they find out, they won’t let me race. So you’re the only one who knows, and if you tell anyone, you’re done.” He says jokingly, and you cross your arms, skeptical.

“So you’re gonna hide this until you pass out in the car? Great plan.”

Charles gives a slight smile.

“I thought you’d like the idea. If I pass out, you can finally get first place.” You roll your eyes, but inside, you feel a strange tightness in your chest. He was really sick. And still, he was there, ready to race.

You sigh. You didn’t understand why this feeling of worry, especially since, above all, you hated each other, right? Of course, you hated each other, and could never be friends.

“You’re an idiot. But a fast idiot.” Charles turns his face to Y/n, surprised by the concern.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Charles says sincerely, and you just roll your eyes as if you hadn’t said anything, but the truth was that you were really “kind,” and you didn’t understand why.

“Don’t get used to it,” you say bluntly.

But when you leave, you hate admitting that something between you two has changed.

And you didn’t know what it was.

( . . . )

The heat inside the car was suffocating, and Charles felt the sweat trickling down his neck as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. His body felt heavy, the fever draining his strength, but he couldn’t back down.

On the radio, the voice of the team sounded distant.

“Charles, how are the conditions?” The engineer asks, as usual.

He presses the radio button, trying to sound normal.

“Everything’s under control.”

Lie.

Nothing was under control, and Charles knew it, but he couldn’t admit it. The race seemed to last longer than expected, every corner demanding more from him than he was used to. His vision seemed blurry at times, but he was already here, and there was no way to quit.

A few laps later, Y/n had already noticed something was wrong. She saw Henrique in the rearview mirror, struggling more than usual to keep pace. He wasn’t driving with his usual aggression.

“Shit, he’s worse than he seemed yesterday,” you think to yourself, growing concern building up.

You grip the steering wheel, frustrated with yourself. Why were you worrying about him?

On lap 38, a mistake. Small, but enough.

Charles brakes too late in a corner and ends up sliding, losing position to Y/n. You pass him, but, when glancing at the car beside you, you see his hand trembling on the steering wheel.

He won’t make it through the entire race.

Y/n’s engineer’s voice comes through the radio:

“Good job, P2 now. Keep pushing the leader.” Your engineer says happily, but you weren’t on the same level of happiness.

You should be satisfied. But, for the first time, you weren’t.

When the race ends, Charles can barely get out of the car. As soon as his feet hit the ground, his legs give out. The fever, the exhaustion… everything hit him at once. He stumbles a little, trying to hide it, but before he can fall, someone catches him.

You.

You hold his arm firmly, preventing him from collapsing right there.

“I knew you were gonna do this shit,” you say, irritated.

Charles lets out a weak laugh.

“And I knew you’d catch me if I fell.” Charles says, cocky, making you roll your eyes, but you don’t let go of his arm.

The journalists notice the scene and begin to approach with cameras and microphones, sniffing out an interesting moment.

Before anyone can ask anything, Y/n steps forward, blocking Charles from their view.

“No questions right now. He needs rest.” You say firmly, but the journalists don’t leave.

Charles looks at you, surprised by the attitude. He didn’t expect this from you, not really.

You look at him.

“Come on, before I regret helping you.” You say, helping him again, making his body lean against yours.

Charles smiles lightly, liking the idea of being close to you.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You sigh, impatient.

“I swear, if you say that again…” you say, impatient, but a slight blush creeping onto your face. Thankfully, you could say it was because of the race.

Charles laughs, but inside, he feels that something between you two has changed.

( . . . )

The deafening roar of the engines had faded, replaced by the cheers and applause of the crowd. You had won. Your first victory in Formula 1.

It was a dream come true, beyond just proving your ability and strength to everyone. You were radiant like never before, a genuine smile on your face.

You were on the podium, holding the trophy, champagne dripping through your fingers. Max and Lando, beside you, were smiling, but you could barely process anything. The world seemed like a blur of emotions and adrenaline. Your first victory after racing against rumors and trying to prove you were capable. And even more so, you were beside people you could trust and count on forever.

It was so rewarding.

The podium ceremony and trophy presentation, you couldn’t have been happier. Lando and Max, without excitement, sprayed champagne on you, celebrating.

When you were finally ready for interviews, you felt someone pull you by the wrist to a secluded spot.

You had seen this scene before, and your heart sank.

“Lando, please don’t tell me it’s another fake news about me,” you murmur sadly, and when you turn, you see Charles.

He says nothing. He just looks at you with an intensity that makes you forget all the confusion around you.

“You did it.” His voice is quieter than you imagined, but there’s a genuine smile on Charles’ face. You laugh, sighing.

“I did it, didn’t I? This is crazy. Doesn’t even feel real!” you say, like a child who just got a candy. You’re so happy, and it captivates your rival.

Charles hesitates for a second. You notice he wants to say something else, but at the last moment, he just smiles and pulls you into a tight, unexpected hug.

This time, you don’t resist and hug him back.

You both pull away from the hug, and the adrenaline runs through your body. Until you hear someone call your name, you quickly say a “see you later” to Charles and leave him there alone, thinking.

Charles’ heart hurt when he saw your fear that there might be more bad news about you.

It was clear Charles had been a jerk to you since he entered Formula 1, but he really didn’t understand why.

Maybe it was because pretending to hate you was easier than saying he loved you.

But he felt guilty instantly when he saw you broken, crying on Lando’s shoulder, when he saw you more vulnerable than ever.

He hated everyone who made you cry, and from that day on, he made a promise to himself: he didn’t want to be that kind of person.

The team decided to celebrate the win with a dinner. Everyone was there – the engineers, the drivers, even some members of the media. You were sitting next to Lando, listening to some nonsense joke he was telling, but you could feel a gaze on you.

When you looked up, there he was.

Charles, across the table, holding a glass, watching you like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

His eyes didn’t shift, not even when you raised an eyebrow, challenging him to say something.

And then, he smiled.

Small, discreet, but the kind of smile that made something inside you tremble.

You swallow hard and look away.

Damn it.

You turn back to Lando to hide it, but soon laugh at a completely absurd joke, laughing the same way Lando did at his own joke.

Later that night, you were outside the restaurant, enjoying the fresh air. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and the muffled sound of the celebration still echoed from inside.

“Running away from your own party?” You jump, startled, as soon as you hear someone behind you.

But as soon as you recognize the familiar voice, your heart skips a beat. You slowly turn around, and Charles is there, hands in his pockets, that intense look again.

“I just needed a moment.” You reply, looking away from Charles, now staring at the ground.

He nods and steps closer, stopping beside you. The silence between you two feels different now. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not easy to ignore either. When you look up again and look at Charles beside you, your heart skips.

Then, he extends his hand and, without warning, brushes a strand of hair from your face.

Your body stiffens. The touch is brief, but the skin where he touched feels like it’s burning. You see when Charles notices. You see when he finally understands.

And then, he smiles again.

“This might be a problem,” Charles says, looking at you with a smile. You just breathe deeply and nod, now looking away at the view in front of you. You can feel Charles staring at you.

( . . . )

In the next race, everything seemed normal. Or at least, it should have been.

You were talking with Lando and Max in the paddock, laughing at some silly thing Lando had just said. The atmosphere was light and relaxed, until you felt that gaze again.

Charles.

He was just a few meters away, arms crossed, listening to an engineer speak, but clearly not paying attention. His gaze was fixed on you. You did everything to hide the nervousness he caused, but your cheeks flushed slightly, and once again, your heart was faltering. You tried to focus on the conversation between the two drivers in front of you, but you failed miserably.

When your eyes met, something shifted. Your breath stopped in your throat, and time seemed to slow down. The only thing you could hear was your heart racing.

He squinted his eyes, as if irritated, leaving you confused. You raised an eyebrow and turned back to your friends. After a few minutes, you felt someone tap your shoulder.

You turned around and saw the person you really wanted to avoid.

“Y/n, can we talk?” Charles said, sounding irritated. You were confused and choked on your own saliva. Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the interruption. Lando looked at you, puzzled, then looked at Max.

“Now?” You asked, suspicious.

“Now,” Charles said firmly, and you nodded, with no real option.

You said goodbye to the others and followed him to a more secluded spot. Charles took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words, but in the end, he just blurted out:

“What were you doing with them?” He said bluntly, and you blinked, surprised. You opened your mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say.

“Excuse me?” You responded, still in shock.

“What were you doing with them? Max and Lando,” Charles repeated, moving a little closer to make sure he heard you right. You laughed in disbelief.

“Talking? Laughing? Ever heard of that?” You said, obviously crossing your arms.

He didn’t laugh. He remained serious.

“With Max? With Lando?” He asked again, and you tilted your head, still a little lost in all of this.

“Yes. What’s the problem?” You said innocently, and Charles thought it was cute, but then remembered why he was there.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

“The problem is that…” He stopped in the middle of the sentence, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again, now with a determined glint.

“Forget it.” The driver in front of you took a step forward. Now, you were so close that you could smell him, a mix of fuel and expensive cologne. Charles turned around to leave, but you grabbed his wrist, freezing him in place.

“What’s wrong, Charles?” You whispered, your voice softer than you intended.

He hesitated for a moment. But only for a moment.

Then he murmured:

“I don’t like seeing you with them, I don’t know.” Charles shrugged. Your heart raced.

And for the first time, you saw in his eyes what you had only suspected before.

And you stood there for a while, just looking at each other. You sighed, half enjoying the confession, but it made you even more lost.

Then, without warning, Charles stepped closer, and again, you smelled him. You were only a few centimeters apart.

“C-Charles?” You called him.

“Yes?”

“What is this?” You asked, but completely lost in the proximity.

He didn’t answer. He just took a step forward, closing the distance between you. His hand found your face, hesitant at first, but firm enough for you to feel the warmth against your skin.

And then, without waiting any longer, Charles kissed you.

It wasn’t a rushed or uncertain kiss. It was something intense, charged with everything that had been hanging in the air for so long—unspoken teasing, glances that lasted a little too long, words never said but always felt.

You kissed him back without thinking. One of your hands grabbed his shirt, as if you needed something to hold on to. The other found his neck, feeling how he leaned in even more toward you.

The world around you disappeared.

It was just him. Just the two of you.

And when you finally pulled away, your faces still close, your breaths mixing, Charles smiled. That crooked, teasing smile, but now it was different—there was something more there now.

“Now tell me… are you still going to pretend this means nothing?”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you didn’t look away. With a small smile, he gently ran his thumb across your cheek before adding, almost like a whisper:

“Because I can’t, I can’t pretend and deny what I feel for you, Y/n.”

( . . . )

The tension between you two had only grown since that conversation, that kiss. You couldn’t deny your mood had undoubtedly improved.

Now, minutes before the race start, you were on the grid, mentally reviewing the strategy, trying to concentrate. But your mind kept drifting back to Charles.

Then, he appeared. The red suit, the determined eyes, but at the same time… different.

He approached without hesitation.

“Good luck, Y/n,” you loved the way he said your name.

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Do I need it?” You asked, laughing, and Charles smiled.

He shrugged.

“No. But I needed an excuse.”

You furrowed your brow.

“An excuse for what?” You asked innocently again, and Charles smiled.

And then, again, without warning, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth.

Not a full kiss. Just a touch, a test.

But it was enough to take your breath away.

Before you could react, he was already pulling away, putting on his helmet, and heading to his car. He turned to you and winked.

You stood there, frozen.

Lando, who had seen everything, whistled. You looked at him, lost, your face turning as red as a tomato.

“That was interesting,” he said, crossing his arms. You hit his arm.

Lando laughed and raised an eyebrow. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what, Norris?” You said impatiently.

“That you two are… like this,” he pointed to you and then to Charles.

“Like what?”

“Like this!” Lando said, and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, Y/n, you used to hate each other, and now he comes and kisses you in front of everyone, not even embarrassed.”

You couldn’t respond, just shrugged.

Because, in that moment, one thing became absolutely clear.

This was no longer a game.

( . . . )

You won.

Again.

But this time, the only thing you wanted wasn’t to lift the trophy or spray champagne.

It was to find Charles.

And he knew that.

As soon as the ceremony ended, you felt a hand on your wrist. He pulled you into a corner, away from the cameras, the journalists, any distractions.

His eyes were shining, but it wasn’t just from the race.

“How many more times are we going to pretend this isn’t happening?” Your chest tightened because you knew exactly what he meant.

You exhaled, a small smile forming on your lips.

“I think it’s already enough, right? You kissed me in front of everyone, I don’t think we need to pretend anymore.” You said, smiling like a happy little girl.

His smile grew, full of something new—certainty.

“Good.” And this time, when he leaned in, there were no doubts, hesitations, or teasing.

This time, it was real. And you knew there was no turning back, so you continued.

Charles pulled back and kissed your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at you with love.

“I want to hear that from you.” Charles said, holding your hand.

“Hear what?” You said, pretending not to understand, and Charles groaned, throwing his head back.

“If we’re going to be like this, I’ll say it first. Before anything, I want to apologize for being such a jerk. I thought pretending to hate you was easier than telling you how much I like you.” Charles sighed, and you felt like you were floating. Your heart leaped with joy, and the only thing you could do was hug him, so you did.

“It’s okay, Charles. This can stay in the past.” You said, still hugging him. Charles let go of you and held your waist firmly. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“And besides, I think I like you a little too.”

“A little?” He complained, pretending to be offended.

“Yes, just a little.” You said, showing with your fingers how small the amount was. Charles laughed and gave you a quick kiss.

“You’re going to be my downfall, Y/n.” Charles said, and you kissed him.

#charles leclerc x reader #formula one x y/n #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x female oc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #fanfic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris #max verstappen #carlos sainz

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irissfoot · 2 days ago

Note

arthur morgan x fem reader

him drawing you nude… fluffy and smutty please

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆

Soft Lines

╰┈➤ After a few weeks away from each other, Arthur takes his beloved wife to the saloon for a night of drawing and soft love making. ♥

Word count: 890

Warnings: unprotected p in v, kissing, nudity (obvi lol), author has zero sexual experience, not proofread

A/N: This is my first ever fic ive written so please be kind lol, also sorry for the delay ive been rlly busy and everytime I sat down to write it i got scared lol.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆

Soft giggles met the gentle crackle of the fire, the warm glow casting a soft shadow over her curves as she posed on the rich red chaise couch.

Dutch had sent him and Lenny on yet another wild goose chase, a habit growing annoyingly common. Because of these pointless missions, he hadn't had time to catch up with the love of his life. To correct this, Arthur took her out to dinner at the saloon in Saint Denis - promptly followed by booking a room for the night.

And that's how you ended up laying on your side on the couch, as bare as the day you were born. You were reluctant at first, I mean, who wouldn't be? Laying naked as your husband who looks like he was sculpted by the gods, sitting there, drawing you. But with a few kisses and a promise that it wouldn't take too long, you obliged.

“Are you almost done? I feel silly”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, you look gorgeous.” He mumbled as he continued scribbling away, a small smile crept its way onto your face.

“Do you really mean that?” you already knew what his answer would be, but you were growing tired and figured teasing him would help aid that.

He looked up, surprised almost. As if he didn’t say it enough. “Well ‘course I do!” Suddenly an idea popped into your head as he put his head back down.

“Well then show me.” You got up and started walking across the room towards him. Hips intentionally popping out, accentuating your curves.

A smirk made its way onto Arthur's face as he put his pencil and journal down, reaching out to grab onto your soft waist. Pulling you down to have your ass sit flush against his lap. Smiling at you gently as you play with the tuft of hair at his neck, looking lovely into his eyes.

“Don't know what I did to deserve you.” He continued staring into your eyes for a moment, muttering a faint beautiful before leaning in to kiss you. Soft and gentle, those are the words you’d use to describe how Arthur treats you. Holding you like you’re the most important thing in the world to him.

The kiss became more passionate and deep, kissing down your neck before standing up with you in his arms. Walking back towards the couch, delicately laying you down. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer as you start to unbutton his black blouse - his favourite but only because you always tell him how handsome he looks in it.

His hands start to move from your hips and up towards your soft breasts. Massaging them tenderly, making you let out a small sound of protest before breaking from the kiss.

“Arthur, take your clothes off.” Your tone was kind but he knew better than to test you.

“Yes ma’am.” He sat back on his feet, pulling his arm out of his suspenders as you untuck his shirt pulling it down his shoulders.

Caressing his shoulders and buff chest as he unbuckles his belt, “God I love you.” Just as he takes his pants off you pull him into a deep kiss. His hands find their way back to your breasts, teasing your nipples as you massage his growing erection.

Mumbles and groans grow louder and you just couldn't take it anymore, pulling away slightly whispering a soft, “Please Arthur.”

You don’t even need to ask a second time before Arthur takes his length in his hand, trailing the tip of his penis between your wet folds moaning at the sensation.

“Good god women.” He rests his forehead on yours, staring oh so lovely into your eyes before entering you. You couldn't help but moan. It had been a long time since he stretched you out, his ridges rubbing perfectly against your warm velvety walls. Letting out a low groan as he bottomed out. He pulls his hands to your sides, caressing you with a desperation you absolutely adored.

He started moving, slow, deliberate, and deep. Relishing the noises you were making, the desperate grabs at his back. You needed this just as much as he did. Speeding up a little, hitting your g-spot everytime. Reaching down to bring Arthur's hand into yours, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it.

“Oh God Arthur.” You weren’t gonna last much longer, walls clenching around his length. Heels digging into his back, pushing him deeper.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” His pace speeding up a little, he wasn’t gonna last much longer either.

With a few more strokes and messy kisses, you came undone. Walls spasming on his cock with such a vigor he had never felt before. Moaning loudly, you pulled his sweaty forehead down to meet yours once again. He looked into your eyes as he came, watching the way your face contorted when you felt his warm cum filling you up.

Panting heavily as his thrusts slowed, collapsing down onto you as you panted. Wrapping your arms around him, kissing his head tenderly.

As you both layed there, the world around you seemed to dissipate. He looked up at you, the orange glow of the dying fire highlighting the sweat on your face and the frizziness of your tousled hair. And he swore, you never looked better.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader smut #he is so sexy mmm 😍

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 days ago

Note

scott summers x male reader where Scott gets hit with someones love mutation ( basically like a love potion type of situation ) and Scott " falls in love" with male reader, but scoot acts the same as he always does, because he is already in love with male reader.

Scott Summers x mutant male reader

Headcanons

Readers mildly based on Atom Smasher, at least power-wise. Still tired from working all week, but it is what it is. I eat up Scott being awkward, I hc him as autistic if anyone cares. Cuz I love Scott, and Scott is me.

You were on X-men, with a mutation that let you change your size. Like ant-man, but cooler, if anyone asked you. You didn’t need a suit to change your size, so in your mind you were the original.

How long you had been an x-men doesn’t matter much, just enough time for Scott to fall in love with you, but not long enough that you could read between all his actions.

Which isn’t very obvious to anyone but the teams telepaths, who can hear his thoughts because of different mind bonds they share. Or the ones who have been on the team long enough to notice he’s giving you favorable treatment.

To you it isn’t obvious, as Scott doesn’t let it show too much. favorable treatment from Scott is things like him pulling you into the danger room to spar more, or him secretly stocking up on your favorite snacks.

Scott would stick closer to you than most, but again, to you it just comes across as the leader sticking closer to the new guy. At least, in the beginning when you are the new guy. After that, you two have kind of a strategy when it comes to fighting from all the training, which makes you believe its that.

Scott was always a bit tense or flighty, in your opinion. But everything moved so slow or fast when you changed size, so maybe it was just that. being the leader of the x-men also meant he had to have a lot of weight on his shoulders, right?

It definitely wasn’t because your suit would rip and tear a lot back when you first joined the team, before Hank and you found the right formula for a suit that would shrink and grow with you.

At least you never flashed anybody, as much as Scott would silently in his mind wish you did. Which just ended up with him getting a lot of ribbing from Jean and whoever else could hear his thoughts.

When Scott was hit with the enemy mutants’ powers, no one really realized for a while.

You had been as big as a skyscraper at that point, fighting against a sentinel of all things. Why mutants would side with them, you never understood. But that’s life. This also just meant you didn’t see Scott get hit.

It was only after you guys got back to the mansion, or krakoa, depending on where and when this takes place, and other members of the team were getting treated. Hank was mostly shocked you hadn’t gotten hit, since you were so damn big and easy to hit.

The only difference in Scott was that he was hovering more than usual, hell, he even let his fingers brush against the back of your hand for like a split second but that was it.

Other than that, he’s the exact same, giving out orders and helping where he’s needed. Though, he does keep an eye on you more than usual, which isn’t that obvious with his visor and everything anyways.

Maybe Jean is out of commission for a while, so it’s Charles that realizes Scott was hit, so it takes a while.

And its only realized when Scotts thoughts spiral more than usual when it comes to you, sounding borderline obsessed and possessive. It’s when flickers of thoughts about using his optic blast on Remy when he’s doing his usual flirting that it starts setting off alarm bells.

Scott would deny anything being wrong with him, since he doesn’t feel different. Which, in the end, just outs him and his feelings to you which leaves you stunned for a while.

You end up having to sit with him and hold his hand to make him stop resisting treatment, since he’s way too focused and flustered about holding your hand.

Maybe your powers act up a bit from having these feelings put on display, because yeah, your team leader is such a damn smokeshow and he’s charming in his own way. But you never thought hed actually like you of all people.

It’s pretty awkward in the medical wing for a couple of moments, with Scott wanting to jump into the ocean at how embarrassed he feels. It doesn’t help when you grow a couple of sizes when you realize all the times you two have been grinding on each other during spars, and the table breaks right under you.

Being thrown to the floor at least makes Scott laugh. Enough for him to roll over and pull your mask off, because it’s not fair only you get to see how flustered he is, right? (it’s also because he wants to see if you are disgusted by him, but sssshhh, don’t tell anybody)

When he sees how flustered you are about it, how you keep worrying your lip and looking away it makes his heart flutter.

Scott has always been good at reading people, it comes with the job. But realizing other people like him has never been his strong suit, so he’s never really thought about it.

In the end you two kiss, even if it’s pretty clumsy and a bit weird with you being at least 8 feet tall, but you make it work. Good thing Scott doesn’t mind the size difference.

It takes a moment for you to shrink back to normal size, and you two just spend some time sitting on the floor feeling flustered and talking about it. Scott likes order in his things, so of course hed want to get this right too.

You two are not surviving leaving the medical wing for long though, especially when the rest of the team sees the smashed table. Everyone knows the real reason, but there’s so much teasing about “what were yall doing in there, huh?”

But you guys survive, even if Scott does get huffy and blushy about it. you get back at the teasing by putting the items of the teammates in places they cant reach.

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joloml · 1 day ago

Note

hiii! could you make an imagine about maki getting jelous and confessing please? thank you so much ♥

MOMENTS OF SILENCE

maki &team jealousy confession

pairing jealousmaki!&team x reader

warnings smooching and like two swear words towards the end

notes wow my first imagine guys i’m growing up so fast🥹🥹all jokes aside tho im actually really nervous to publish this so if it sucks i am so sorry

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

growing up next door to maki, you guys were known as the duo. you both were inseparable—you did everything together.

when maki decided he wanted to become an idol, you were the most supportive out of everyone. you stuck by his side through the whole process, and it only made your friendship grow even more.

when he was officially in &team and they had their debut, you were always the first to know everything that was going on — even the things that weren’t supposed to be out to the public yet.

now, a few years after their debut, you not only became friends with his members, but they see you as family as well.

your friendship with maki has also grown, but so have your feelings for him. you can’t help but notice how well maki has been aging. his features are striking — everything about him is attractive.

also, after you stopped getting taller and settled on a height, he just seems to keep growing. he towers over you, which you can’t help but find it undeniably hot when he has to look/lean down to talk to you.

on the other hand, you had a massive glow up too. learning how to take care of your skin, hair, and upping your style, maki can’t deny finding you to be the most beautiful girl he’s seen.

you don’t know that though. both of your feelings for each other has always gone unspoken for. the lingering touches and the admiring glances between you two had always been brushed off, neither of you wanting to confess.

you had always been touchy with each other, never making it weird. that’s why, as you’re sitting abnormally close to maki — practically laying on him — none of his members find it unusual. he has one arm wrapped casually around your waist, trapping you in his hold. you scroll through your phone, watching tiktoks until harua makes his way towards you guys.

you look up, giving him a smile. you feel maki tighten his hold around you as harua places himself next to you on the couch.

“hey y/n, i found some new ideas for our handshake,” harua says. “since we can’t seem to settle on a good one.”

maki tenses up at the mention of a handshake. thats always been your guys’ thing. and as much as he hates to admit it, the thought of you having a handshake with someone else made him incredibly jealous.

“alright, show me what you came up with,” you smile. you try to shift to the side to get a better view, but maki’s tight grip around you makes you unable to move. “maki, could you loosen up a bit? i can’t move.”

“sorry,” he mutters, not tearing his eyes away from the phone in his hand. he lets go of you ever so slightly, just barely allowing you to turn your body.

you furrow your brows, confused as to why he seems annoyed. you just decide to brush it off, and refocus on harua.

harua shows you his ideas, some of them more complex than the others. after a few minutes of trying to master the complex ones, you eventually decide to settle on the easier movements.

maki watches you both out of the corner of his eye, wishing that it was him making you laugh like harua is.

and not to mention the way your hands are all over each other (peep the hand in handshake), he doesn’t want anyone else touching you other than himself.

he loves but hates the way that his members care for you so much. he misses the times when it was a little awkward between everyone, so he had your full attention all the time.

now, he only gets to talk to you a minimal amount when you’re in the studio with him because his members are always wanting to hang out with you.

your loud laugh snaps him out of his trance, and he sees you grab harua’s arm from laughing so hard.

he looks away, not wanting to get more annoyed. he notices that his jealousy level has been unusually high today, making him quieter than normal.

you also caught onto his quietness earlier in the day, and you just assumed he was having a rough morning.

you had no idea that he was pissed because you were giving other people more attention.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

after messing around with harua for another hour or so, everyone completed their daily duties, and decided to head out.

you wait for maki patiently by the door as you bundle up in your coat, preparing yourself to walk home in the cold weather.

after a minute, maki finds you by the door and he holds it open for you, allowing you to walk outside. you’re both silent, as maki’s jealously level hasn’t fallen since the handshake incident.

the tension in the air is too noticeable, and you glance at him as you both make your way down the snowy sidewalk.

“are you okay?” you finally speak up, clouds of smoke coming out of your mouth from how cold the air is.

he only nods.

you stay quiet for a minute, not knowing what to say.

“…did i do something?” you ask, your voice quiet.

“do you like harua?” he blurts out after a moment of silence.

“of course i like harua,” you respond, your voice laced with confusion. “why wouldn’t i?”

“no, not like that,” he shakes his head, keeping his gaze ahead of him. “i mean, do you like-like him.”

“oh- oh. no, maki,” you laugh, but immediately stop when you see that he doesn’t find this amusing. “i love harua, only as a friend. why are you asking?”

another moment of silence.

“you guys just seem.. close. that’s all,” he says, glancing at you for the first time since you left the studio. the glance is piercing, his eyes dark and features slightly tightened. his jaw is clenched, and he keeps his hands in his pockets.

reverting his eyes back to the gloomy and misty sidewalk in front of him, you shiver.

but not from the cold.

“are you jealous or something?” you slightly smile, still wondering why he would be questioning this.

when he doesn’t respond, you start laughing.

“oh my gosh, you are jealous!” you teasingly laugh. “maki, you’re literally my closest friend out of everyone i know. i don’t know why you think that i like harua more than you—“

“that’s not why i’m jealous,” he cuts you off, stopping in his tracks. you stop too, and you both turn to face each other.

“then why are you?”

he lets out a huff, looking everywhere but at you.

“because i like you, okay?”

silence overcomes the two of you again, for the hundredth time today.

“oh.” you’re not sure what to say.

“gosh, i’ve just—“ he pauses, looking around and running a stressed hand through his hair. “i began to like you ever since i told you i wanted to become an idol. you were so supportive of me, i just felt like you were the only person who truly cared for me.”

you reach your hand up in the middle of his speech, and run your fingers through his hair to brush the snowflakes out of it.

“i’ve been too scared to tell you, but seeing you all close with the other members just made me realize that i like having your attention maybe a little too much, and— can you stop that?” he swats at your hand that’s still brushing the snowflakes out.

you pull your hand away, “sorry. continue.”

but instead of continuing, he just stares at you.

silently.

the silence kills him.

“fuck it.”

he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into him, crashing your lips together. your eyes widen in shock for a moment before they flutter shut as you melt into his touch.

maki lets go of your neck and moves his hands to wrap around your waist, not once breaking the kiss. you place a hand on his chest, and you let the other gently grab his jaw.

you can feel your heart pounding against your chest as the kiss deepens. his lips feel unbelievably soft, and the unusual warmth between the two of you — given that it’s barely even 20° — makes you never want to let go of each other.

you eventually have to though.

as you slowly pull apart, you rest your forehead against his, still holding onto his jaw. maki lets out a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he was holding.

“so…” you pull your head away from him, reluctantly letting go of his jaw.

“don’t even say anything,” he says, and as you pull away, you get a clear view of how flustered he is.

“alright, i won’t,” you shrug, feeling how red your cheeks are too.

you grab his hand, and resume your walk back home in a comfortable silence.

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concretejunglefm · 1 day ago

Note

hear me out. so we know Folio’s the overeager sub type, struggles with obedience, and Noah’s the resident good boy sub (when he’s not being a brat).

well, Nick’s always been very concerned with what goes on behind closed doors. ratting Noah out to you for punishment, endless ribbing about the sounds coming from the hotel room the night before (all of which were Noah’s high pitched moans as you’d ridden him til he saw stars), nonstop teasing and just overall trying to get a rise. (he also has a sneaking suspicion that that piece of jewelry Noah never takes off is some sort of ‘collar’)

but like you said, the question is. does he wanna be Noah or join in?

so maybe you let him have a little glimpse. maybe you have your best boy model how to be the perfect sub for you.

‘s definitely a fun dynamic because Noah is very much your good boy while Nick is steeped in mischief and loves to tease the shit out of him, not to mention try to get him to misbehave. there also might be a little vying for your attention, but that’s nothing new. at any rate, what can it hurt. it’s just for the night :3

- @somebodyels3

It's just for the night, what harm could it do, right?

CW: smut which includes mention of dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, use of cuffs, orgasm denial, cum play.

Smut under the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

You’ve meticulously planned this since the idea struck you. You’ve deliberately selected a night during their tour when there’s an off day the following day, solely for them to both rest and recover. Naturally, Folio couldn’t help but laugh when you shared the plan with him, and that only fueled your determination to make him come out whining more than he’s ever heard from Noah, or taunted him for.

With strict instructions, you told Folio to come to your room at a specific time, and he obeyed without question. However, his eagerness got the better of him, and his disregard of your warnings, multiple times, result in both he and Noah being tied up.

Usually, Noah wouldn’t mind, but your sweet boy had been trying his best to tell his friend to be quiet and listen to you. He had been attempting to demonstrate the advantages of being a good sub. Now, however, both Folio and Noah are restrained on a hotel room desk chair each, their wrists cuffed to the backs, and their ankles tied against the legs, preventing any movement.

They’re seated facing each other, their bodies close, and their crotches even closer for your convenience and entertainment.

It went from being a visual lesson to participation-based, the moment Folio opened his mouth and cockily insisted that he could hold out better than Noah ever could.

“Are you certain about that?” you tease, your gaze dropping to his lap and noticing the growing wet patch on the front of his boxers.

Unlike Noah, who you had completely undressed for your entertainment, you had deliberately left Folio in only his boxers, as if to emphasize that he would not receive the same level of attention and treatment that Noah would.

He needed to earn that.

“Oh, that?” he’s completely unbothered by the growing wet patch on his boxers or the trickle of cum rolling down his thigh from beneath the leg. What truly surprises you is how he’s still twitching and hard. “Don’t worry, baby. I have plenty in tank.” He winks at you, and if it were anyone other than Folio, you’d roll your eyes at such a remark. But somehow, you find that prospect only enticing, as if he’s willingly offering himself to be your new plaything, challenging you even.

And that sounds like a challenge you were more than willing to accept.

Your boy, Noah, always had an incredible ability to hold on. You’d repeatedly pushed him to the brink of orgasm, the denial of it becoming sweeter with each passing hour. The sounds he made during those moments were unlike anything you could have imagined, all thanks to your touch, which triggered them. However, you couldn’t deny that you didn’t relish the thought of teasing Folio to the edge and then pulling him back just to repeat the process, especially since he was easily aroused without any stimulation.

You knew what he had done. You caught the way his stomach muscles flexed along with how his cock twitched. He knew how to make himself cum without touching himself, let alone you touching him and it made you contemplate the possibility of them learning from each other and sharing skills.

Noah undoubtedly had his own unique talents, and you found immense pleasure in witnessing the trembling of his stomach muscles whenever he drew nearer, observing his struggle to resist the release you were withholding. Sometimes, you would even lick up the beads of sweat that formed on his torso with his steady concentration. Just that contact on his skin was enough to trigger the eruption, but he always needed your touch to fully pull it from him.

While Folio had already one strike against him, due to his orgasm, Noah trembled in response to your advances as you stood behind him, your hands roaming across his bare tattooed chest and down over his stomach. You felt the muscles flex beneath your fingertips as you move further, hearing the soft plea of a ‘please’ from him as your hands pushed down past his twitching cock, sinking down onto his inner thighs and squeezing them. You gently kissed along his jawline as a form of praise for his politeness, knowing that he was doing his best to maintain his composure in this situation.

It almost made you want to force him to beg, but you knew you needed to drag his pleasure out more to achieve that, but it wouldn’t take long.

By the time you’ve wrapped your hand around him, stroking him, and alternating between quick, determined strokes and agonizingly long ones that prolong his pleasure, he becomes a bumbling mess, writhing against your hand due to the sensitivity of his cock. Your free palm presses to the reddening sensitive tip and purposefully circles over to make his hips jerk and him writhing against you, knowing he can’t pull away and is forced to endure the pleasure you’re inflicting.

When your eyes meet Folio’s, his usually boastful tongue is gone, replaced by a complete transfixed gaze as he watches his friend being teased and toyed with. Your eyes then descend to the tent in his boxers, and you find yourself yearning to allow him to join in on the fun. You consider that he may have finally earned it—learning to remain silent and at least not back talk.

Pulling the front of his boxers down, you free Folio’s hard cock from its confines, and your hand swiftly moves in synchronization with the one you have on Noah’s. You notice the difference in their thickness and length, but that only intensifies your desire to tease them, as they both start squirming in response.

They’re so close that you can have their cocks less than an inch apart while you work your hands on each of them, observing the way pre-cum leaks from both their reddened tips. You use it, intentionally collecting it and switching hands to use the pre-cum on the other, allowing them to mix. You continue this until they’re both whining and squirming, trying to pull away as you jerk them through their first real release of the night—the first one you’ve so generously given them without the need of asking for permission.

As your hands become coated, you switch over again only to use their cum on each other, continuing to push them through their release and the wave of pleasure that has them both trembling and begging beneath your touch. You can barely decide where to look; your eyes flicker between their faces scrunched up in ecstasy, the way their bodies writhe and their stomachs tense, or how they raise their hips and attempt to pull away, as if they ever could.

They both understand the option to tap out if they feel the need. The safe word is readily available if they choose to use it. However, when you ask them, all you get is a series of whines and whimpers, with the word “green” repeated as they desperately plead for you to continue.

#kels 💕#bad omens smut #noah sebastian smut #nick folio smut #sub!noah sebastian smut #sub!noah #sub!nick folio smut #sub!folio #concretejunglefm fics

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kikyoupdates · 3 days ago

Text

For Tomorrow's Sake ⭑˚💫⭑ 𝑠𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛

various!jjk x f!reader

reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn

You never believed reincarnation was possible, least of all in the fictional world of Jujutsu Kaisen. However, from the moment you meet Gojo Satoru, it’s impossible to deny. Whether it’s a miracle or some kind of curse, you find yourself growing up alongside the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Unfortunately, you know what the future holds in store. You know exactly what kind of tragedies await. Perhaps that’s why you were brought into this world. If it means saving people from a gruesome fate, you’ll gladly suffer in their place. You’ll do whatever it takes. All for the sake of a better tomorrow.

previous | story masterlist | next

Lately, Naoya has been following Toji around just about every chance he gets.

There are multiple reasons for this. One of them, of course, is the fact that he idolizes Toji and recognizes his strength. It’s true that, conventionally speaking, Toji doesn’t fit the mold for what a jujutsu sorcerer is supposed to be like. He doesn’t have even a smidge of cursed energy. On paper, he should be the weakest, and yet, he’s not. The entirety of the Zen’in Clan may refuse to acknowledge just how powerful he is, but Naoya instinctively knows better. There’s no denying the pressure he felt that day, upon his very first meeting with Toji. It’s the kind of pressure that only surrounds those who are truly strong.

But it’s more than just that. If that was the only reason, he probably wouldn’t be trailing behind Toji like a little duckling, near constantly. He admires Toji, and that will never change, but these days, there's someone else on his mind.

You.

“Are you leaving to go train [Name]?”

That’s the question Naoya finds himself asking time and time again. Whenever he spots Toji leaving the clan estate, he runs up to him in a hurry, although he’s not quite sure why. He doesn’t really understand why he cares so much. It’s none of his business, after all. Toji has permission to train you. Even Naobito said he wasn’t going to stand in the way. Yet still, Naoya persists.

“You always ask me that,” Toji mutters, rolling his eyes. “Go away. Shoo.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s me telling you to get lost.”

Naoya never really succeeds with any of his approaches, but rather than letting it deter him, he just keeps pressing the issue.

“How was training today?”

“Is [Name] getting stronger?”

“She hasn’t given up or anything, has she?”

“Isn’t she worried that she might mess up by accident? Then, because of her Binding Vow, that means she’ll—”

“For fuck’s sake, enough already!” Toji cries out. He grits his teeth and angrily massages his temples, attempting to soothe the permanent migraine he seems to have these days. Spending time with you is one thing, but he has much less patience when it comes to a brat from the Zen’in Clan.

Naoya’s brows droop, and he feels discouraged for a moment, but if he backs down now, he may as well be giving up. He refuses to give up. That’s what losers do, and he’s certainly not a loser.

“I want to come with you,” Naoya states, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Where?”

“To see [Name]. You’re about to leave, aren’t you? I’m coming too.”

“Good one,” Toji snorts, but for some reason, the little brat still refuses to leave. Toji’s brows knit together. “Don’t tell me you’re actually serious?”

Naoya nods, gaze resolute. “Yes. I’ve made up my mind.”

“I doubt anyone will let you do that.”

“So, I’ll just sneak out. By the time they realize, I’ll already be gone.”

Toji doesn’t particularly care for Naoya, or anyone else in the Zen’in Clan, for that matter. The first person he’s genuinely cared about is you. And he supposes he tolerates Satoru, but that’s about it. As far as he’s concerned, everyone else is irrelevant.

That being said, if there’s a chance to piss off the Zen’in Clan, he definitely won’t pass it up.

“Fine,” Toji chuckles. “This should be fun. I’m sure they’ll throw a fit when they can’t find you. It’s a shame I won’t be able to see it happen, though.”

Naoya’s face lights up. Defying his family has never really crossed his mind. Up until now, he didn’t have much of a reason to. He’s used to being praised, having his ego fueled endlessly. But ever since he met you, he’s starting to tire of it. It’s not really that fun anymore. Rather than being acknowledged by the Zen’in Clan, he wants to be acknowledged by you.

He’s going to make sure you realize just how strong and cool he is.

And so, for the first time in his life, Naoya sneaks out of the clan estate. Despite his boastful nature, he’s still just a little kid, and it kind of feels like an adventure, going to visit places he’s never seen before. He also gets to spend time with Toji this way, and even though Toji mostly ignores him, Naoya feels happier than ever.

“...huh? What’s he doing here?”

Naoya finally finds himself face to face with you again. Several months have passed since the first time you met. He’s embarrassed to admit that he’s been thinking of you practically every single day. It’s seriously not his fault, though! You’re just so… strange. If you weren’t this strange, he would surely have forgotten about you already. For better or worse, you left a big impression. You’re the reason he’s been thinking about things so differently than before.

“Um, hi,” Naoya greets. For some reason, he feels rather shy all of a sudden. He even tries to hide behind Toji’s back, but the dark-haired man just scowls before pushing him aside.

“You’re the kid who insulted [Name],” Satoru remarks coldly.

“It’s okay,” you dismiss. “I’m used to being insulted. Plus, you insult me all the time, Satoru.”

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that!”

Gojo Satoru is here again. Naoya is starting to realize that you and Satoru are very close friends. He seems to act awfully defensive whenever you’re involved. Naoya gets the feeling that Satoru already doesn’t like him very much.

“Ignore him. Hi, Naoya,” you say, smiling brightly. “I wasn’t expecting you to join us today. Is it okay for you to be here? Your dad really doesn’t mind?”

Your smile is reassuring, admittedly. Part of him was worried you’d get mad that he showed up out of nowhere, but clearly, that’s not the case. You don’t really seem like the type to get upset easily, now that he thinks about it. You didn’t even flinch when he insulted you before, and not only that, but you went out of your way to heal him, too.

Jujutsu sorcerers are a lot of things, but based on his experience, they’re usually not this nice.

He likes it.

“My dad doesn’t know I’m here,” Naoya says. “I snuck out.”

“Uh-oh. You’re not going to get in trouble, are you?”

You stare at him, visibly concerned, and Naoya has to bite down on his lip to hide how happy he is that you’re worried about him.

“I’ll be okay,” he reassures. “I’m going to be the leader of the clan one day! They’re probably just wondering where I am, but they won’t get upset with me. I’m way too important.”

“Doubt it,” Satoru snorts.

“I am! Just ask anyone!”

“I don’t need to ask. It’s obvious just by looking at you.”

Naoya’s face reddens, and he balls his hands into small, trembling fists. He may be Gojo Satoru, but that doesn’t give him the right to be so mean. He’s clearly arrogant and spoiled. All of the power and prestige has gone straight to his head.

It’s unbelievably ironic that Zen’in Naoya, of all people, is having these thoughts, but at least he’s starting to recognize right from wrong. Baby steps.

“Satoru, don’t be rude,” you reprimand, and Naoya grins, delighted that you’re taking his side.

“Yeah, don’t be rude,” Naoya eagerly piles on. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

Satoru narrows his eyes. Much like Naoya, he can also tell that this will be the start of a bitter, long-lived rivalry. Ugh. As if he didn’t already have enough to deal with. Now he has to worry about some annoying little kid (note: only one year younger than him) trying to steal his best friend. You’ll seriously be the death of him at this rate.

Meanwhile, Toji finds himself wondering when the hell he became everyone’s goddamn babysitter.

“I’ve gotten stronger since you last saw me,” Naoya proudly states. “I’m getting better and better at using my cursed technique. What about you? Have you made progress with your training?”

“I’m doing my best,” you beam.

“Um. That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“She did answer your question,” Toji frowns. “She said she’s doing her best.”

“Yeah, she’s doing her best, dammit,” Satoru glares. “What more do you want from her?”

Naoya is starting to think that it might have been a mistake to get involved with his particular trio.

“Since you’re here, it’d be a waste to train,” you say. “We can just hang out instead! I’m not sure when we’ll get to see each other again, after all. What do you like to do for fun, Naoya? Oh! But before that, let’s eat. I packed yummy lunches for everyone.”

Satoru and Toji immediately scrunch up their noses in visible disgust. Naoya frowns, watching as you unpack the bento boxes you brought along. Even though nobody ever eats your food, you still foolishly hold out hope that one day, they’ll come around to your self-proclaimed culinary genius.

“Unless you want to cross over to the other side, you’d be better off never eating a single thing she cooks,” Satoru says.

“Shut up, Satoru! Don’t lie to him!” You angrily slam a bento box down in front of Naoya, then you open it up to reveal what honestly looks like really, really good food.

“Why?” Naoya frowns. “What’s so bad about it?”

“Appearances are deceiving. She makes the food look good, but the second you taste it, it’ll feel like your soul is being ripped from your body.”

Toji nods in agreement. “He’s not exaggerating.”

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” you huff. “I make amazing food. Some people are just afraid to experiment. Some super lame, super��boring people. Hint: their names are Satoru and Toji.”

“Plus everyone else in the world with working taste buds,” Satoru muses.

“Oh my god, shut up, Satoru!”

You shoot Satoru another glare before shoving a big helping of the bento box’s contents into your mouth. It definitely doesn’t look like you’re forcing yourself to eat any of it. You happily chow down, and your frustration is quick to dissolve the more food you eat. You seem like you’re actually enjoying yourself. Really, how bad can it be?

“Wow, he’s actually going for it.”

“And we even warned him. What an idiot.”

Naoya ignores the peanut gallery while he takes a small, tentative first bite. He’s positive they’re exaggerating. Nothing could possibly taste that horrible—

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no.

It’s worse than horrible. It’s downright atrocious.

The food is so disgusting that he nearly ascends to the skies, but through sheer force of will, he somehow remains tethered to reality. He needs to spit it out. His entire body is practically screaming at him to get rid of the unwelcome intrusion.

But then he locks eyes with you, as you stare at him, gaze wide, bright, and hopeful.

Defying all odds, Naoya swallows what’s in his mouth, takes a moment to compose himself, then strains a smile.

“I-It’s really not that bad,” he replies weakly. “It’s actually… pretty good.”

“What?!”

Satoru and Toji are the ones that just cried out. They’re convinced they must have heard wrong, but Naoya doesn’t pay them any mind. He’s much more focused on your expression.

And right now, you look like you’re happy enough to burst into tears.

“Wow, really? Yay! Finally, I’ve found someone who recognizes my talent!” you gush, shaking your fists in a fit of excitement. “I told you guys my cooking was good! You just didn’t know any better. Naoya is smarter than both of you, clearly.”

You grin ear-to-ear, and without warning, you pull him into your arms and give him a big hug. Naoya immediately freezes, turning red from head to toe. His heart is beating so fast that he can hear it echoing in his eardrums, and even though Satoru cries out in protest, Naoya is too stunned to react.

If he eats more of your food, does that mean you’ll keep hugging him like this? Because if that’s the case…

It’s worth it.

Later that day, Naoya returns to his clan estate, and as much as Satoru would like to claim otherwise, he is important. At least, important enough for people to make a fuss over his disappearance.

“Where in the world did you go, Naoya? You should know better than to leave without telling anyone.”

His older brothers are all frowning at him, clearly expressing their disapproval. It’s not so much concern, but more so judgment. After all, despite being many years older than him, he’s the one who’s been chosen as the future clan leader. They must think he’s not taking it seriously, and that he ran off to play hooky or something.

…which he kind of did, to be fair.

Naoya considers lying, but he quickly discards the thought. If he gets caught in a lie, people will probably just get even more upset. It’s best to be as transparent as possible. Besides, he doesn’t want this to be the last time. He would like to keep seeing you. He would like that very much.

“I met up with that girl that visited a while ago, [Name],” Naoya states.

They all look shocked. He’s not quite sure what they were expecting, but it obviously wasn’t that. You may not be a Gojo by blood, but you’re affiliated with the clan nevertheless. The Zen’in Clan and Gojo Clan are forever at odds with one another. He basically just admitted to fraternizing with the enemy. But it’s not his fault the enemy is so freaking cute.

“Did you hear that, father?” one of his older brothers frowns, turning towards Naobito, who’s drinking as per usual—from his trademark gourd, this time.

“Which girl?” Naobito asks with obvious disinterest.

“The one that you invited before. She showed up along with Gojo Satoru. You know, the same girl that Toji’s been training.”

“Oh, right.” Naobito takes another swig from his gourd. “I’d completely forgotten about her. She’s the one with the Binding Vow. She had to gamble with her own life, and even then, she’s still a weakling.”

Naoya’s brow twitches. His father is kind of getting on his nerves right now. Why won’t he admit that you’re actually a lot stronger than you appear at first glance? Hardly anyone knows how to use reverse cursed technique. The same goes for Toji. He’s so strong, and yet, everyone refuses to acknowledge him. It just doesn’t make any sense.

Maybe the Zen’in Clan is run by a bunch of fools, after all.

“So? Did you have fun on your little trip?” Naobito asks, visibly amused. He clearly couldn’t care any less about you. He’s not taking you seriously. It’s infuriating.

“Yes,” Naoya replies, a glare settling upon his features. “She’s nice. I like her. I want to see her all the time from now on.”

“Haha! How amusing.”

“I’m not kidding, and I don’t care what you say. Whether you give me permission or not, I’m going to keep visiting her.”

“Hm. I didn’t think you’d develop a rebellious streak so soon, but whatever,” Naobito merely shrugs. “As long as you don’t slack off on your training, how you choose to spend your time has nothing to do with me. Become strong. Nothing else matters.”

Naoya nods enthusiastically, and his older brothers silently seethe, appalled that he can get away with virtually anything he wants. Despite being the clan leader, Naobito has always been especially laidback. Plus, he’s convinced that Naoya will lose interest soon enough. He’s only a little kid. Kids have short attention spans, and they always find something new to gush about. It’s really only a matter of time.

Of course, even though Naobito doesn’t realize it, he’s dead wrong.

Naoya’s fixation on you doesn’t falter, not even a little bit. He remains diligent with his training, not only so that he can become stronger, but so that he doesn’t lose the right to keep seeing you. He always thought that the greatest joy in his life was being able to demonstrate his strength and brag to everyone else, but lately, he seems to care less and less about what others think of him. He finds himself only caring about the people that matter, like you.

“[Name], look! Look how fast I am!”

He activates his cursed technique, and you watch as he seemingly disappears from one spot and reappears in another. It’s not actually that he disappeared. He just moved incredibly fast. It’s a technique he inherited from his father, and even though he’s only seven years old, he’s already highly proficient with it.

“Wow,” you beam, making sure to clap your hands. “That was so cool! You’re super-duper fast, Naoya. My eyes could barely keep up with you.”

He proudly puffs out his chest, readily basking in your praise. There’s just something about hearing the words come from your mouth that make them sound all the more meaningful. He’ll never get tired of it. It’s his favorite thing in the whole world.

“Aren’t you curious how my cursed technique works?” Naoya asks with a smug smile. “It’s pretty complicated, but I’ll let you guess.”

“Hm, I’m not sure. Is it something to do with frames? Within a one-second interval? Like, it lets you move really fast during that time. Maybe, like… twenty-four frames? Or something close to that.”

Noaya’s jaw drops open, and you have to bite back the urge to giggle right in his face. It’s fun to tease him. Obviously, you already know what his cursed technique is. When it comes to this world, you know more than anyone could ever imagine.

“Th-That’s right,” Naoya blinks, absolutely dumbfounded. “How did you know? It’s the same technique my dad has, but… I definitely never told you that.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I guess it just seemed obvious.”

“Whoa. You really are smart! You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met!”

Naoya marvels at your sheer awesomeness (you really can’t blame him), and meanwhile, Satoru furrows his brows at the sight, becoming progressively more annoyed.

“Hey, [Name],” he suddenly says. “Watch this.”

You turn your head, and before you can even say anything, Satoru disappears from your line of sight. Again, he didn’t actually disappear, but he’s moving so fast that it makes it look that way. Unlike Naoya, however, he proceeds to zip around to even further distances, and repeatedly, without so much as breaking a sweat.

By the time he’s done, Naoya is green with envy, and there are even small tears in his eyes.

“There,” Satoru chuckles, sticking his nose up towards the sky, gleefully arrogant. “I’m definitely way faster than you, Naoya. It’s not even a contest. I bet it sucks to lose. It sucks, right? Tell me all about how sucky it is.”

Naoya deflates, suddenly awash with shame. It’s not fair. He’s Gojo Satoru. Blessed from the moment of birth. Known by jujutsu sorcerers far and wide. How is he supposed to compete with that? Even though he’s strong—he really, really is—Satoru constantly makes him feel small and insignificant. Like an ant.

Naoya sniffles, doing his very best to keep from crying, but before the tears can fall, you cup his cheek with your hand and smile.

“Don’t be sad,” you mumble gently. “You did really well. I was super impressed. Satoru likes to brag, but just ignore him. I can tell you’re getting stronger each day. You’ll be an amazing jujutsu sorcerer. It’s obvious.”

And there it is. With just a few, simple words of encouragement from you, all of a sudden, he’s happy as can be. It’s not just that you can heal injuries. Day after day, you’re healing his heart, too.

Naoya doesn’t waste a second before hugging you back. He squeezes you tight, happily nestling his head in the crook of your shoulder, and he makes sure to turn towards Satoru as he does, grinning cheekily—because he just knows it drives Satoru absolutely insane.

“I love you, [Name],” Naoya confesses, face flushed and heart pounding. “I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you. When we grow up… let’s get married. Alright?”

You blink, very much caught off guard. It’s true that thanks to your influence, Naoya has been changing for the better, but it’s still a little hard to believe. To think that a formerly misogynistic bastard could actually be this cute. You’re really out here making miracles happen.

Well, not in Satoru’s eyes, though. To him, this is the very opposite of a miracle. In fact, it’s practically a nightmare.

“What the hell did you just say?!”

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28harryssunflower · 20 hours ago

Text

Royal scandal - a mini series: Part 3/4

Royal scandal: Part 3

The weeks seemed to slip by faster than either of you had expected. What felt like distant conversations about your future as King and Queen was becoming a reality. The meetings, the briefings, the preparations for the inevitable transition - everything seemed to be happening in a whirlwind.

You and Harry spent more time in royal meetings than you had ever anticipated, discussing matters of the crown, foreign policy, and how the monarchy would evolve with the two of you at the helm. You had thought that marrying Harry would mean more time spent together - more moments of joy and peace in the midst of the chaos of royal life. But, in truth, the opposite had happened. Every day felt more like a race to prepare for the overwhelming responsibility that was waiting just around the corner.

It was one evening in the royal study, papers scattered across the large wooden desk, when Harry finally broke the silence.

“I don’t know how much more I can take, Y/N,” he said, his voice tired. He rubbed his hand over his face, his brow furrowed in exhaustion. “It feels like everything’s moving so fast, and I can’t catch my breath.”

You looked up from the papers you had been scanning. You felt exactly the same way - completely overwhelmed. The weight of the responsibilities coming your way was almost suffocating. You had thought the royal duties would be manageable, but the constant pressure and the endless demands from the press, the public, and the family itself were beginning to take their toll.

“You’re not alone in this, Harry,” you said softly, getting up from your seat and walking over to him. You sat next to him, your hand resting on his. “I feel it too. Every decision feels like it’s the most important thing in the world. And the faster we go, the harder it gets to keep up.”

Harry looked at you, his eyes tired but filled with appreciation. “I know you’re right. It’s just… I don’t think I’m ready to be King. I don’t think I ever will be.”

You gently squeezed his hand, trying to comfort him. You knew his fears; you shared them too. You had talked about this before, the two of you voicing your insecurities about the roles you were about to take on. But hearing him express them aloud still hit you hard.

“I know it’s terrifying,” you said quietly. “But we’re going to get through this together. You don’t have to be ready right now. We just need to take it one step at a time.”

Harry shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips. “But what if it’s not enough? What if I mess up? What if I let everyone down, including you?”

You cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at you. “You’re not going to let anyone down, least of all me. You’re the person I love, Harry. And together, we can face anything. You’re going to be an amazing King, because you’re already a great person. You don’t need to be perfect.”

The words seemed to offer him a small amount of comfort, but you knew the battle raged inside him. Harry had always been someone who cared deeply about doing things right, especially when it came to his family and his country. And now, with the pressure of the monarchy’s future on his shoulders, it was clear that the fear of failure was taking a toll.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” Harry murmured, his voice low.

You leaned your forehead against his, your heart aching for him. “No one ever is. But you’ll grow into it. And we’ll do it together.”

The words felt true, but even as you spoke them, you couldn’t deny the uncertainty that still gripped you both.

As the days passed, the weight of the situation continued to settle deeper into both your hearts. The date for the official transition of power - the moment Harry would step into the role of King and you by his side as Queen - was approaching with incredible speed.

The palace was a whirlwind of activity. You were handed papers to sign, decisions to make, and events to attend. The world outside the palace walls had no idea of the sheer amount of preparation happening behind closed doors. The moment when the crown would pass from Harry’s parents to him was coming closer and closer, and with each passing day, the reality of the responsibility began to hit harder.

At dinner one evening, the King and Queen spoke more about what was to come. The monarchy was undergoing a transformation, they said, and the country would look to Harry for leadership and direction. They had outlined the plans for how Harry would assume his new role, the formalities, the speeches, the public image they wanted to project.

But amidst all the royal discussions, you noticed that Harry seemed more withdrawn than ever. He was barely speaking, his mind obviously elsewhere. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him.

“Harry,” you whispered softly, leaning in closer to him during dinner, “are you okay?”

He glanced at you, offering a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just trying to keep it together.”

You could tell he was trying to hide his stress, but you knew him too well. “I know it’s a lot. But you don’t have to carry it all on your own, you know.”

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper as he glanced at his parents, who were engaged in their own conversation at the end of the table. “I just feel like everything is spiraling out of control. I’ve never been so overwhelmed in my life. And it feels like no one really understands what this is doing to me. I can’t help but feel like I’m not ready for this.”

You placed your hand on his, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to be ready right now, Harry. You just have to do your best. And that’s all anyone will expect of you.”

He shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “But what if that’s not enough? What if they expect more? What if I let you down, too?”

You took a deep breath, knowing you had to be strong for him in this moment. “Harry, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to let you face this alone. And if you ever feel like you’re struggling, we’ll face it together. You and me. That’s what matters.”

His hand tightened around yours, and for the first time in what felt like days, you saw a flicker of peace in his eyes.

“Together,” he murmured. “Yeah. I can do this if we’re in it together.”

The moment felt like a small victory in the midst of the storm. But as the days continued to pass, you both knew that the hardest challenges were yet to come. The transition to the throne was fast approaching, and the weight of the monarchy loomed larger than ever.

But you were determined, as was Harry. You would face whatever came your way - together.

The days leading up to Harry’s official ascension to the throne were a blur. The palace was a cacophony of endless meetings, preparations, and ceremonial rehearsals. Every detail was scrutinized, and the pressure on Harry to be both the heir and the future King of England was suffocating.

You could see it in the way he moved - his shoulders slumped, his hands occasionally trembling when he wasn’t consciously gripping them together to keep himself steady. He had been avoiding sleep and barely eating, the exhaustion evident in the bags under his eyes. But you knew Harry well enough to understand that it wasn’t just physical fatigue - it was the weight of expectation bearing down on him. He wasn’t sure if he could live up to the role that had been thrust upon him.

You had tried to reassure him, but you knew he needed more than just comforting words. He needed to find a way to believe in himself, something that was increasingly difficult with each passing day.

One evening, after yet another exhausting royal dinner, you found Harry pacing in the drawing room of your shared private quarters. His mind seemed miles away as he walked back and forth, hands running through his hair in agitation.

“Harry, stop,” you said gently, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Come here.”

He didn’t stop pacing immediately, but eventually, he turned toward you, his eyes weary and filled with frustration. “I can’t do this, Y/N. I just can’t.”

You took his hands in yours, pulling him toward you. “You don’t have to be perfect, Harry. You just need to be yourself. You’re going to be a wonderful king because you are who you are. That’s all anyone could ever ask for.”

His gaze softened slightly, but the doubt still lingered in his eyes. “You don’t understand. It’s not just about being myself. It’s about leading a country, making decisions that affect millions of people’s lives. I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that.”

You squeezed his hands, your voice unwavering. “You’re not doing this alone. We’re in this together. You have me. You have your family. And most importantly, you have a country that believes in you.”

Harry was silent for a long moment, his eyes locked on yours, searching for reassurance. You could feel his internal struggle, the pressure and the fear, but also the flickering hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he could do this after all.

“I just need time,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “I need time to figure this all out, Y/N.”

You smiled softly, lifting your hand to gently touch his cheek. “We’ll figure it out together, one step at a time.”

The day of the coronation arrived faster than either of you had anticipated. The grand halls of Buckingham Palace were filled with dignitaries, foreign ambassadors, and members of the royal family. Every inch of the palace was adorned in the finest silks, golden tapestries, and regal colors. The ceremony itself was a spectacle - an event that would be etched in the history books, a moment of great transition for both the monarchy and for Harry.

It was still early in the morning, and you were in your private chambers getting ready. Your dress was a custom creation - a delicate gown of ivory and gold that shimmered under the soft light of the palace. A team of stylists had worked tirelessly for days to perfect your hair and makeup, transforming you into the epitome of royal elegance. Your heart was beating quickly in your chest, a mixture of excitement and nerves.

As you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the tiara that had been passed down through generations of queens, you couldn’t help but think of Harry. This moment wasn’t just about the throne - it was about everything you both had fought for. The love you shared, the life you were building together, and the future you were about to embrace.

Just as you finished adjusting the final touches, the door to your chambers opened. Harry stood there, dressed in the royal regalia - his coronation robes shimmering in the light, the crown already resting on the table behind him. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, all the noise and chaos of the world outside melted away.

He looked every bit the future King of England, but the vulnerability in his eyes was impossible to ignore.

“You look incredible,” he said softly, stepping toward you.

You smiled, your heart swelling at the sight of him. “So do you, my King.”

Harry took a deep breath, clearly nervous. “I don’t know if I can do this, Y/N. This whole thing- it’s overwhelming. I’m just trying to keep it together, but…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to put his thoughts into words.

You walked toward him, gently cupping his face in your hands. “You’re going to be amazing, Harry. You already are. And you have the love and support of everyone who cares about you. You don’t have to do it alone.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The moment was short but meaningful, as Harry’s parents called from the hall, signaling that the ceremony was about to begin. You exchanged a quiet look, silently promising each other that no matter what came next, you would face it together.

The cathedral was breathtaking. The long aisles were lined with flowers, and the golden light that streamed through the stained-glass windows filled the space with a sacred glow. The air was thick with anticipation as dignitaries and guests took their seats, each waiting for the monumental moment to arrive.

You and Harry stood at the front of the cathedral, the weight of the moment finally settling over both of you. The Archbishop of Canterbury stood before you, ready to begin the sacred coronation ceremony that would officially make Harry the King of England - and you, the Queen.

As Harry knelt before the Archbishop, your heart was in your throat. The crown was lowered onto Harry’s head, and the soft murmur of the guests faded into silence. The weight of the crown seemed symbolic, as if it represented everything Harry had feared - his future, his legacy, his duty. But in that moment, as Harry rose to his feet, you could see something change in him. He stood taller, more certain than before, as if the crown - though heavy - was now a part of him.

The Archbishop turned to you, and you felt a tremor in your chest as you knelt beside Harry. The crown was placed on your head, your hands trembling slightly as the weight of the moment finally sank in. You were officially the Queen, standing beside the man you loved, ready to face the future together.

When the ceremony ended, applause filled the cathedral. You turned to look at Harry, and the look on his face made your heart skip a beat. He was no longer the nervous, uncertain man you had married. He was the King. And you were the Queen by his side.

As you and Harry left the cathedral, the weight of the crown - and the reality of what it all meant - pressed heavily on your shoulders. The applause from the guests echoed in your ears, but in the quiet of the palace, it was just the two of you.

“I can’t believe it,” Harry muttered, his voice shaking. “It all just happened so fast.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I know. But we did it. And we’ll continue to do it, together.”

Harry smiled, the weight in his eyes finally easing. “Together,” he repeated, his voice steady.

The crown was now on both of your heads. But the most important thing -!what mattered most - was that you had each other. And with that, no matter how overwhelming the responsibilities of royalty might be, you knew you would face the future side by side. Together.

The months following your coronation were filled with a mixture of new beginnings, long royal meetings, and settling into your roles as the King and Queen of England. You and Harry found yourselves slowly adjusting to the rigorous demands of your new life. The palace became your home in a way it never had before, the once overwhelming responsibilities now starting to feel like a second skin.

Together, you navigated the complexities of being the face of a nation, balancing state visits with private moments, public appearances with stolen moments of quiet. As a couple, you were still learning, still growing into the roles you had taken on, but through it all, there was one thing you both held dear - each other.

But in the quiet of your shared chambers, away from the world’s eyes, there was an underlying weight, one that lingered quietly between the two of you. You and Harry had been trying for months now, hoping, wishing for a child - an heir to carry on the legacy you both were now responsible for. But each time, when you found yourself staring at the stark white of another negative pregnancy test, the hope seemed to drain a little further from your soul.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried - oh, you had tried. You and Harry had put everything into it, every last ounce of love and effort, but it was as if something was just out of reach.

You would smile for the cameras, be the perfect Queen in the eyes of the people, but behind closed doors, you felt like you were failing. Failing Harry. Failing the monarchy. Failing yourself. Every month, the disappointment grew more pronounced. Each time you felt your period arrive, it was like a slap in the face.

There had been moments of doubt, moments when you sat in silence and just cried, asking Harry over and over what was wrong with you. What was it about you that wouldn’t let you get pregnant? What had you done wrong? What were you missing?

You sat in front of the large mirror in your chambers one night, staring at your reflection with teary eyes, the silence of the room making everything feel heavier. The weight of the crown seemed insignificant in comparison to the frustration, confusion, and sadness that had begun to take root in your heart.

“Why can’t I give him a child?” you whispered softly, as though your reflection could answer. You ran your hands through your hair, feeling lost. “Am I not enough for him?”

You didn’t hear Harry enter the room until he was standing next to you, his voice filled with quiet concern. “What’s going on, love?”

You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Nothing, just…thinking.”

But Harry knew you better than that. He’d seen the breakdowns. He’d seen the tears that you wiped away before anyone else could notice. He had felt the tension in the air when you tried to hold it together, knowing how much you wanted this. You both wanted this.

“I know you’ve been struggling,” Harry said gently, his hand resting on your shoulder. “But don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ve only been trying for a few months, Y/N. This doesn’t mean anything yet.”

You stood up, pushing his hand away gently as you wiped a stray tear from your face. “It’s been months, Harry. Months of trying, of failing, and I’m just…” Your voice cracked. “What if there’s something wrong with me? What if I can’t have children?”

Harry’s face fell, his heart breaking at your pain. He wanted to take the weight from you, wanted to fix it and make it better, but this was something neither of you could control. He couldn’t change the reality of the situation, and he knew that, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to protect you from the sadness that had become all too familiar in the last few months.

“You’re not failing,” he said firmly, his voice low but filled with love. “You’re not. We’re just starting. We’ve only just begun. You’re going to give me children, I know it. It’s just… it takes time.”

You closed your eyes, the bitterness of uncertainty rising in your chest. “But what if it doesn’t? What if it never happens? What if we can’t have the family we’ve dreamed about?”

Harry took your face in his hands, his eyes locking with yours, his grip firm but tender. “Y/N, you are enough. And if we don’t have a child right now, it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change how much I love you. It doesn’t change how I see you. You are everything to me. You’re the woman I love, the woman I chose to be my Queen, and I will never, ever stop loving you, no matter what happens.”

His words, though comforting, couldn’t erase the doubt that lingered in your heart. But his hands on your face, his tender touch, reminded you that at least you weren’t in this alone. You had Harry - and together, you would face whatever came next.

The weeks passed, and while the world saw the King and Queen leading their country, you both continued to face the heartbreaking reality of your inability to conceive. The doctor visits became more frequent. You sat in sterile offices, surrounded by pamphlets, medical charts, and explanations you barely understood, each visit leaving you with more questions than answers.

Harry did everything he could to support you. He was patient when you had days of frustration and silent tears. He was understanding when you pushed him away, when you withdrew into yourself. But each time you saw him try to comfort you, try to assure you that it would all work out, the feeling of guilt seemed to grow.

“I just want to give you the family we talked about,” you whispered one evening, curled up on the sofa with Harry, the two of you sharing a quiet moment before bed.

Harry kissed the top of your head, his hand stroking your back in slow, rhythmic motions. “You have given me everything, Y/N. A life I never could have dreamed of. A life I’m so proud of. We don’t need to rush into anything. If it happens, it happens. And if it doesn’t, we’ll find another way. Together.”

But it wasn’t just about Harry’s words anymore. It was about you. You were terrified that you couldn’t be the mother you so desperately wanted to be, terrified that your inability to carry a child would disappoint him or make him feel less fulfilled. And no matter how much he reassured you, you couldn’t shake the guilt.

As the pressure of royal expectations continued to build around you, so too did the pressure of your own heart. It wasn’t just the throne you had to bear - it was the weight of being the Queen, and the expectations that came with it. Your failure to conceive seemed to only intensify the scrutiny.

And all you could do was hold onto Harry - just as he held onto you -!and keep going, no matter how hard it became. Together, you would face the unknown. Together, you would find a way.

But for now, it seemed like that future - one with children, with a growing family - was still a distant dream.

It had been a long day already, filled with meetings, royal engagements, and the ever-present weight of expectations that came with being Queen. But today, you had made time for something far more important - helping Anne with one of her charity projects.

The two of you had spent the morning overseeing a women’s shelter, speaking with staff and listening to the stories of the women who had found solace there. It was the kind of work that reminded you why you had wanted to be Queen in the first place - not for the politics or the power, but for the chance to make a difference.

Now, back at Buckingham Palace, you were sitting in Anne’s private drawing room, sipping tea as she sorted through a pile of paperwork regarding upcoming charity events. The warm, golden light of the late afternoon streamed through the tall windows, casting a soft glow over the elegant space.

Anne had always been kind to you, had always made you feel welcome in the family. But today, sitting here with her, you felt something shift. You felt like you weren’t just her daughter-in-law - you were her daughter. And daughters needed their mothers.

You hesitated, staring into your cup, the tea swirling in slow, aimless patterns. Your heart felt heavy, the words stuck in your throat like an unbearable weight. But you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Anne,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up from her papers immediately, her sharp eyes full of quiet concern. “Yes, dear?”

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the porcelain cup. “I- I need to tell you something. Something I haven’t told Harry yet.”

That got her full attention. She set the papers aside, leaning forward slightly, her hands folding in her lap as she gave you her undivided focus. “Go on,” she urged gently.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. But the moment you opened your mouth, the emotions you had been bottling up for months came crashing down.

“I- I can’t get pregnant,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “Or, well, I can, but barely. I went to the gynecologist, and they told me I only have a two percent chance. Two percent, Anne.” Your hands trembled as you set the cup down on the saucer with a soft clink. “I feel like a failure. Like I’m failing Harry. Failing the monarchy. Failing myself.”

Anne’s face softened, her usual composed expression shifting into something far more vulnerable - motherly.

“Oh, my dear,” she murmured, reaching across the small table to take your hands in hers.

You let out a shaky breath, the tears you had been trying so desperately to keep at bay finally breaking free.

“I haven’t even told Harry,” you confessed, shaking your head. “I don’t know how. How do I tell him that the one thing we both wanted more than anything -!a family - might never happen? How do I look him in the eye and say that I can’t give him children?”

Anne squeezed your hands tightly, her grip warm and reassuring. “Listen to me,” she said firmly, her voice filled with a rare intensity. “You are not a failure. Do you hear me?”

You let out a soft sob, nodding, even though you didn’t quite believe it.

Anne sighed, shifting to sit beside you on the small sofa. Without hesitation, she pulled you into her arms, cradling you the way a mother would a heartbroken daughter. The moment her warmth surrounded you, you collapsed into her, sobbing into her shoulder as the weight of your grief finally consumed you.

“I hate myself for this,” you whispered, your voice muffled against the fabric of her dress. “I hate that I can’t give Harry what he deserves. I hate that my body won’t do what it’s supposed to.”

Anne’s grip tightened, her hand stroking your back in slow, soothing motions. “No,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering. “You don’t get to hate yourself for this, Y/N. You are not defined by your ability to have children. And Harry - Harry loves you. Not just the idea of a family, not just the dream of children. You.”

You sniffled, clinging to her as more tears spilled down your cheeks. “But what if he’s disappointed? What if he resents me?”

Anne pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, her own filled with unwavering certainty. “He won’t. And if he does, then I will personally knock some sense into him.”

That earned a wet, broken laugh from you, though it quickly turned into another sob.

Anne cupped your face, her thumbs wiping away the tears that continued to fall. “Sweetheart, you are already enough. More than enough. And if there’s one thing I know about my son, it’s that he would never see you as anything less because of this. But you need to tell him. Don’t carry this burden alone.”

You nodded weakly, though the thought of telling Harry still terrified you.

Anne gave you a small smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “No matter what happens, you are family. My family. And I will always be here for you, just like a mother should be.”

That was all it took for you to break down again, but this time, the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite as unbearable.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone.

The night was quiet, save for the occasional crackling of the fireplace in your shared chambers. The golden glow of the flames danced against the walls, casting soft shadows across the room. Harry was sitting on the sofa, flipping through a few documents he needed to review for an upcoming event, but his attention wasn’t really on them.

He could tell something was wrong.

You had been unusually quiet all evening, barely touching your dinner, barely speaking. And when he had tried to pull you into conversation, you had only offered small, forced smiles that never reached your eyes.

Harry knew you well enough to know when you were holding something in. And whatever it was, it was eating you alive.

You stood near the window, your arms wrapped around yourself as you stared outside at the darkened palace gardens. Your heart was racing, palms sweaty, stomach twisted in knots. You had spent the entire day trying to find the right moment, the right words, the right way to tell him.

But there was no right way to say this.

“Love?” Harry’s voice was soft, careful, as he set the documents aside and turned his attention fully to you. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “I-“ Your voice broke immediately, and you clenched your jaw, trying to steady yourself. “I need to tell you something.”

Harry was already on his feet before you could say another word. He crossed the room quickly, his hands immediately finding your arms, rubbing slow, comforting circles.

“You can tell me anything,” he said gently. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, but it didn’t make it any easier. The words felt trapped in your throat, suffocating you.

Harry’s brows furrowed in concern. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, his hands running up and down your arms. “Talk to me, darling.”

You exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for a brief moment. And then, finally, you forced yourself to say it.

“I went to the gynecologist,” you whispered. “I- I haven’t been able to get pregnant, and I needed to know why.”

Harry’s grip on you tightened ever so slightly. His body tensed, but he didn’t say a word - he just let you speak.

“They did some tests,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “And they found out that I can get pregnant… but the chances are-” You choked, pressing a hand to your mouth as the pain of saying it out loud became unbearable. “Two percent, Harry. I have a two percent chance.”

His face fell, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. “What?”

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders trembling under the weight of your emotions. “I- I might never be able to have kids with you. And I didn’t know how to tell you because-“ Your voice cracked. “Because I feel like I failed you.”

Harry’s entire body stiffened at those words. His hands immediately cupped your face, tilting it up so you were forced to look at him.

“Stop,” he said firmly, his green eyes burning with intensity. “You have never failed me. Do you understand me?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears, but it was no use. The floodgates had opened.

“I wanted to give you a family,” you sobbed, your hands gripping his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping you upright. “I wanted us to have kids, to grow old together surrounded by them. And now… now I don’t know if that will ever happen.”

Harry’s heart shattered at the sheer pain in your voice. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as you cried.

His hand cradled the back of your head, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses to your hair. “Oh, love,” he murmured. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You buried your face into his chest, your sobs muffled against his shirt. “I was scared,” you admitted. “Scared you’d be disappointed. Scared you’d regret choosing me.”

Harry immediately pulled back, his hands cupping your cheeks as he looked deep into your eyes. His expression was one of pure disbelief, almost offended at the idea.

“Y/N, I could never regret choosing you.” His voice was rough, filled with emotion. “You are my wife. My Queen. The love of my life. Do you really think the ability to have children could change that?”

“I just… I know how much you wanted kids,” you whispered.

“I want you,” he corrected, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “I want a family with you. And if that means we try and try and try until it happens, then that’s what we’ll do. And if it doesn’t happen, we’ll find another way. Adoption, surrogacy, whatever it takes. But you are my family. You are enough.”

His words shattered the last bit of control you had. You clung to him, sobbing openly now, allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable in his arms. And Harry just held you - held you like he was afraid you might slip away, held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “No matter what. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And in that moment, despite the fear, despite the heartbreak, you felt safe.

Because you had Harry. And as long as you had him, you would never face this alone.

The hallways of the Buckingham Palace felt colder than usual. Each step echoed against the marble floors as you made your way toward King Edward’s office, your stomach twisting in knots.

This was, without a doubt, the most terrifying conversation you had ever faced.

Telling Harry had been one thing - he was your husband, your partner, the man who had chosen to love you unconditionally. But telling his father? The King of England? The man who had spent his entire life ensuring the future of the monarchy? That was an entirely different battle.

Edward had always been firm about the importance of an heir. Even before you and Harry had married, he had spoken of continuing the bloodline, of ensuring the next generation would be raised to take the throne one day.

And now, you had to tell him that there was a strong possibility that wouldn’t happen.

You swallowed hard, standing outside his office door, your palms damp with nerves. The guards stationed nearby gave you a brief nod before opening the large double doors, signaling your arrival.

King Edward was seated at his desk, scanning through documents with his usual air of authority. He barely glanced up as he gestured for you to step inside.

“Y/N,” he acknowledged, his voice even. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You hesitated for a moment before closing the door behind you, taking a few cautious steps forward. Your heart was pounding, and for a brief second, you wondered if you should just turn around and walk away.

But no. You had to do this.

“Your Majesty,” you began, keeping your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something… important.”

That made him look up. His piercing gaze settled on you, sharp and calculating, as if already trying to decipher what you were about to say. He set his papers aside, folding his hands neatly on the desk. “Go on.”

You took a shaky breath. “It’s about the future of the family. About an heir.”

His expression remained unreadable, but you knew he was listening intently.

“I went to the doctor,” you continued, your voice softer now. “And they told me that my chances of getting pregnant are… almost nonexistent.” You swallowed hard. “Two percent, to be exact.”

A long, heavy silence filled the room.

Edward didn’t speak. He didn’t move. His face remained neutral, but you could see the way his fingers tensed slightly on the desk, the only sign that your words had truly registered.

“I know how much you wanted a grandchild,” you continued, forcing the words out before you lost your courage. “I know how important it is to secure the next generation of the monarchy. And I-” Your voice broke, and you quickly pressed your lips together, trying to contain the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill over.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his blue eyes locked onto yours. And then, finally, he exhaled.

“Come here,” he said.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

Edward pushed his chair back slightly and gestured for you to step closer. “Come here, Y/N.”

Your legs felt stiff, almost reluctant to move, but somehow, you found yourself stepping toward him.

As soon as you were close enough, Edward did something you never expected.

He reached out and pulled you into his arms.

You froze.

You had never hugged Edward before. In fact, you had never seen him as anything other than a king - a ruler, a strategist, a man who commanded respect in every room he entered. But right now, in this moment, he wasn’t King Edward.

He was simply a father.

Your father-in-law.

Your breath hitched as his arms tightened around you, firm yet careful, as if shielding you from the weight of your own pain.

“You must have been terrified to tell me this,” he murmured, his voice softer than you had ever heard it.

That was all it took for the dam to break.

A broken sob escaped your lips as you clutched onto him, burying your face into his shoulder. All the fear, all the guilt, all the self-loathing you had carried for months poured out of you in an uncontrollable wave.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your body trembling against him. “I’m so sorry.”

Edward sighed, his large hand smoothing over your hair in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I feel like I failed you. Like I failed Harry. I wanted to give this family an heir. I tried. But I-” Your voice cracked, and another sob escaped before you could stop it.

Edward pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his hands firm on your shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice filled with quiet strength. “The ability to have children does not determine your worth. Not as a woman. Not as a Queen. And certainly not as my daughter-in-law.”

You sniffled, blinking up at him in disbelief.

“I won’t lie to you,” he admitted. “Yes, I have always wanted an heir. But not at the expense of my son’s happiness. And not at the expense of yours.” He squeezed your shoulders. “You are my family now, Y/N. And you will always have a place here. No matter what.”

A fresh wave of tears threatened to spill, but this time, they weren’t just from sadness.

For the first time since hearing the news, you felt a weight lift from your chest.

Edward - the King - wasn’t angry. He wasn’t disappointed.

He was just there. Holding you, reassuring you, giving you the fatherly support you had never truly expected from him.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to carry this burden alone.

With a shaky breath, you tightened your grip around him, resting your forehead against his shoulder as more silent tears fell.

And Edward?

For the first time, he simply held you - not as his son’s wife, not as the Queen of England.

But as his daughter-in-law.

Life at Buckingham Palace didn’t slow down, no matter what personal struggles lay beneath the surface. The world kept turning, the public kept watching, and you and Harry had responsibilities to uphold as the Queen and King of England.

After your emotional conversation with King Edward, a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. For the first time in months, you felt like you could breathe again. You weren’t alone in this - not with Harry, not with his parents, and not with the people who truly cared about you.

But even with that relief, the reality of royal life came crashing back down almost immediately.

The next morning, you were seated at the long oak table in the private royal meeting room, staring at an overwhelming stack of documents, schedules, and briefing notes. Across from you, Harry had his own pile, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to focus.

A royal advisor stood at the head of the table, reading out the upcoming engagements.

“…and following the charity gala next Saturday, Your Majesties will attend a diplomatic dinner with foreign delegates from Spain, Germany, and Japan,” the advisor continued. “It will be your first official state dinner as the future monarchs, so expectations will be high.”

You sighed quietly, already feeling exhausted just listening to the schedule.

“And before that,” another advisor chimed in, flipping through her notes, “the two of you will make a public appearance at the children’s hospital in London. It’s part of the royal family’s ongoing efforts to support pediatric healthcare.”

Your ears perked up slightly at that. You had always enjoyed your visits with the children - it was one of the rare duties that truly made you feel connected to the people, rather than just a figurehead in a crown.

Harry, sensing your shift in mood, glanced over at you with a small smile.

The meeting continued for another hour, outlining everything from upcoming speeches to wardrobe expectations for each event.

By the time it was over, you felt drained.

As the advisors filed out of the room, you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. “How do they expect us to keep up with all of this?”

Harry let out a deep sigh, standing up and stretching. “Honestly? I don’t think they care, as long as we do it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile.

He stepped around the table, coming to stand behind you. His hands found your shoulders, massaging gently. “You’re doing incredible, you know that?”

You let your head tilt back slightly, enjoying his touch. “I feel like I’m drowning in expectations.”

“You are.” He smirked. “But at least we’re drowning together.”

You huffed out a laugh, reaching up to squeeze his hand.

Just then, the door opened again, and Queen Anne stepped in. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, her voice warm.

“Not at all,” you said, sitting up properly as she approached.

Anne smiled, her eyes filled with the usual grace and wisdom she carried. “I just wanted to check on you both. I know these past few weeks have been… heavy.”

You swallowed, exchanging a quick glance with Harry.

“I’m okay,” you assured her, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was.

Anne tilted her head slightly, studying you in the way only a mother could. Then, instead of pressing further, she simply said, “I know it’s been overwhelming, stepping into this role so quickly. But I want you to remember - you’re not just here to serve the people. You’re here to live, too.”

You blinked, taken aback by her words.

She smiled knowingly. “Don’t let the crown steal the joy from your life, my dear. It’s a privilege, yes, but it’s also a burden. And if you don’t take time for yourselves, it will consume you.”

Harry nodded. “We’ll try, Mum.”

Anne arched a brow. “No, you will.” She placed a gentle hand on your arm. “And if you ever need a reminder, I’ll be here to give it.”

You felt an overwhelming warmth at her words.

Maybe the crown didn’t have to weigh you down completely.

And as you looked at Harry - your partner in all of this - you knew that no matter what came next, you would face it together.

You stared down at the six pregnancy tests lined up in front of you, each one displaying the same undeniable result.

Positive.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the bathroom counter, your breath shallow.

This couldn’t be real.

After months of heartbreak, of failed attempts, of hearing the doctor’s grim diagnosis - you had convinced yourself that it would never happen. That the dream of carrying Harry’s child would always remain just that - a dream.

So when the first test showed two pink lines, you had scoffed.

Faulty. It had to be faulty.

Then the second one.

The third.

By the fourth, your hands had started shaking.

By the fifth, tears had blurred your vision.

And now, staring at the sixth positive test, your mind finally allowed itself to believe the impossible.

You were pregnant.

A choked sob escaped your lips as the overwhelming reality of it all crashed into you. Your body trembled as you sank onto the bathroom floor, hugging your knees to your chest, silent tears trailing down your cheeks.

You had prepared yourself for disappointment so many times that the sheer possibility of this being real left you utterly paralyzed.

That was how Harry found you.

The door creaked open, his voice carrying through the quiet space. “Love? I’m home.”

He paused when he stepped into the bedroom, immediately noticing the empty bed. His brows furrowed.

Then, his eyes landed on the open bathroom door.

“Y/N?” His voice softened with concern.

He stepped inside - and froze at the sight of you sitting on the floor, your shoulders shaking.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was by your side in an instant, kneeling beside you, his hands cupping your face as he searched your tear-streaked expression. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The words stuck in your throat, the sheer weight of this moment making it impossible to speak.

His panic only grew. His eyes darted around the room, looking for any sign of what had caused your distress - until they landed on the sink counter.

On the six pregnancy tests lined up in a perfect row.

Harry’s entire body went still.

You watched as his emerald eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze flickered between you and the tests, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Finally, his lips parted. “Are these…?”

You managed a shaky nod, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I took six.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I didn’t believe the first one. Or the second. Or the third.” You let out a breathless laugh, one that was half-sob, half-disbelief. “But after six… I think I finally believe it.”

Harry’s eyes welled with emotion as he let out a shaky exhale, his hands trembling as they cradled your face.

“You’re pregnant?” His voice was hoarse, filled with something so raw, so utterly vulnerable.

Another nod. “I’m pregnant.”

And then, before you could react, he was wrapping you up in his arms, holding you so tightly it felt like he was afraid you’d disappear.

A broken laugh rumbled through his chest, his face buried in your neck. “Holy shit.” His breath was warm against your skin. “Holy fuck.”

You let out a watery laugh, clinging onto him just as tightly.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands shaking as he brushed your hair away from your face. His eyes were shining with disbelief, awe, pure love.

“I thought-” He swallowed thickly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t even form the words. “I thought we couldn’t-“

“I know.” Your voice cracked. “I thought so too.”

Harry let out a sharp breath, his forehead pressing against yours. “This is a miracle.”

You nodded. “It is.”

Then, suddenly, his lips were on yours, kissing you with so much love and relief that it made your head spin. It was deep and tender, filled with all the emotions neither of you could fully express in words.

When he finally pulled away, he let out another breathless laugh, his hands resting on your still-flat stomach.

“There’s a baby in there,” he murmured in amazement.

You sniffled, covering his hands with your own. “Yeah. Our baby.”

His throat bobbed as he fought back tears. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

Harry exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before letting out another disbelieving laugh.

“You took six?”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a teary chuckle. “Shut up.”

He grinned, and for the first time in months, everything felt perfect.

The next morning, you and Harry sat in your private lounge, both buzzing with nervous energy. The six pregnancy tests still sat on the nightstand as if they were too precious to throw away just yet, a constant reminder that this was real.

“We should tell them today,” Harry said, pacing the length of the room, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“Yeah.” You nodded, twisting your fingers together. “But… what if they don’t react the way we hope?”

Harry stopped, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

You sighed. “I mean, your father has always wanted an heir, right? What if the pressure starts immediately? What if-“

Harry knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. “No. Stop that.” His voice was gentle but firm. “We’re not going to let anyone ruin this moment. This is our baby, our family. And I don’t care if we’re King and Queen someday - our happiness comes first.”

Your heart swelled at his words.

You exhaled deeply and nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Harry grinned and kissed your knuckles before standing up. “Let’s go shock the hell out of them.”

A short while later, you both stood outside the grand sitting room where King Edward and Queen Anne spent most of their mornings.

Harry glanced at you one last time, squeezing your hand. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He pushed open the doors, and you both stepped inside.

King Edward sat in his usual chair, reading over some documents, while Queen Anne was sipping her tea by the window. They both looked up at your entrance.

“Harry, Y/N,” Anne greeted with a soft smile. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

Edward peered at you both over his glasses. “To what do we owe the honor?”

Harry cleared his throat and exchanged a quick glance with you before stepping forward. “We, uh… we have some news.”

Anne immediately straightened, setting her teacup down. “Good news?”

Harry hesitated for only a second before his face broke into a wide grin. “The best.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out one of the pregnancy tests (because, of course, he had insisted on bringing proof), and placed it on the coffee table in front of them.

Both parents leaned forward.

Anne gasped first. “Is this…?”

Edward’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying?-“

You nodded, unable to stop the smile that broke across your face. “We’re having a baby.”

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, suddenly, Anne let out a soft cry of joy, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she stood up and rushed toward you.

“My dear…” she whispered before pulling you into a tight embrace. “Oh, my dear.”

You melted into her hug, letting yourself be held as relief washed over you.

Anne pulled back, placing her hands on your cheeks, beaming through her tears. “This is wonderful news.”

Then, without hesitation, she turned and pulled Harry into a hug as well. “Oh, my sweet boy.”

Harry chuckled, hugging her back. “Took you long enough to say congrats, Mum.”

Edward, who had been silent up until now, finally stood from his chair, still staring at the test in his hand as if it were an artifact of unspeakable value.

Then, his gaze flickered to you, to Harry, before softening in a way you rarely ever saw.

“A child,” he murmured.

Harry nodded. “Our child.”

Edward stepped forward, his expression unreadable. For a brief second, you braced yourself for something stern or demanding - but instead, he simply placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, the other on yours.

His lips twitched slightly. “Congratulations.”

It was a single word, but it carried so much weight.

And then, much to your absolute shock, Edward did something he had never done before.

He pulled you into a hug.

Your breath hitched, completely caught off guard, but within seconds, you relaxed into the warmth of it.

When he pulled back, he cleared his throat, his usual composed self returning. “This is… a significant moment for the monarchy. But more importantly, it is a significant moment for our family.”

He turned to Anne, who was still wiping at her eyes. “We’re going to be grandparents.”

Anne sniffled, nodding fervently. “Yes, we are.”

Harry exhaled, grinning as he wrapped an arm around you. “Well, I’d say that went better than expected.”

Edward shot him a dry look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, son. There will be many discussions about the child’s future.”

Harry groaned. “Of course there will be.”

Anne swatted her husband’s arm. “Not now, Edward.” She turned back to you, her eyes soft. “Right now, we celebrate.”

And as she hugged you once more, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel scary.

It felt right.

Pregnancy had a way of turning life upside down, especially when you were the Queen of England.

From the moment the news broke publicly, the world was obsessed. The media called it the biggest royal announcement in decades. Journalists speculated on names, gender, and how the pregnancy would affect the monarchy. Public celebrations erupted across the UK - parades, fireworks, even special merchandise with your face on it.

It was surreal.

But behind closed doors, pregnancy was a rollercoaster of emotions, challenges, and unexpected changes.

Morning sickness hit hard.

Whoever named it “morning” sickness was a liar - because it lasted all day.

You had to excuse yourself from meetings to throw up, sometimes barely making it out of the room before dashing to the nearest bathroom. The first few times, you tried to play it off as nothing, but after the third time in one week, Harry put his foot down.

“We’re telling them,” he insisted one evening as you lay curled up on the sofa, utterly exhausted.

You groaned. “No. They’ll just fuss.”

“They should fuss!” Harry ran a hand through his curls, exasperated. “You’re pregnant and still trying to do everything like normal. It’s not normal.”

You sighed, knowing he was right. So the next day, the royal advisors were informed - and just like that, your schedule changed.

Meetings were shortened. Public appearances were reduced. The palace chef was given strict orders to prepare meals that wouldn’t make you nauseous.

Harry, meanwhile, went into full protective mode.

He hovered constantly. If you so much as breathed wrong, he was by your side, fussing over you like a mother hen.

“Drink more water.”

“Did you eat enough today?”

“Put your feet up, love.”

At first, it was sweet. Then, it got slightly annoying.

One night, after he practically carried you upstairs because you “looked tired,” you finally snapped.

“Harry, I love you, but if you don’t let me walk on my own two feet, I swear I will-“

“Okay, okay!” He held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “But just so you know, I will catch you if you so much as stumble.”

You rolled your eyes - but deep down, you loved how much he cared.

The sickness eased, but new challenges emerged.

Your growing belly made royal duties a bit harder. Dresses had to be altered constantly. Walking in heels for long ceremonies? Impossible. The royal tailors ended up crafting special, elegant flats just for you.

Then came the kicks.

The first time you felt the baby move, you gasped so loudly that Harry nearly fell out of bed.

“What? What’s wrong?” He scrambled to sit up, eyes wide.

You grabbed his hand, pressing it against your stomach. “Feel that?”

For a moment, nothing - then, a tiny thump beneath his palm.

Harry’s eyes went huge. “Oh my God.”

You both froze, and then he laughed - a soft, awed sound. “That’s our baby.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Yeah.”

From then on, Harry was obsessed. Every night, he talked to your belly, pressing kisses against it, telling stories, singing softly.

“Hey, little one. It’s Dad. Hope you’re comfy in there.”

The sight of him doing that made you fall in love with him all over again.

Everything was hard.

Sleeping? Impossible.

Standing for long periods? Torture.

Breathing? Sometimes a challenge.

And the baby kicked nonstop.

“I think they’re training for the Olympics,” you groaned one night as you shifted uncomfortably in bed.

Harry chuckled, rubbing soothing circles on your belly. “Or trying to prepare us to never get a full night’s sleep.”

The palace had adjusted everything for your comfort - your chair in meetings had extra cushions, a footstool was placed under every table, and a personal physician was on standby constantly.

But the hardest part was the public scrutiny.

The press obsessed over every tiny detail. If you looked tired in a photo? Headlines speculated on complications. If you skipped an event? Scandal.

One day, a tabloid even claimed you were carrying twins based on the size of your belly.

“Twins? Really?” you scoffed, tossing the magazine aside.

Harry smirked. “Well, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised. You are massive.”

You glared. “Say that again and you’re carrying the next baby. I don’t know how, but I’ll make it work.”

He held up his hands in surrender, laughing.

Despite everything, though, there were beautiful moments.

Like the time the entire royal family gathered to feel the baby kick. Anne teared up, pressing a gentle hand to your belly.

Edward, surprisingly, softened. “A future ruler,” he murmured.

“No,” Harry corrected, wrapping an arm around you. “Our child. First and foremost.”

Edward looked at him for a long moment - then nodded. “Yes. You’re right.”

It was the closest thing to a heartfelt moment you’d ever had with the King.

The palace was on high alert.

Every doctor, nurse, and staff member was on standby. Your hospital bag was packed. The route to the private royal hospital was finalized.

You were ready.

Or so you thought.

Because one evening, as you sat in bed, rubbing your belly, you felt a sharp pain.

Your breath hitched.

Harry, who was reading beside you, immediately noticed. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I think… I think it’s starting.”

For a second, there was silence.

Then…

Harry panicked.

“Oh my god. Okay, OKAY- We- we practiced this!- Breathe! Wait, SHOULD I BREATHE?!”

You groaned. “Harry, call the damn doctor.”

He scrambled for his phone, fumbling with it in his panic. “Right! Doctor! I can do that! I’m calm!”

He was not calm.

And as the reality of what was happening sank in, you realized.

Your baby was finally coming.

The moment you arrived at the private royal hospital, chaos unfolded.

Doctors and nurses swarmed around you, checking your vitals, preparing for the delivery. Everything was happening so fast.

Harry never left your side.

Not even for a second.

He held your hand the entire way through the halls, whispering reassurances, pressing kisses to your knuckles, promising you that everything would be okay.

“You’ve got this, love,” he murmured as they settled you into the delivery room. “I’m right here.”

And he was.

It was hell.

Contractions hit like waves of agony, rolling through your body with no mercy. Time blurred. At one point, you swore you were dying.

“I hate you,” you growled through clenched teeth, gripping Harry’s hand so tightly his fingers turned white.

He swallowed hard. “Okay, fair-“

“This is your fault.”

“I know, baby, I know-“

“If you ever touch me again-“

Harry winced as you squeezed harder. “Right. Noted.”

But despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, you had never loved him more.

Because he stayed.

He wiped the sweat from your forehead, whispered encouragement, ignored his own pain as you nearly broke his hand. He never let go.

“You’re doing so well,” he breathed against your temple, voice thick with emotion. “So close now.”

Then, finally - after hours of agony -!the doctor’s voice rang clear.

“One last push, Your Majesty.”

You clenched your teeth, dug your nails into Harry’s hand, and gave it everything you had.

Then, a cry.

A sharp, piercing cry filled the room.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with exhaustion, but nothing - nothing - could have prepared you for the overwhelming rush of emotion as they placed your baby on your chest.

A tiny, wriggling, perfect little girl.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at her, barely able to breathe.

“Hi, my love,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Hi, my sweet girl.”

Harry made a strangled noise beside you.

You turned to look at him - and your heart nearly shattered at the sight.

Tears streamed down his face as he stared at your daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world. His hands trembled as he reached out, brushing a single finger over her impossibly soft cheek.

“She’s…” He exhaled shakily. “She’s beautiful.”

You nodded, unable to speak.

Harry let out a choked laugh, his free hand covering his mouth as he blinked rapidly. “We have a daughter.”

The doctor smiled. “Would you like to cut the cord, Your Majesty?”

Harry’s breath hitched.

Slowly, he nodded, taking the scissors with trembling hands. You watched as he carefully, almost reverently, did as instructed - then immediately pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

You let out a watery laugh. “I love you too.”

And then, the nurse swaddled your daughter in the softest white blanket, placing her back in your arms.

She was tiny.

Her delicate features scrunched up in sleep, her tiny fingers curling slightly. A full head of dark curls peeked out from the blanket.

You traced a fingertip down her cheek, completely in awe.

You turned your head, pressing a kiss to his damp cheek. “What should we name her?”

Harry exhaled, looking down at his daughter with pure, unfiltered love.

Then, as if it had been meant to be all along, he whispered.

“Amelia.”

Your heart clenched.

Princess Amelia of England.

It was perfect.

Tears welled in your eyes again as you nodded. “Amelia.”

Harry kissed your forehead again, voice thick with emotion. “Welcome to the world, my darling girl.”

And in that moment - exhausted, overwhelmed, but utterly complete - you knew.

Your life had changed forever.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

#harry styles #one direction #short story #headcanon #one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n

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fuckzachariah · 16 hours ago

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Zach’s eyes tracked her movements as though locked onto a target; the run of her hands over her hourglass frame, the tilt of her face as she gazed on at Kylie. Her face changed, and Zach was struck by the alienness of the look. This version of Alex that Kylie unwittingly received, Zach had never been the recipient of. And he never would be. The dark-haired seraph was removed and appreciative, calculated and intentional. A throb of something like guilt or maybe even a thrill clenched its fist around the base of his throat. The danger he was toying with was too great to truly fathom. It expanded beyond his eyeline so as to be entirely obscured from comprehension at all. He liked it this way. This way, he got to hone in on the details, to luxuriate in them and feel the way his pulse got faster from them; the curve in her brow, the simmering smug smirk on her lips. Briefly, his attention wandered to see what she saw. Those bouncing curls, the laugh that travelled any distance. He cocked his head curiously, seeing her in that moment as something entirely separate from himself. Blonde, beautiful, petite. He recognized these things as Alex listed them, and she was correct, they were a draw. But many women ticked such boxes. There was something else, something intrinsic…

Alex withdrew him from his thoughts with a quip. He laughed, quietly and contained, but in earnest. "Oh, no. Not everyone is that fucking ballsy. Or stupid," his mischief glimmered. The day she had launched that wine bottle across the room at him had been the same day he had first lost his fucking mind. Truly, honestly abandoned all his senses. It had been bloody and awful and left scars that lingered to this day. But… he couldn't deny he missed something about it. The fervor. Nothing had made him so mad since. He had never felt so much, all at once, since the day they had walked away from each other. For better or for worse. He wondered if she pined after it, too. The all-consumption. The feeling of being lit on fire. “Not yet, anyway,” Zach muttered. “But there’s always room for improvement.” He needled at the plush, unpunctured balloon of their tryst. Something could surely make Kylie snap. He didn’t doubt Alex could well be that something. His dimpled tongue rolled behind his teeth, pushed up against the clamped porcelain.

The exact opposite of me. His attention snapped to her, subtle but sharp, and for a moment he said nothing as he trod around upon the question of her sincerity. How she truly felt about what she’d uttered. Because it was true. It was the very crux of what had made him cave – determination to banish Alex from his mind, after a year of being haunted, of waking up from his dreams shaking and aching... – that Kylie was her opposite. What better to rinse him of her memory than someone who was nothing like her? Zach wondered if Alex understood the absolute intention of that decision for him – but then she confessed, to a degree, that she had done the same in choosing Andrew. Zach sort-of smiled, ruminating on the irony of it all. “Running a million fucking miles from each other,” he mused with a cruel laugh. Then he eyed her. “Or maybe just 3,000,” he slipped, thinking of her Manhattan penthouse. Alex met his eyes keenly. His eyebrow raised expectantly. An energy thrummed between them, almost visible as it throbbed against the atmosphere.

Aubrey. Zach laughed, sudden and a little rude. They still ran into each other on occasion. She moved in any circle that allowed her to indulge in total debauchery; in sex and hard drugs and four-day benders, in drama and violence and frenemies. Zach’s previous unwillingness to banish her entirely had always been his proximity to these same things – or rather, his dependence on them. She was, like certain drugs, not his preferred vice but a reliable one to numb whatever needed numbing. Though on the surface it appeared she was determined never to change, never to grow, Zach knew there had been a shift in her since the days they'd been close. He knew this because when the time had come, she had let him go without leaving claw marks. Her presence would always be a reason for him to go back under, and he couldn’t go back under again. She knew it. The goodbye had been silent. However, when it came to Alex, with the clarity granted by distance he understood the lingering disdain. She may have forgotten her name for a moment, but she hadn’t forgotten the feeling.

“That’s funny,” Zach chimed. A lone dimple materialized upon his cheek. “If you were to ask me then, or now, I’d always say my real weakness is redheads.” As though Alex as she was now couldn’t bury him if she so wished. It was easier to pretend she only had that kind of power over him in the past-tense. He felt a distinct pang, a sudden urge, to push his fingers into her hair. He smiled, biting down on his tongue inside his mouth. “I’d say your thing must be fat wallets, but to be honest, I don’t think any man without the bank account to spoil you would waste their time on the approach.” He smirked. “You look like you cost a lot of money to win over.” It wasn’t an insult, though maybe it sounded like one. He chuckled. “Oh, tell me, did your first date with Andrew out-do ours?” Ours. His tongue got a little stuck on the word. But before she could get more than half-way through her response, a tall, incorrigible presence encroached upon their conversation, strapped with a vexing confidence.

Luke hadn’t even said a word before Zach popped up from his relaxed slouch upon the bar, alert like a guard dog, ready to bite. “Lovebirds,” he slurred, eyes drooping with hard liquor and whatever else. It wasn’t uppers. What shit was he on now – opioids? Zach kind of laughed, which visibly irritated Luke. “What’s funny?” he assailed, though it was sluggish. “Is it that I could blow up both your spots in 5 seconds, if I wanted to? Or an inside joke? Tell me the joke, Zach.” Zach’s teeth ground together as he breathed out through his nose. Not angry, not yet. Not raging. But bubbling. Luke, in response to his silence, turned his eyes to the petite brunette at his side. “Alex? Come on,” he goaded. The contents of his drink sloshed over his glass as it thrust toward her, narrowly missing her dress. Zach took a subtle step forward. “Let me in on the joke. For old time’s sake.” Zach shook his head, simmering down from irritation to something sadder. His face screwed delicately as though having smelled a foul smell, overrun with the sensation that he was watching something truly pathetic unfold. “Christ, Luke,” he began to dismiss, hand searching for Alex’s elbow in preparation. At any given moment, he suspected they may have to flee the scene. “You’re a fuckin’ joke.”

Alex slipped effortlessly back into her position at the bar, poised and balanced atop her towering designer platforms. Even with the added height, Zach still loomed over her, his presence inescapable. She glanced up at him, one perfectly arched brow lifting in silent amusement —Really? Her hands smoothed over the crushed velvet of her Dolce & Gabbana dress, fingertips cascading over the soft curves of her hips, an absentminded gesture. She exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting across the room, where Kylie stood swathed in warm light, radiant and effortless. “Well, let’s see,” she murmured, her voice smooth as silk. Her dark eyes traced the contours of Kylie’s petite frame, admiring her the way one might admire a perfectly crafted porcelain doll. Delicate, pristine, untouchable.

“Blonde. Beautiful. Petite. And,” she added, lips beginning to curve upward, “she’s unlikely to hurl a bottle of wine past your head.” A smirk danced across her features as she allowed the thought to linger. She wondered about their arguments, if they even had them. Did they disagree in soft voices, resolving their issues with careful words and understanding? Or did Zach ever lose himself in his anger, his temper simmering just beneath the surface, just waiting to be unleashed? And when they made up, was it tender? Slow and sweet, their bodies tangled in silk sheets, whispering apologies between kisses? Barf. Zach and Alex had never been that kind of couple. Maturity was not their strong suit. Passion? Destruction? That, they had mastered.

She had always loved the thrill of walking away in the heat of an argument. The power of leaving him stewing in his own frustration, slamming a door in his face, locking him out of a room, her home, her life. She relished the chaos of it, the way he’d flood her phone with missed calls and unread messages, relentless in his pursuit of resolution or revenge. And when she finally decided to answer, the fight would pick up right where it left off, voices low and venomous, each word another carefully aimed dagger. If they happened to be together, the tension could snap in an instant, turning volatile depending on what toxins had been swimming in their bloodstreams that night. But God, the way it always ended.

Every argument, every shattered glass, every tear-streaked accusation led them back to the same place. Back to each other. Their bodies colliding with the same reckless force as their words, a feverish entanglement of desperation and desire. It was raw. Consuming. Addictive. And in the afterglow, skin damp, breaths still ragged, fingers lazily tracing the aftermath of their mayhem, they’d forget why they were even fighting to begin with. It was unhealthy. Toxic. Damn near lethal. And yet, it was the best she had ever known. Nothing had ever come close since. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recreate it, couldn’t mimic that electric pull, that madness that somehow made perfect sense in its destruction. She wondered if he thought the same.

“The exact opposite of me,” she declared suddenly, the words spilling from her lips, bold and unfiltered. The espresso martinis had begun their work, loosening her tongue, unraveling the tightly wound threads of her self-restraint. She lifted her hands in mock surrender, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. “And I’m not one to judge. Clearly, I took a turn in the opposite direction as well.” Laughter bubbled up from deep in her chest. She allowed the silence to stretch for a moment, as if waiting for him to argue or challenge her. “Well, I suppose he does fit my track record,” Alex mused, tilting her head slightly. Her gaze flickered back to Zach, sharp and assuming. “You, on the other hand. I didn’t realize you liked blondes that much.”

She paused, her mind sifting through the catalog of names and faces, searching for the right one. Her hand lifted, fingers twirling absently in the air as if trying to pluck the memory from thin air. “Except for…” Her lips pursed, the name eluding her. With a sudden spark of recollection, her eyes lit up. “Aubrey,” she announced, “but that’s a different story.” Oh, Aubrey. Alex wondered how she was these days, if the patch of hair on her head had ever grown back after Alex had so graciously removed her extensions. Of course, there was also Tasha, the one who had always prowled too close, hell-bent on sinking her teeth into Zach. Maybe she had finally accomplished her mission. “Good times,” she drawled sarcastically. With a quiet chuckle, she let her hand rest comfortably against her stomach, her fingers idly tracing invisible patterns over her dress.

#para

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blacklegsanjienthusiast · 1 month ago

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the scene in wano when sanji calls out for robin asking her to help him means so much to me. this is a man whose father looked him in the eyes when he was just a child asking for help when he was hurt and asked him “why should i?”, a man who had it ingrained in him that he didn’t deserve help and when he asked for it wouldn’t come, a lesson learnt the hard way in that dungeon. needing help is a sign of weakness and the last thing he was allowed to be was weak. sanji allowing himself to ask for help when he needs it really is a testimony to how far he has come, both since his childhood and since whole cake island. he knows it isn’t weak to ask for help and he knows, with absolute certainty, that when he calls his crew will answer. he goes from a child whose pleas were ignored to a man whose family will be there for him in a heartbeat. and on robins end, the fact that sanji trusts her so whole heartedly means so much to her and god they mean so much to me as a duo

#the amount of people who i’ve seen calling sanji weak in that scene #like just say you don’t understand sanji and move on #a women who was dubbed a devil when she was just a child #who spent her whole life wanted and on the run #being seen as evil and untrustworthy #being so wholeheartedly trusted to help a man who often finds it impossible to ask for help #because he was always denied to growing up #whatever #i don’t even care #i’m so fine and normal about them #one piece #black leg sanji #sanji one piece #vinsmoke sanji #nico robin #robin one piece #one piece robin

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lessthanimpressedlesbian · 2 years ago

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I think one of the funniest ways BH could find out about imodna is if Pâté asks in front of everyone if he should start calling Imogen "stepmother"

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr spoilers #cr lb #laudna #imogen temult #imodna #pate de rolo #they've always had an interesting dynamic #imogen didnt really like him at the beginning but she seemed to like him more after he came to life #but i think the implications of a stepmother is so funny #especially if laudna read a lot of fairytales growing up #but also it would be funny because i think imogen and laudna would immediately start denying that theyre married #and that would be the perfect moment for someome to say they thought imodna had been married the whole time #(preferrably FCG or Fearne)

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magnusmodig · 11 months ago

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rough childhood headcanon qs / @clxscdeyes / no longer accepting !

╰┈➤ 7 . how old was your muse when they realized they had childhood trauma?

||. one whole "today years old" post!ragnarok and hela's reveal. Except, even then, according to the movie, not really because Thor is still in heavy denial about all of it where Odin is concerned. I've spoken a bit (here) about how Thor adores his family; he idolizes them and views them through blinding rose-colored glasses, (especially when they're deceased) and that is especially true of his circumstances.

So, very often times when the truth clashes with the rose-colored view of them (namely: his father), Thor does one of two things: find a way to justify the words or action with the surrounding context of the time to make it make sense (e.g., well he scolded me harshly because i was talking back), or avoid it altogether. (this is his go-to. no talking about it; thor would rather not right now, so he does not.)

Key example being: he would rather focus on how his father changed his ways, and the Odin that he knew and grew up with was a man who had turned away from pursuing war for war's sake, and was instead one who valued peace and life. He would rather focus on that aspect of Odin, and take in the broader picture of Odin's life. REGARDLESS of the fact that what Thor is deeply, personally affected - not with the realization that Odin changed his ways once upon a time - but by the fact that he lied to him, manipulated him, and controlled and shaped every aspect of his being, for Thor's whole life, JUST to avoid another Hela. Someone who Thor is not, could not be farther from, and never knew about, because Odin (apparently) kept the matter of his true first-born a closely-guarded secret and seemingly would have continued to were it not for Odin's death, Hela's escape, and Ragnarok all coinciding at the same moment in time. And this, all because Thor rationalizes it as "well, I wouldn't want to be remembered and judged based on the person that I used to be. I should extend that same kindness to my father, because he too, changed." (x10 because now Odin is dead. And it's in poor-taste to speak ill of a dead man.)

The problem namely being: Thor only talks about things when Thor decides it's time to talk about things ; when he is ready. ...but as this is a topic that ripple effects down to Thor's core, good luck getting him to open up about it, even just with himself.

#(yknow what sucks most about this is that 2011-2015 thor was on a trajectory where)#(while he still wouldn't talk about a lot of things he wasn't as firmly rooted in /absolute denial/ like he is now >>)#(he would lock up and not talk about his personal feelings but he was still /thinking/ about them)#(- and could grow ready to share his thoughts once he processed through all of it.)#(or at least he would broach the broad concepts while still lightly brushing over 'k but how did it make THOR feel')#(dude would rather choke than talk about his own feelings no support system for thor he's so dumb)#(which is also just so funny because he never /denied/ the fact that he's feeling under the weather either)#(he just... won't elaborate on why he is or how to feel better.)#(but anyways)#(to rationalize the trajectory shift away from 'thor being able to talk about deeply upsetting topics for him even if it's uncomfortable')#(i've decided that so much has happened in such a short amount of time and there's /so/ many things eating at him-)#(-that he's subconsciously decided he's not going to talk much about any of them. because there's just too much.)#(the vibe of 'if i talk about this now i'm going to fall and if i fall i don't know if i can get up again because it's finally too heavy)#(-and i can't afford to fall down bc there's too much at stake outside of me so i just will not take the chance')#(he can if he's ever with someone he truly trusts and he can speak about it NORMALLY if that person pushes him enough)#(because you've always had to needle thor to /actually answer your question/ rather than talk half-way around it)#(//stares at thor 2011 where he never opens up to jane even once not even at the fire-side chat)#(but until then it's big denial mode bc ragnarok messed him up something fierce and i'm not even talking about-)#(-the order of in-universe events that happen in the movie orz)#( ooc . ) — stories that leap from the page .#( answered . ) — black feathers fall to a raven's call .#clxscdeyes #( headcanon . ) — glory to the man who toils for his land . may it ever prosper .

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savagevillain · 2 years ago

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WHAT KIND OF HERB ARE YOU?

dandelion

You grew up too fast and all you know is the calluses on your fists and the thousand invisible scars that you pretend don't ache. Your anger burns so bright, so hot, or maybe not at all, so deep you could never tell it was there. You are yours and you will defend that to the death after so many years of being ripped apart and denied your own agency and maybe you are still facing the bastards who stole your innocence but you will survive because that's the only thing you know how to do without breaking, the only thing you know besides protect, protect, protect, protect yourself or something those few others you claim as yours. You are a thousand sharp edges but impenetrable, a traumatized child so covered by thorny armor that you promised yourself you're grown now, you're stronger than anyone who has ever hurt you. You're safe. Nothing will ever hurt you again. You're so alone though sometimes, in a world that sees you as too much or too broken or too angry or too hurt, and you want to scream with the too-much of it, prove that you're okay, that you're self-reliant, that you are strong enough to stake your claim on your body, on your mind, on your heart, on your people, and protect it from any who dare take it away from you. You are the sea in tempest, a howling sky, a tsunami in motion, a force of nature, no matter how much you sometimes yearn to be still, to be safe, to be small. You are a dandelion, stubborn and determined to grow in the rockiest of soil, and bloom again in spring.

tagged: @unseenking <3

tagging: @witchfirst , @wailshe , @hybrid-royalty , @klaeus , @malka-lisitsa, @rippeah , @unsettledspirits ( marcel ), @viikingwitch, @tricursed , @survivingpierce , @deceptivemorals , @azrahel , @dethtale ( camille ), & you <;3!

#[ headcanons ft. klaus mikaelson ]#[ dash games ]#okay so accurate!!#i saw dandelion and i was ... eh??? but !!!!!#the start about growing up and the callouses and the thousand invisible scars is about his childhood abuse because that will always always #be a major part of him but he so wishes it wasn't #his anger burning so bright and hot OR MAYBE NOT AT ALL #BURIED SO DEEP YOU COULD NEVER TELL IT WAS THERE!#ESTHER'S NECKLACE SUPPRESSING HIS WEREWOLF NATURE AND HIS ANGER AND MAKING HIM WEAK THROUGHOUT HIS WHOLE HUMAN LIFE!!#'YOU ARE YOURS AND YOU WILL DEFEND THAT TO THE DEATH'!!!!!#klaus spending a millennium searching for ways to break the curse kept his werewolf side bound!! determined to take what was taken from him #^^^^ 'after so many years of being ripped apart and denied your own agency'!!! i hc that klaus could feel the wolf inside him trapped #and desperate to get out and ripping him apart from the inside every full moon #but its also just that esther ripped a whole part of his being away from him and he never recovered and mikael's hunt ripped away his mind #making him paranoia and terrified and breeding cruelty with cruelty #and his agency was stolen from him his whole human life and again when his parents stole even his life when they forced him to turn and #again with the binding #'AND MAYBE YOU ARE STILL FACING THE BASTARDS WHO STOLE YOUR INNOCENCE BUT YOU WILL SURVIVE BECUASE THAT'S THE OLY THING YOU KNOW HOW TO DO #WITHOUT BREAKING'#just .... that ^^^^^^#'protect yourself'!!!! cause that's what he had to learn how to do!!#THE BOLD BIT IS JUST !!!!!!!!!!#alone in a world that sees you as too much or too broken or too angry or too hurt and wanting to scream with the too much of it!!!!!#proving that he's fine exactly as he is and that he doesn't need anyone and THAT HE'S STRONG ENOUGH TO STAKE A CLAIM ON HIS BODY #KLAUS PROVING THAT HE /IS/ WORTHY AND POWERFUL AND HE CAN TAKE BACK WHAT THEY TOOK FROM HIM!#THEY MADE HIM MONSTER SO HE WILL /BE/ A MONSTER SO TERRIFYING THEY'LL FEAR HIM TOO!!#marcel saying to klaus 'you're the one who taught me that a man can't be defined by anyone but himself'#and klaus saying to ansel 'but a for the past one thousand years i have been son of mikael: paranoid vengeful and powerful enough to protec #my daughter'#^^^^^ STRONG ENOUGH TO STAKE CLAIM 'ON YOUR PEOPLE AND PROTECT IT FROM ANYONE WHO WOULD DARE TO TAKE IT FROM YOU'

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zincbotted · 3 months ago

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nobody fucking understands stanford pines like i do

#look i know i post abt stanley like 6000 times a day but you don't know how much i think abt ford #okay this is a slightly innaccurate statement i have seen some great art and writing that gets ford right #some of you though.#look i think people can get a little caught up in how the show introduces ford from dipper's persoective specifically #like actually how the stans both are portrayed in the show as it goes on is basically a direct correlation to how the kids perceive them #BUT ANYWAY. like guys #look at the layers #ford's ego and his loneliness and his anger!! are all so so interesting to me #the way stan and ford were raised was Insane and so so important to both of their characters. and people forget that core of ford. at times #and especially the Differences in stan and ford's experiences growing up #and the mindsets that each of them developed because of it #and also this may be an unpopular opinion but i don't think the multiverse was always horrible i think it was wild and varied #and i think. that even when it was really good. when ford was given chances to settle. he didn't take them #he was too deep in his self-imposed mission. he was too caught up in the idea of being a hero. and that's another thing i think abt #re: the stan o' war and the bros finale. i think that ford finally gets a chance to look at the world and find what he loves again #after 30 years of denying himself simple exploration and his drive for curiosity. always focused on cthe bigger picture'#(and i have a whole thing abt ford and the 'greater good' and the arc he goes through to force himself to finally acknowledge the small.#family #anyway.#it's fine i'm being reductive in these tags a bit but FORD.

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joelsgoldrush · 6 months ago

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“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you.

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.”

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend.

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison

Allison:

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss.

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.”

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features.

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules.

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up.

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail.

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients.

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment.

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you.

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him.

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his.

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on.

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?”

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days.

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble.

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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