#i feel like this very very rarely . i feel anything very rarely | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

witherby · 3 days ago

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LW first crush??? Or first time being crushed on???

👉👈

I love it when the hive mind comes together 🤝

Listen, I took the general concept of what you guys are asking for and made this. It's 4100+ words. Don't look at me 🙈

Littlest Wayne: Piety

Masterlist is Here!

"True piety hath in it nothing weak, nothing sad, nothing constrained. It enlarges the heart; it is simple, free, and attractive." - Francois Fenelon

Growing up in a family of rich people moonlighting as vigilantes, you're more than used to chaos. Secret-keeping, combat training, socializing with the Gotham Elite, and helping your grandfather patch up one of your brothers or parents after patrol are some of the routine shenanigans you have to deal with on a regular basis, and you aren't even a vigilante yourself.

School is supposed to be your little slice of normalcy, where you can decompress as a civilian amongst other civilians. Just go to class, talk to your friends, and maybe participate in an extracurricular if you want! That's it! Nice and simple! You love it when things are nice and simple!

So the fact that a gang of arsonists are currently holding your class hostage during a field trip to Metropolis Conservatory and threatening to burn down everything and everyone inside, is really fucking annoying you!!

"Hi, dad," you mumble into your backup cellphone. The arsonists took everyone's phones when they raided the conservatory, but Bruce made you keep two on hand for this exact scenario. "Don't freak out. There's a —"

"I know." He sounds freaked out. You barely suppress a sigh. "It's on the news. Clark is off-world with Hal or you'd be safe by now. ETA is twenty minutes for me, and 17 for Jason. Are you hurt?"

"No," you whisper, "they haven't done anything yet. I'm in the Butterfly Garden with my —"

You quiet down when one of the men turns and makes eye contact with you. You hunch over and press your hands against your head as though frightened, but you're trying to keep your cellphone concealed.

Bruce calls your name, audibly stressed. You can hear his car picking up speed on the highway. You click your tongue to reassure him you're fine. When the man looks away again, you relax a bit.

"There's at least five of them," you whisper as softly as possible. "Probably more. The lighting isn't bright or dim enough to cast shadows in here."

Overcast days are your biggest pet peeve. The level of darkness required to manipulate shadows is lax, but for some reason, the very rare occasions in which a space is simultaneously too light and too dark make it impossible to use your ability. You can see shadows being cast on the floor. You can feel them, even. But they aren't solid enough to control. It's like trying to stop water from slipping through your fingers; it works for a minute until you inevitably watch it seep through the spaces in between.

"No talking!" One of the men barks. You exhale slowly and keep still.

"You're gonna be fine. Stay calm and do everything they ask of you," Bruce says. "I'm entering the city now, and Jason is thirteen minutes out. We'll be there as soon as possible."

You click your tongue again, then hang up and slip the phone up your jacket sleeve. You hug your waist and draw your knees up, scowling at the dirt underneath you like it's personally responsible for what's going on right now.

A dark hand reaches over to clutch your arm. You glance to your right to spot Chiffon, your best friend, frowning worriedly at you.

"You okay?" She mouths. You nod and place your hand over hers, giving it a quick squeeze.

"Are you?" You mouth back. She nods as well. She doesn't seem frightened so much as irritated. Chiffon told you on the bus ride over that she was wearing all new clothes for the field trip, and now the two of you are sitting on the ground with your other classmates so it's likely dirtying them up.

"Are ya done yet!? How long does it take to swap out a fucking flag..." One of the arsonists complains into a radio on his hip. "I'm gettin' itchy, man. I don't even care about the message anymore; I need to feel the heat. I need to see somethin' burn before some dumbass Meta shows up and ruins the fun. I'm about to just strike my matchbook!"

Oh, shit. That was good news and bad news. Good, because fire casts shadows you can manipulate. Bad, because the arsonists also have guns, and you might not be able to subdue them all before one gets a lucky shot off. You have a soft, squishy body and no kevlar to protect it right now, which your family routinely complains about every time you leave the house. The vindication on their faces after this is gonna suck hard.

"The flag's up!" The radio crackles. You and your classmates tense up. "Light this joint!"

The three arsonists in the butterfly room with you pick up the cans at their feet and start pouring the contents out. The sharp smell of gasoline hits your nose and your classmates start complaining and shouting at them to stop.

"You're not actually doing this, right!?"

"Oh my god...oh my god!"

"Hey! Burn down whatever building you want, but let us out first you psychos!!"

"I was gonna skip school today. I wish I had!"

"I don't wanna die!!"

One of the men takes out a gun and fires a round into the ceiling. Colors whip around you as the butterflies all take off in a flurry. There's some brief shrieking and screaming, which makes you cover your ears, but when he starts aiming at your classmates, everybody gets quiet real fast, nothing but quick breathing and wingbeats disturbing the peace.

"Good," he sneers. "Listen here, you little squealers: it's your very unlucky day today. We staked out this spot until we knew Superman wouldn't be here t'save the day, and that just so happened to coincide with your stupid field trip. We're sendin' a message to that alien freak to stop meddling in human affairs, and you all get the honor of contributing to that message."

"Who's ready to be martyrs!!" The second one shouts, splashing gasoline in yours and your classmates' direction.

You gasp and scramble to your feet when your arm and shoulder gets splashed. You tug Chiffon up and usher her behind you, scowling. Your temper flares, made worse by your current inability to stop any of this from happening, and despite your father's warnings you begin lashing out.

"That doesn't make any sense, dumbass!" You snap.

"The fuck'd you say?" The man growls. Your pulse jackknifes, heart hammering wildly in your chest, but you don't falter. "I asked you a question!!"

"Martyrs are killed for supporting a cause, not objecting to it. None of us want to be part of this! We're just here for a stupid field trip!"

Chiffon grips your wrist painfully tight, hissing at you to be quiet. You know you should listen to her, but if help doesn't come fast enough and you die, you're at least gonna die having fought back. You're gonna die having tried.

"Did I ask what you wanted, kid?" The man says, stepping so close that you feel like the gas fumes coming from his jerrican are getting you high. "Hmm? Did any of us say "oh, raise your hands if you don't wanna be hostages?" No, we didn't."

"Did any of you take a second to think "oh, maybe I don't wanna be child murderers today?" No, you didn't."

The arsonist snorts.

"I dunno. Sounds to me like you wanna be the kindling."

He reaches out and grabs your arm with more force than you anticipate, yanking you away from your group. You yelp in pain, instinctively lifting your fist to strike him in the neck. He chokes and coughs as you brutalize his Adams apple, but doesn't let go of your arm. Instead, he uses the hand holding the gas can to strike you back. It connects with your head, and when you blink, you're suddenly lying on the floor and your temple is throbbing.

Aw fuck, you think, vision blurred. It's so hard to tell up from down right now. You feel your clothes getting splashed with more gasoline. You hear your schoolmates screaming and shouting in terror for the inevitable. You see an indecipherable ocean of colors dancing around you, butterflies trying in vain to escape the fate you're all about to share. You hear someone strike a match.

Oh, please don't make my parents identify the remains. Please don't do that to them.

You close your eyes and try to steady the trembling in your limbs, hoping the pain doesn't last long.

The screaming reaches a crescendo, causing a sharp ringing in your ears. You flinch and press your hands to your head, just barely stifling a sob. There's a loud, crashing sound, and gunfire all around you. The ground reverberates when people start running, bolting in all directions, and you're unable to make yourself look at what's going on.

Heat licks at your side. The fire is spreading and the crackling drives a spike through your heart. You are deathly afraid. You want your parents. You want your brothers. You want your grandpa.

Something hits the ground beside you, right as you feel your sleeve catch fire, and you yelp when a pair of hands start to pat it out before it can spread.

"Hey, hey! It's okay! It's fine, look at me, you're okay!"

Relief makes your stiff limbs slacken, and you crack an eye open to find a stranger staring down at you. It's not your father, it's not Jason, and it's not one of your classmates.

It's...a boy wearing a Superman suit, but with a black, leather jacket thrown on top of it. He's looking at you with the widest, brightest blue eyes you've ever seen. They seem to become impossibly wider when he locks onto your own.

He's very handsome, your brain musters in between all the panic. Shiny black hair that was buzzed underneath and long at the top, clear, tanned skin, and near-effeminate facial features are the most eye-catching bits you pick up on.

He doesn't seem to be phased by the fire crackling around you, but you cannot say the same. When you try to breathe in, the hot smoke fills your lungs and you start coughing painfully, grimacing.

The boy frowns — you realize belatedly he'd been grinning before — and shrugs his jacket off. He drapes it gently on top of your head to block out the flames and smoke, then gets an arm under your back and behind your knees to lift you up.

"Hold on a second!" He says, and then you're suddenly outside and being laid down on the grass. The jacket is removed and your breathing gets much easier now that you're in the open air. He kneels next to you again, checking on your arm. "You okay?"

You give him a jerky nod and a thumbs up. You don't recognize this Meta. Did uncle Clark have a kid and forget to tell anybody? It wouldn't be the first time, like when he got engaged to Lois a couple years back and realized he'd neglected to send out any wedding invitations.

This boy looks your age, though. How would Clark have avoided bringing him up for so many years, even in passing?

"Who are you?" You mumble, voice still slightly hoarse from the smoke inhalation. The conservatory is quickly being consumed by flames, if the steadily brightening orange and red in your periphery is anything to go by. You hear sirens quickly approaching in the distance, and wonder where the arsonists went. You wonder where your classmates are, too. Did everyone make it out?

The boy smiles at you again, wide and proud, and gestures to the symbol on his chest.

"I'm Superman. You and your school buddies are safe now, I promise."

"Oh," you say, and wonder if the hit to your head is affecting you worse than you thought, because you are definitely not looking at Superman.

When Conner opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is Lex Luthor. He recognizes him immediately, instinctively, despite never having met before now.

"Can you hear me?" Lex asks. Conner nods his head. The motion is new. It feels practiced. The dichotomy is throwing him for a loop as he steps out of the capsule he'd spent weeks growing in. His eyes dart around the space, taking in the other staff members present in the lab. Some of their names and faces click together like scattered puzzle pieces in his mind, while others are strangers he holds no information about.

He knows these people. They've just been introduced this very second. He feels helpless. He feels his immense powers buzzing under his skin.

Lex is talking, and Conner listens. Conner is an experiment. Conner is the result of years of work and programming. Conner is a success in a long line of failures.

He would have had siblings if they'd survived. He wouldn't be alone in these warring sensations and feelings. He would've had someone to relate to.

Conner is a success, but he woke up early. Didn't age enough. Conner is less than an hour old, but he's physically a teenager. He is supposed to be older. He is supposed to be bigger. He needs to be better than Superman. He's a success, but there is more work to be done.

His brain is packed full of theoretical knowledge with no practice. He knows what he can do but not how to do it. How to fly. How to control his super strength. How to shoot lasers from his eyes. How to summon ice breath. How to block out the overwhelming inputs to his brand new senses.

Lex is talking, and Conner listens. He gets coached through handling himself and reigning in his power. It's clinical and professional. He practices in another part of the lab for days. He does not learn how to speak for a week. No one had noticed beforehand.

Superman got years to do this. Superman got to grow into his body, not have it be grown for him and his consciousness injected into it. Superman got to take his time to become great. Conner does not have that time. He's told he doesn't need it.

Conner succeeds, because he is the better Superman as he was made to be. He is praised for his quick adaptiveness and brilliant control. He wishes he knew what a hug felt like.

He's given a suit and has to learn how to put it on. He's got knowledge of what he is and what he can do and who he is supposed to be, but they did not think to implant in him the knowledge of dressing or hygiene or socialization. He's got all the skills of a person with none of the experience. He's an egg shell walking on egg shells.

Lex is talking, and Conner listens. He's told that he is ready for action. Superman is not around to stop a crisis from occurring right now, so he must take charge and show Metropolis that a new hero has emerged. One that is reliable and mighty and belongs to this planet.

Conner is a hero. He is reliable and mighty and belongs to this planet.

"Make me proud, son," Lex Luthor tells him, flashing his teeth in a wide smile as he pats Conner's shoulder.

Conner grins back. He will not disappoint. He was made to do this. He is Superman. A better Superman. He is Metropolis' hero.

He knows the way to the Metropolis Conservatory, despite never having been there before. The layout of the city is implanted in his mind. He knows it like the back of his hand.

Nevermind that he's only known the back of his hand for all of three weeks.

He does not fly as quickly to the Conservatory as he's capable. The sensation of wind against his face is so new it stuns him in the air for a minute. The warmth of the sun against his body is so comforting that he learns how to cry in that same, stunned minute. The speed at which he flies dries any tears he might shed, and the excitement of getting to help save his city prevents an overload.

He sees the defaced American flag as he approaches, turned upside down and half-burnt, and the anti-alien flag hanging proudly right above it. He uses x-ray vision to spot the ten arsonists scattered amongst the Conservatory. He sees the class of students corralled into the butterfly garden, with one brave and impulsive soul daring to take a stand.

He knows he's impervious to flames, which gives him the confidence to swoop in and rescue everyone trapped inside the building. Only the three arsonists holding the students hostage need any medical attention ("Grip strength, Conner, we've been over this. You need to work on your grip strength!") due to how roughly he'd pulled them out of there. The rest, he's able to collect and deposit in a little pile of bodies, taking the rope off of the flag pole to tie them all up together.

Then he goes back for the civilians. The building is quickly evacuated and everybody moved to the large lawn behind the conservatory. He leaves the building to burn — he can hear firetruck sirens going off in the distance, piercing his ears and making his breathing quicken. He could use more practice tuning out the overwhelming sounds of everyday life. He will ask Lex to help him hone the skill.

There is one more civilian to rescue. He can see minor injuries on their body he doesn't want to exacerbate. When he kneels next to them to pat out the fire, he is as gentle as he can physically be. They're trembling and shaking from fear, and he musters up the words to console them.

This will be the very first person he's spoken to outside of the lab. He cannot afford to feel shy, despite the novelty of the emotion.

"Hey, hey! It's okay! It's fine, look at me, you're okay!"

And they do. You do. You open your eyes and ensnare him with your gaze.

Something deep, very deep inside him, clicks together, and the world becomes quiet.

There is nothing else.

There is no one else.

The only thing he can see is you. The only thing he can hear is you. The only thing he can feel is you.

Conner's world shifts so fundamentally to accommodate you, it's like he's never known anything else.

He is not Metropolis' hero. He is your hero. He is your anything. He is your everything. All you need to do is ask it, and he'll make it happen. Conner cannot live the rest of his pitifully short life without you. He simply won't survive.

Your mouth opens to reply to him. He leans forward, beaming, eager to hear the sound of your voice like a dog to his master's key turning in the door.

You start coughing. The rest of his senses kick back online, and he remembers that you are in a burning building that nearly burned you with it. He can hear your lungs straining against the smokey air, and that won't do at all.

"Hold on a second!" He says, removing his jacket to cover your face and mouth from the worst of the fire. When Conner gets his arms around you to take you to safety, his whole body seems to zing where you make contact. You fit against him perfectly. He memorizes your weight and warmth as he flies out of the conservatory.

Out in the daylight, under the bright sky, you are somehow even more stunning. The sight of your eyes shining under the light when he uncovers your face sears itself into his memory. It's a fight against his every instinct to stop cradling you and just sit in the grass (and isn't it something, that he's never felt how soft grass is and doesn't care in comparison to your presence) and admire you.

"You okay?" He asks, instead of "Do you feel this, too? Do I create the same, soft weight in your chest like you have in mine? Do you feel like we belong to one another?"

You nod and give him a thumbs up. It's better than any praise Lex and the other lab assistants have ever given him. He memorizes the shape of your thumbprint at just a glance and wonders if Lex will give him a pen and paper later so he can draw it.

"Who are you?"

You're talking to him. You're talking to him. You asked him a question and you're talking to him. Every word crashes into his ears like waves against the shore, and he almost drowns in it.

There's a brief war in his mind. He wants to hear you say his name. He wants to know what the word sounds like on your lips. He also knows that this is his debut as the next superhero. He needs to leave a good impression. He needs you to like him. He grins and points to the sign of Hope on his chest, because he was made to be —

"I'm Superman. You and your school buddies are safe now, I promise."

He clocks your obvious confusion, but it doesn't hurt his feelings. He is, after all, claiming someone else's title. The Superman you know is not the best one for you. Lex taught him that. Conner just needs to prove that he deserves to take that name, that he is worthy of the same accolades and respect that the alien predecessor is getting.

After all, the alien isn't the one that saved the day today. Conner is.

"Let's get you to a medic, okay?" He says, offering his arms to you, palms up. You glance around, then nod, and he's got you cradled in his chest again.

The knowledge of what uniforms a first responder would wear is already embedded in his mind. It helps him locate the proper people to hand you off to when the cacophony of colorful clothing and swarming bodies threaten to overwhelm him. He can pick out police, who are busy untying and detaining the arsonists. He can pick out firemen, who are hooking up hoses to extinguish the roaring flames. He can pick out journalists, who seem eager to talk to him after what he's just done.

More people to talk to. More socializing to be done. He spares you one last glance, memorizing the exact shade of your eye color with a fond smile, then focuses up to finish the job. He's got to make Lex proud. He's got to let the city know that a new player's stepped onto the board. He hopes you'll watch his interview segment.

In the aftermath, when all is said and done and he returns to LexCorp to report to Luthor, he realizes he doesn't know your name.

Late in the evening, after going over everything he did right and wrong, after more training, after honing his body even further to become the better Superman, he lies in his cot and tunes into the world, instead of tuning it out.

He listens, and listens, and listens.

He catches it. Your voice, not in Metropolis but its sister-city beyond the water. Gotham, if his implanted memory serves.

You're talking to your family, who sound like they're dressed to leave somewhere while you remain behind. He listens to them exit your home, one by one. He listens to you walking around different textured rooms. Hardwood. Carpet. Linoleum. He listens to you climb into bed and open a book, turning the page approximately every minute and thirty-two seconds. He listens to the rhythm of your breathing and matches his own to follow. He listens to your heartbeat, strong and steady in your chest, because he saved your life today.

Conner inhales when you inhale. He exhales when you exhale. He repeats this action until you eventually bookmark your place and settle down to sleep, then matches his breathing to your new, sleeping pace. This continues for hours, that deep, instinctual part of him just barely sated by listening to you from so far away.

He needs to meet you again. Properly, as Conner and...

Conner frowns.

He has to learn your name.

The next morning, he asks Lex if Gotham needs a Superman, too.

#el speaks #conner kent #littlest wayne au #kon el #kon x reader #batfam x reader #mossy-party-rocker #🌃#🔮#🕯️#long post #gn reader

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hishumanbellestories · 2 days ago

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The argument had started over something small—so small that, in hindsight, it seemed ridiculous. A careless remark, a sharp response, tension that had been simmering beneath the surface until it boiled over. But neither of you had backed down. Alastor, always grinning, had looked anything but amused, and you, too hurt to see past your own anger, had turned your back on him and walked away.

And then, he was gone.

Not physically—Alastor still haunted the hotel like a specter, his presence lingering in the shadows, but he was avoiding you. It was deliberate, and it stung. At first, you told yourself it was fine. If he wanted to be childish, so be it. You could avoid him just as easily.

But the days dragged on, and the ache in your chest grew unbearable. You missed him. His insufferable laughter, the way he always seemed to know just what to say, even when it drove you mad. You missed the glint in his eyes when he teased you, the way he could make the world feel a little less heavy, even in Hell. And the fact that he had vanished from your life without a word—it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

Still, pride kept you from seeking him out.

And then Charlie and Angel came to you.

“He’s not okay,” Charlie said, arms crossed, worry clear in her expression. “I know he acts like nothing ever bothers him, but this—this is different.”

Angel sighed, leaning against the doorway. “Look, babe, I don’t know what happened between you two, but Al’s losin’ it. He’s not himself. And if he’s not okay, something’s seriously wrong.”

Your heart clenched. Alastor, not okay? He was always in control, always composed. But the worry in Charlie’s eyes and the rare seriousness in Angel’s tone told you everything.

“What do you mean?” you asked, hesitant. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Charlie bit her lip. “He’s been… off. More distant than usual. He still talks, he still smiles, but it’s not real. It’s like he’s going through the motions. It’s like he’s trying to pretend he’s fine, but he’s not.”

Angel nodded. “He’s avoidin’ everyone, not just you. But whenever your name comes up? He either changes the subject or disappears entirely.”

The air felt heavy, suffocating. You swallowed hard, your chest tightening.

“I thought he was avoiding me because he was angry,” you admitted quietly.

Charlie shook her head. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

It wasn’t. And deep down, you knew it. Alastor didn’t get angry like this. He played with emotions like a master puppeteer, always in control, always detached. If he was avoiding you, if he was truly unraveling, then something was very, very wrong.

And you needed to find out why.

Alastor wasn’t easy to find when he didn’t want to be found. But you knew him well enough to guess where he might retreat when the weight of his thoughts grew too heavy. And sure enough, you found him standing by the grand radio in one of the hotel’s abandoned rooms, fingers resting lightly on the dials, his head tilted as if listening to something only he could hear.

You hesitated in the doorway, suddenly unsure.

He must have sensed you, because his back stiffened, and for a moment, he didn’t turn. Then, slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes meeting yours.

You had expected the usual mask—the ever-present, mocking grin, the glint of mischief in his gaze. But what you saw instead made your breath hitch.

He looked tired. Not physically, but emotionally. Hollow, haunted. And though his lips curled upward, the smile never reached his eyes.

“Well, well,” he said, voice light, almost forced. “Come to yell at me some more?”

The words stung, but there was no real venom in them. Just exhaustion.

You stepped forward. “Charlie and Angel are worried about you.”

His smile widened. “How touching.”

You frowned. “I am worried about you.”

For the briefest second, something flickered in his expression—something raw, something real. But then it was gone, buried beneath that infuriating grin.

“Oh, my dear,” he laughed, but it was hollow. “There’s no need for that. I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re not,” you countered, voice softer now. “Alastor, what’s going on?”

Silence stretched between you. He turned away, fingers tightening on the radio dial, as if grounding himself.

“I realized something,” he finally murmured, so quiet you almost didn’t hear. “Something… unfortunate.”

You waited, heart pounding.

“I thought I could be satisfied with what we had,” he continued, voice distant, as though speaking to himself. “A delightful little friendship, a bit of amusement to pass the time. But then—then I lost it. And I realized…” he let out a hollow laugh. “How very foolish of me.”

You stepped closer. “Alastor—”

He turned then, and for the first time, he looked afraid.

“You should leave,” he said, almost desperate. “Go. Before I make things worse.”

Your chest tightened. “Al—”

“PLEASE...”

He never begged. Not Alastor. But this wasn’t the Radio Demon speaking. This was Alastor, the man beneath the mask, raw and vulnerable in a way you had never seen before.

And it shattered you.

Because now you understood.

This wasn’t just about the argument. This wasn’t just about losing a friend.

Alastor had realized something far more terrifying.

He was in love with you.

And he believed, with every fiber of his being, that he did not deserve you.

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haeoflii · 2 days ago

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I feel like people rarely talk about how the yuus in the manga are counterparts/opposite of their respective Disney villains.

For example: (these are all from my memory so take it with a grain of salt)

Yuuken, the vice captain of his kendo club, is well respected among his fellow first years because he encourages them to do their best. People respected him so much that he was considered the reason the club did not disband. He was supportive of his juniors and was even willing to train one of them late into the night to help them improve.

While on the other hand, Riddle, who is the dormleader of heartslabyul, is disliked by the first years because he uses fear and control. Not only that, he expects utmost obedience and respect from his dormmates. He also gives out severe punishments towards those who break the Queen’s rules, no matter how insignificant they may seem.

Their similarities are that both of them are serious (?) leaders who only want the best for their juniors. One uses encouragement while the other uses punishment.

As for Yuuka, she's really sociable with other people and gets along with her judo members at her school. She's someone who is really diligent. She's also someone who is similar to Jack. She believes in competing fair and square, and not using underhand tactics to win.

While Leona doesn't really get along with most people and is considered "lazy" by some people. He's willing to do anything when he puts his mind on it, even if he's playing dirty and hurting others who are in his way, to achieve his goal.

Their similarities are they're confident in their skill and they're both passionate in their sports (judo for yuuka and spelldrive for Leona). Both of them kept on fighting even though they were heavily outmatched (Yuuka vs leona's OB and Leona vs Malleus)

Yuuta is a compassionate young talented chef who cares for the wellbeing of his friends. He doesn't just eat food as a necessity but simply savoring the whole experience of eating. He also has this almost innocent look to him. He's willing to help others without expecting anything in return.

Azul, is a sketchy scheming businessman who paved his way to the top through hard work from a younger age. He keeps track about the amount and the nutrition of food when he's eating. He also has this shady scammer vibes. Everything that Azul does is fully calculated and ensures it only advantages himself while leaving the other party fruitless.

Their similarities is that both of them are raised by a parent who runs a restaurant. Both are foodies/have a knowledge about food. Both are hard-workers. Both are intelligent and a strategist (yuuta figuring out how Azul's um works and planned the whole "destroy Azul's contracts"). Both are pretty persuasive(?) (yuuta: Jack and Leona)

Since I've only seen pictures of her, my guess for the new Yuu is that she's someone who is free-spirited, cheerful and maybe a bit of a troublemaker.

Yuuna/Yuina is a gyaru. Gyarus are known for being non-conformist and rebelling against Japanese social (freeing herself from the patriarchy and Japan's expectations on women). Her outfit and overall appearance is very loud, vibrant and stands out. Gyarus are usually known to be cheery, loud and not afraid to speak their mind.

Jamil is someone who longs to be free but doesn't do anything about it (until book 4 but for the entirety of the time he's not letting kalim do anything himself and making him incompetent). He is someone who tries not to stand out too much and stays in the shadows despite wanting to be in the spotlight as well. Jamil is reserved, negative and bottles his thoughts and feelings up.

Their similarities is that both of them want to break free from societal norms and the expectations that were placed on them just because they happen to be born as a woman/as a servant. Both want to be able to express themselves and be their true selves.

these are just theories as well as it's written for fun so don't take what I wrote too seriously!!!

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demonic0angel · 2 days ago

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Green Arrow going to Fenton Works to upgrade some of his gear. (He's sick of always getting shown up by Batman!)

Green Arrow was determined to finally get gear that would outshine Batman!

"Oh, Mr. Arrow, we're so glad that you want to work with us!" Maddie Fenton said cheerfully.

Green Arrow waved a hand. "Please, call me Green, Mr. Arrow was my father."

Instead of Maddie laughing, it was Jack Fenton who threw his head back and cackled loudly. Green Arrow blinked, but then soon preened from the cheerful laughter. Finally! People who could understand real humor!

Jack slapped him on the back roughly. The blow faintly felt like he was tossed into a wall. “Hahahah! You’re funny! We’re glad you’re here, Green! What kind of technology are you looking for?”

“I’m looking to get upgrades everywhere. Arrows, bows, gauntlets, armor, anything you can give!”

Jack and Maddie looked impressed and even a bit excited. “Wow! You’re seriously going all out, huh? We can understand that!”

Green Arrow nodded proudly. “Yes! I’m glad we can understand each other!”

Maddie beamed. “It’s so good to see another ghost hunter! They’re so rare to see nowadays.”

“Don’t you worry! We’ll outfit you with the best ghost hunting gear in the entire multiverse!” Jack said. “Or my name isn’t Jack Fenton!”

Green Arrow froze.

“… pardon? Did you say ghost hunting?”

They both blinked at him, confused. “Yes?”

Green Arrow stared at them. They stared back. Green Arrow stood up then, awkwardly. “Uh. I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m thankful for the time that you’ve given me, I hope your business goes well, uhhh… I left my stove on—”

Both Jack and Maddie wilted.

Green Arrow winced. “Sorry, it’s just that I’m not a ghost hunter. I’m sure your gear is amazing!”

He turned to leave.

“So you don’t want our gear?” Maddie asked, very mournfully. “Well… thank you for your time anyways.”

Jack sighed. “I guess we won’t get to sell that invisibility armor…”

Green Arrow paused at the door, his hand almost touching the handle. He slowly turned around. He could already feel the gears in his head moving. He almost wanted to rub his hands together and laugh evilly.

“Did you say invisibility armor?”

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom x dc #dp x dc crossover #ask #anon ask #fenton family #jack fenton #maddie fenton #ty for the ask!

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dismalflo · 2 days ago

Text

A knock on the head

rugby player!james potter x reader where james gets injured at training ✩ 1.1k words

cw; very mild nondescript head injury, fluff, comfort

James Potter can only be described in one way: a busybody. He's always on the go. Saturday is reserved for rugby matches, Tuesday and Thursday are for training sessions, and every other day, he's at the gym. In between, he makes time to see his friends and family, he makes time for you.

All of this means you spend many of your evenings at home, curled up on the sofa, waiting for your boyfriend to walk through the door. You don’t know how he manages it all—you're exhausted just watching him.

Tonight, however, he’s later than usual. You’d be worried if training didn’t run over so often. He’s always trying to squeeze in one more drill. Sat in the warm glow of the living room, the remnants of dinner abandoned on the coffee table, you’re on the verge of drifting off to sleep.

Until your phone lights up and starts to ring, it's James.

"Hello?" you answer groggily, barely able to keep your eyes open. In the background, you hear the low hum of indistinct chatter.

“Hi angel, how are you?”

You blink, confused. "I'm alright. Are you okay?" It’s rare for him to call during training..

"Listen, I don’t want you to worry…" His pause makes your heart skip a beat. Immediately, your mind races through all the worst-case scenarios. Oh god, he's broken something.

"What’s happened?" you ask, your voice tight with concern

"Do you think you could come and pick me up? I had a knock on the head, and the physio says I shouldn’t drive." His voice is sheepish, almost apologetic.

It takes you a second to catch up, “yeah–yes of course I can, are you sure you're alright?”, you're darting over to the shoe rack, desperate to get to the poor boy as quickly as possible.

“"I’ll be fine, don't rush, sweetheart," he murmurs, but you hear the fatigue in his tone.

“Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Love you.” You don’t try to hide the worry in your voice now. James is only this subdued when he's hurt and feeling sorry for himself.

"I love you too." His words are soft, and with that, you’re out the door and into your car.

The drive to the rugby field feels like it takes ages. The streets blur past in a haze as your thoughts race. You can barely focus on anything other than James—his voice, soft and apologetic, still ringing in your ears. The thought of him hurting makes your chest tighten.

When you finally arrive, you spot him almost immediately, standing near the locker room, looking a little unsteady on his feet. Your heart sinks seeing him like this, his usual energy dimmed by whatever had happened.

His tousled hair is messy, and there’s a slight pallor to his face that you don’t like. When he hears your footsteps, he turns, giving you a weak smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

"Hey, angel," he greets softly, his usual charm absent.

You stop in front of him, taking a deep breath. "James," you murmur, gently cupping his face with both hands, looking him over. "Are you sure you're okay?" You reach up, brushing his hair back from his forehead, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Physio says it's just a little knock, nothing serious," he reassures you, and if it weren’t for that paleness you’d probably believe nothing was wrong with him at all.

You wrap an arm around his waist, offering him your support. "Come on, let's get you home."

The drive back to your flat is quieter than usual, James staring out the window with a faraway look, lost in his own thoughts. That's all the proof that you need to tell he’s hurting, and you'll strong arm him, if you have to, into letting you look after him.

Once you're back at the flat, you help James inside. His steps are slow, almost reluctant, and it tugs at your heart to see him so unlike his usual energetic self.

The moment the door closes behind you, you begin to guide him to the bathroom. You’re already thinking of the things you can do to make him feel better—some comfort food, maybe a cozy blanket, and a cup of tea, but that will have to wait.

“Okay,” you say, your voice soft but firm, “You’re going to get into the bath, and I’m going to get you anything you want or need.”

James raises his brow at that, a suggestive smirk taking over his features, and you catch what he’s thinking straight away.

“Not like that,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “you perv.” shaking your head, you turn to start running the bath. James barks a laugh at your indignance, that you're sure he regrets as a wince covers his features in quick succession afterwards.

“Alright, alright,” he says, his tone still a little weak but the playful glint never quite leaving his eyes. “But a bath’s a good idea, I guess. You’re always right, aren’t you?”

“I’d say you should be used to that by now, Jamie” You smile impishly back at him.

His eyes soften, still teasing, when he meets your gaze. “You know, I think I might be in love with you.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile betrays your amusement. “Of course you are. Now get in the bath, before I really start bossing you around.”

He chuckles, but there’s a weariness in his laugh as he finally undresses and carefully eases himself into the warm water. You kneel by the edge of the tub, brushing his hair back from his forehead, inspecting him once more. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m serious—if you feel worse…”

“Angel,” he interrupts, his voice soft but firm, “I’m fine. I just need to rest for a bit. That’s all.”

You search his eyes, trying to find any sign that he's just putting on a brave face, but there's nothing but sincerity there. You nod slowly, letting out a small sigh, trying to ease the tightness in your chest..

“I’ll make you something to eat,” you say quietly, starting to rise.

James grabs your arm to stop you, “Can you just sit with me for a bit?” and how could you ever say no to your darling boyfriend.

You sit back down beside the tub, your fingers gently brushing the water’s surface as you watch him. His eyes close for a moment, and his shoulders seem to relax just a little more with each passing second. You’re glad you’re here, even if this moment is a quiet one.

After a while, you glance at him, studying his face. “You’re gonna need something to eat when you get out. What do you fancy? Soup?”

James opens one eye, giving you a skeptical look. “Can I have a cheese toastie with it?”

“Yeah, you big baby,” you tease.

He chuckles, closing his eyes again. "Deal. You just... don’t go anywhere, alright?"

You give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I’m not going anywhere.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! I appreciate all feedback <3

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

#flo'sfics #marauders era #marauders fics #marauders au #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter #james potter drabble #marauders #self insert

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postmoe · 1 day ago

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I find it attractive of a beta or alpha get turned into an omega if they get fucked to much. So what about yandere alpha geshu lin x beta/alpha male reader x yandere alpha jiyan. Or yandere Mydei x beta/alpha male Reader x yandere alpha Phainon. Reader getting turned into an omega so they can keep him all to themselves and maybe baby trap him 🤭.

dude i have so many beta fantasies it's not even funny. thank you for this opportunity.

non-con, abo, male reader, beta -> omega reader,

It was always the three of you; Phainon, Mydei, (Y/n). You went through training together, fought the hardest battles together, everyone revered you like you were unstoppable.

Well, everyone respected you in a passive/aggressive way because you were covered in the musk of two supreme alphas. Unfortunately for you, in the womb, you never grew to the next stage from being a beta.

Betas were pretty rare now, they started off as the dominant second gender, but as time grew so did the power of evolution. Everyone starts off in the womb as a beta, then months down the line you unlock your social status. Sometimes, you just get stuck as the runt. There have been few cases of people opening their second gender later in life, though only within a very specific fate of events.

It's not all bad. Apparently, Mydei's and Phainon's scent was so extreme that a lot of people couldn't stand near them for a certain amount of time. Alpha's get antsy, compliment or aggressive. Omegas have gone into heat on the spot, rolling over motionless as their hormones take over. Now, they're pretty good at controlling their smell, or so everyone says.

It never bothered you to begin with, your nose not suited to judge others. You couldn't read emotions if it wasn't present on their face, which in this day and age is more of a talent than anything; at least, that's what Phainon says to make you feel better.

For a beta to get this far in life is pretty astonishing. You realise you had a lot of help from your two friends. They've been able to sniff you out when you're in danger, or their scent that lingers on your clothes is enough to stop any intelligent bandit or monster. However, even when you're feeling down about it, even when the world criticizes you for 'using' two alphas to your advantage, they both have been there to keep you reeled in.

"Why do you even bother trying to lie to us," Mydei huffs, crossing his arms over his puffed out chest, "You have a smell, too. It's not like we don't know what you're feeling."

"That's unfair," you sigh, shoulders slumping, "Maybe I just don't want to talk about it, ever think of that?"

Phainon nods, his arms coming to drape over your shoulders from behind, rubbing his cheek against yours, "Everyone is allowed to have their secrets."

You roll your eyes, going back to polishing your sword with the rag while he lounges against you, "It's not even a secret, just the usual shit." You go silent for a moment, feeling their eyes burn holes into for more information. It should have been common knowledge by now that you won't get out of anything from them, so you gently place your sword down groan, "Fine! I walked past one of your fan groups today. An omega was saying how I was only holding back your true potential, that with me on the battlefield then you can't go all out."

Both of them opened their mouths to speak, you held up your hand to zip them shut.

"And before you say anything; yes, I know that I'm strong too. Yes, I know I can fight. Yes, I know they're just 'jealous' that I get to hang around you." You can't make eye contact with either of them, knowing that you might just crack if you do, "... It doesn't always help. I'm okay with that, though. This is the life I chose and I can deal with all the shit thrown my way."

Phainon buried his face in your neck, sniffling into one of your more sensitive parts, the scent glands. You shivered from the contact, he didn't seem to mind as he practically cried, "You're so strong, (Y/n)! But you know, you still have to take care of your mental health, too. I think you should stay away from those people for a while."

Mydei stood from his spot on the grass and walked over, ruffling your hair with his hand before dragging it down your face and to trace your neck, "We haven't been around because of the recent attacks, so our scent is waning from you. Here, we'll ward them off."

You shook your head out of their grip and rolled to the side, away from them, "I don't need you to scare anyone away by smothering me. I think your scent only makes them more mad."

"It's natural biology for an alpha to cover what's theirs in their smell, you can't just tell us to stop," Phainon argues, shrugging like it's the most obvious thing.

With a laugh, you stand and pick up your sword, "Since when am I yours?"

They both silently looked to each other, communicating in a language you would never understand. Mydei tells you, "You've been our beta longer than you've been alone."

"Yep~" Phainon teases, "Should have thought about that before you became our friend."

Yeah, right. One day these two will find their omegas, they'll create a beautiful family and you can be the cool, beta uncle that showers the kids in annoying gifts to rile up their parents. "Sure, whatever," you dismiss, now taking on an offensive stance, "So, we sparring or what?"

...

Storm season is fast approaching in this part of the land. You three had been sent out patrol the far, outer lands on a 'boys' camping trip'. The trek made you sweaty, the days humid and the nights cold, yet you didn't stop until you reached an open cave near the top of the mountain.

Forests surround you, rushing rivers and falls heard in the distance, and the sounds of insects chirping were drowning your ears. You had abandoned your shirt long ago, rolling yourself in insect repellent that did well to make your two companions scrunch up their noses in distaste.

As you set down the heavy bags in the cave, the sun setting in the distance, you noticed some faded, rock drawings on the walls. Walking up to them, you see crude images of stick figure deaths, a chimera with little hearts around it and a spurting dick. Phainon placed his hand on your shoulder, "Mydei drew the penis."

You both look over to see him skulling his sack of water, giving you both the middle finger. You purse your lips, "Even though I've known you for so long, it's always weird to see such a childish side of you."

After setting up camp, you realise how much you may have missed when you weren't able to accompany them on missions. This place is gorgeous, and they only tell tales of greater environments, it left you feeling a sense of awe and a pang of sadness. When they laugh together, bicker, playfully shove at each other, you can see it the way everyone else sees it.

Two, great alphas Mydei and Phainon - plus you. Little, ol' beta you.

It's nothing to get worked up over. Not a big deal, not an issue at all. You notice they've stopped talking and are looking at you with concern. Fuck. Why are you having this crisis now of all times? They can definitely smell you, they know what you're feeling and they're expecting an answer.

You smile at them widely, "Sorry, I just got lost in a daydream." Can they smell when you lie, too? If so, they speak nothing of it.

...

Being able to swim in such beautiful, clean water was a luxury you didn't know you needed. The baths and streams around Okhema were amazing, there's no doubt about it. Hot springs sent from natural sources, lotions and soaps created from the best ingredients, but this... This was something altogether new.

The water was a cold that made your muscles relax, the flavour refreshing and dare you say, curative. The sound was a delightful white noise of rushing water and splashing ripples from either of you or the fish that swim by.

On the shore, Phainon was the last to disrobe, the three of you deciding to skinny dip as a fun, good morning. You greet him with a smile as he resurfaces from bombing into the water, shaking your face of stray droplets, "Are you sure it's alright for us all to be here? I really think one of us should keep watch at the cave."

He lays on his back, closing his eyes while he floats around you, "Don't stress, there are others at points around the outer city. Someone is always watching from one direction or another."

"I see... I guess I'm just wor-" your voice is cut off as your ankle is suddenly grabbed and you're yanked down under the surface. You see the blurry image of Mydei, the red tattooed lines on his skin the main stand out for the fuzzy, underwater alpha.

The two of you duke it out - poorly - until you both resurface and you're gasping for air. He huffs out a breath of his own, hiding any semblance of exhaustion, "You're going to need to fight better than that if you want to get on our level."

As if coming to your rescue, Phainon swims over to him, "Oh, please, as if it's normal for someone to be capable of fighting under water." He then winks to you before shoving the blonde's head down, effectively drowning him out.

The three of you relax around the falls, floating idly in the water side-by-side. You think you could fall asleep, except your nose twitches at an interesting smell. You've smelt it before, very faintly and only when they really push it. What can be excruciatingly stunning to others, you only get a whiff of as a beta; the smell of these alphas.

Mydei and Phainon are a rare sort, extremely strong and capable of power beyond mosts comprehension. A few people are rare like that, some omegas even being too intoxicating for the outside world. It's a pleasant smell, to you, something you not-so-secretly indulge in whenever you get the chance. It also makes you feel slightly more normal.

You wade over and gently rest your head on the upper part of Mydei's stomach, closing your eyes and sighing happily, "I don't get why people can't be around you guys if you're too strong. I like your smell."

Phainon playfully pouts at you choosing Mydei, coming over to join you and rest his head on his chest. He inhales the Kremnoan's scent, smiling serenely, "Omega's and Alpha's never really stop developing their senses until their mid 30's. The older you get, even smells like perfumes can become too much, let alone the emotions of someone with tremendous power."

"Does that mean you guys aren't holding back anymore if I can smell you?"

Mydei moves a wet hand to pet your head, "We don't need to hold back up here."

"Besides," Phainon gazes at you with a fondness in his eyes, "It's nice to share something so personal with someone close, don't you think?"

They can't just relax like this around anyone, and since you all spend most of your time in the city, you hardly get a chance to get a whiff of them. A giddy smile decorates your face, your eyes closing as you relax once more, "Yeah, I agree."

...

On the third day you notice something odd. Your friend's seem to be more agitated, little offsets leading to snarling and biting, every twig snap or rustle has them staring in that direction in case of a particular threat.

You've never seen them like this.

They must be stressed by all the work that's been unloaded onto them. An argument broke out five minutes ago about something you didn't understand, the two deciding to take a walk to cool off and collect more firewood. You decide that this is the perfect time to help them out, picking up a sword and attaching it to your waist before heading out on a patrol. When you get back, they can relax at the duties already being fulfilled.

You don't know the area very well, however, you did accompany them the past couple of nights so you have an idea of where to go. You're not too stressed about getting lost, the trail somewhat visible to someone like you, who has been taught overcome these kinds of obstacles. What you didn't expect was that it gets darker quicker under the canopy of trees.

It appeared you had an hour of daylight left, yet only fifteen minutes later and you noticed a dramatic change. The mountains are certainly an interesting place to be, you're usually stationed closer to the city and nearer the fallen towns.

With the darkness comes fauna that arouse at night, a particular croak gaining your attention. You crouch down with interest, seeing a teal coloured frog with a lighter stomach hop into a puddle. It was smaller than the palm of your hand, yet the sound it made was so loud you would never expect it to come from such a tiny creature.

Your admiration was halted as you hear heavy thumping from deeper in the brush. It's fast, leaves and sticks being moved and thrown out of the way to make room for whatever is coming at you. You quickly draw your sword and take a defensive stance, readying for whatever may be in store.

If it's a boar or something similar, you could climb one of the thicker trees and make your way around by jumping branches. If it's something more like a giant bush cat, then you would have no choice but to fight it.

Turns out, it was neither. Before you had the opportunity to lay eyes on it, there is ablur of movement and your weapon is thrusted from your hand, flying off and landing into the dark distance. You're immediately incapacitated, wrist close to snapping and arm yanked back as you're brought to your knees.

Mydei is snarling aggressively in your ear, holding you down like some convict trying to escape. He spits his words like venom, "What the fuck did you think you were doing? Are you stupid?! Leaving the nest like that wandering off on your own!"

You cry out in pain as he tightens his grip, the sound and pheromones you let off making him back off slightly but not letting go.

Before you can ask what the hell is going on, Phainon appears behind you and walks around so he can kneel at your front. He tenderly cradles your face and looks over you for any other injuries, "Don't hurt him, Mydei. He made a stupid decision but it wasn't his fault."

A breath of relief leaves you when he finally lets go. You slump and cradle your aching arm, flinching when Mydei falls to his knees behind you and resting his face in the crook of your neck. He mumbles into your flesh, "Why did you leave like that? You could have gotten hurt."

With a new found annoyance, you flick Phainon's hands away from you and shrug the other off your back, "What the fuck??? Why are you both acting like I just up and left?"

"Because you did up and leave," Mydei growls, only halting when he and Phainon meet with a hard glare. He tuts and stands, making sure you have nowhere to run if you decided to flee, "We should have just been outright with him from the beginning."

You didn't like the sound of that. Without a word, you look to Phainon for an answer, Mydei is acting too impulsive for your liking right now. Phainon stands before you, both of them now crowding any escape with how close they are, "In truth, we brought you up here because we knew our ruts were coming and we wanted you with us."

"P-Pardon?" It was so incredulous you were sure you heard wrong. But, what else could he have said? "You do know what I am, right? We've only known each other for a couple of decades so be honest if you need a reminder."

Mydei scoffs and grabs you by the back of your shirt, hefting you to your tippy toes to growl, "Our Beta's got jokes. If you can jest then you can mate."

"WHAT?!" You kick your feet comically in the air, trying to find some sort of purchase, "I can't mate - I physically cannot mate! Not with an Alpha!!"

Phainon chimes in giddily, "Two Alphas! Don't worry, we'll ensure you're thoroughly pregnant by the end of this rut."

Body limits aside, being a beta means your reproductive organs aren't open to be used. They're sitting inside you, dormant. For some reason, you don't think they see that as a drawback, instead viewing your biology as more of a challenge to be tackled.

...

Day six and you're sore. Your legs, which have been in every position possible. Your arms, which are restrained when they're doing anything that's not fucking you. Your poor, poor hole, which hasn't been dry in days. Your oversensitive cock, now you can't tell what liquid comes out, your last orgasm streaming like piss on the rock below.

Phainon drags his hot, wet tongue up your neck, moaning as he slips his erected cock into you again. Your mouth hangs open, arse clenching when he's stopped by his knot hitting your rim. He's got you in a full nelson, your thighs over his own, a sound of discomfort coming from you at the stretch of his knot trying to enter you.

He shudders, lightly humping upwards, "Do you smell that, Mydei? He's changing."

Mydei flops his own dick in your face, tracing his leaking tip along the bone of your cheek before he slips his length between your lips, "How interesting. All our darling beta needed was a little push."

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as they fuck you again, your pretty, little hole gaping ever larger to accommodate them.

...

The cold, wet soil near the falls was blissful on your overheating skin. You've never felt this hot before, you assume it's a fever coming on from being under these two for however many days now. Mydei has you on your back, tongue swirling and mouth slurping at your puckered arse.

It was nice to just relax and be tended to, as fucked up as that seems. Phainon was behind him, washing his own body and admiring the scene before him.

Mydei licks a stripe from your hole, up the length of your taint and to your flaccid cock. He coos patronisingly, kissing the sensitive tip and making you jolt, "Poor sweetheart, have we been too rough with you?"

It's too little too late to ask you that now. You stick with your mission of giving them the silent treatment unless necessary, turning your head away and closing your eyes, thinking back on the coolness of the soil.

Until, "A-Ahh! S-Stop!" You moan, hands going to his hair and yanking as hard as you can, trying to stop him from swallowing your cock and drinking it over and over again. The way his tongue and cheeks move against your flesh has you throbbing and twitching in his mouth. "I can't, I can't," you breathe, swaying your head side to side as if to deny the oncoming torture.

But you can't, even half-hard he has you spurting your cum down his throat. You hold his head down with each half-hearted thrust, only to pull again before another tingling jolt of your hips.

When you can open your eyes again, you pleadingly gaze to Phainon, who had paused his washing to stare solely at you both. His eyes dart to meet yours, mind working overtime to bring him out of his daze and pull lightly on his companion, "Hey, save some for me, okay? Let him recuperate a bit."

Mydei flies his elbow back, not getting off you. At this, Phainon clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and locks the blonde's head with his elbow, flipping him back into the water.

You take a deep breath as they start to wrestle. Now you can rest again, you rarely get time to yourself now. When they sleep, sometimes, you're still plugged with one of them inside you, cockwarming throughout the night. Otherwise, when they go hunting, you might be tied tightly inside the cave, though there is usually at least one of them with you.

A gentle rain starts, the drops hitting your heated face. You need this, the rain a lot cooler than the falls as it collects in the sky. Lately, you've been feeling weird, unwell, hot. It's unlike anything you've ever experienced before.

Not to mention their scent. The boys' sweat, bodies, just everything about them is becoming less off putting and more desirable than ever. If you're honest, you're scared with what's happening.

...

They had both left you in the cave, the rain a perfect mask for hunting good meat right now.

"Need to keep our darling's energy up!"

You're not sure when, but some time after they left you were reeling in some sort of pain. Not like being slashed by a sword, or thrown by an enemy, but more like a strange punch to the gut. It blossomed within you and bloomed around your body, effecting your head and pelvis the most.

Breathing became difficult, your chest rising and falling quickly, you couldn't focus on how to fix it. No, not with the gnawing pain and discomfort in your gut.

You had wormed your way towards the entrance but the rope only let you go so far. They didn't give you enough leeway to get more than halfway through the cave, which meant you couldn't get any rain to cool you down.

What you did find, however, was their sashes they didn't wear today. Your nose twitched, and you reached your tied wrists over so your fingers could grab the red fabric and scrunched it to your face, moaning in absolute delight. Quickly, you secured the blue and gold one and weaved it between your legs, covering as much of your body as you could.

You're not sure when they came back, only realising they were standing ominously at the entrance of the cave when their musk started to seep heavier than the sashes you were breathing. The rain hadn't let up, both of them drenched and Mydei holding the antlers of a dead deer beside him.

Your jaw trembles, tears running down your cheeks as you whimper, "What's happening to me?"

It's only when you talk do they enter, dropping the carcass to the side before carefully kneeling down to cradle you. Your ropes are torn off and you sit between the two men, both leaning so they can run their teeth over the scent glands in your neck.

You whine as Mydei gently nibbles you, a low groan causing your cock to leak rivulets down your shaft, "Perfect for biting now."

Phainon reaches to gasp your cock, smoothly jerking up the length before circling his fingers along the glands, "I knew your unawaken second gender was this. You just had to be an omega, what with the way you were taunting us; begging to be bred."

Unawaken... Omega? No, that's-

"Hah~ Please..." You lift your hips when you feel fingers enter inside you, easily stretching you open now.

Mydei chuckles deeply, grinning at all the new possibilities going through his head, "Perfect for knotting now, too."

#yandere x reader #yandere mydei x reader #yandere phainon x reader #alpha beta omega #yandere alpha #yandere hsr #male reader #yandere honkai star rail #x reader #yandere alpha mydei x reader x yandere alpha phainon

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writeriguess · 1 day ago

Note

Kiribaku having kids (twins boy & girl) they start kindergarten and into the year they notice the kids are sadder when they come home they’re more quiet and in a certain day kiribaku and reader (secret girlfriend) are out on a date while the kids are at school and they get a call they need picked up asap cause something’s wrong so they all three go not thinking about it and the kids meet her Sav’s a few months go by and the kids finally say the issue was not having a mommy but now they have one

A Missing Piece

Kirishima and Bakugou had always known they wanted kids. It had been a long journey—filled with paperwork, home visits, and nervous waiting—but when they finally brought home their twins, Ren and Aiko, it was like their lives truly began.

They tackled fatherhood like they tackled everything else: with passion, dedication, and an unshakable love for their children. They weren’t perfect, but they always made sure Ren and Aiko knew they were safe, cherished, and cared for.

So when the twins started kindergarten, it was a huge milestone—not just for them, but for their dads.

The first few weeks were amazing. Every afternoon, the kids would come home brimming with stories, bouncing with excitement as they recounted every detail of their day. Bakugou and Kirishima would listen intently, grinning at their enthusiasm, feeling a sense of relief that their kids were adjusting so well.

But slowly, things started to change.

It was subtle at first. The twins weren’t as chatty when they got home. Their excitement dimmed, their energy lowered. They weren’t causing trouble like usual, weren’t filling the house with their infectious laughter.

Kirishima noticed it first, his sharp observation skills picking up on their quiet moods. He tried to bring it up to Bakugou, but at first, his husband brushed it off.

“They’re kids. They’ll have bad days.”

But then bad days turned into bad weeks.

And when Aiko, their usually fiery and opinionated daughter, pushed away her plate at dinner one night without saying a word, even Bakugou knew something was wrong.

That night, after tucking the twins into bed, Kirishima leaned against the kitchen counter with a deep frown. “Something’s up, man. They’re different.”

Bakugou exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… I see it too.”

“We should talk to them.”

“Tch. Like they’ll tell us anything,” Bakugou muttered, but the frustration in his voice wasn’t directed at the kids. He just hated feeling powerless.

They decided to give it a little more time, hoping the kids would open up when they were ready.

But weeks passed, and things didn’t improve.

Then the call came.

It was supposed to be a rare, peaceful day off.

Kirishima and Bakugou were on a date—something they hadn’t done in way too long. Between hero work and parenting, moments alone were hard to come by.

They were walking through the city with you—Bakugou’s secret girlfriend.

He hadn’t told the twins about you yet, not because he was ashamed, but because introducing someone into their lives was a big step. He and Kirishima had agreed that when the time was right, when things felt solid, they’d take that next step.

Right now, though, all three of you were enjoying a carefree day. You laughed at Bakugou’s usual grumbling and leaned into Kirishima’s easy warmth. It was comfortable, effortless.

And then Bakugou’s phone rang.

“Mr. Bakugou, we need you to come pick up Ren and Aiko immediately.”

His entire body tensed. “What? What happened?”

“They’re very upset. We think it’s best you come in.”

Kirishima and Bakugou didn’t waste a second. The date was forgotten as they rushed to the school, you tagging along without hesitation.

When they arrived, the twins were sitting together in a small, quiet room, curled into each other like two halves of the same soul. Their tiny hands were clenched, eyes downcast.

It hurt.

Kirishima stepped forward first, crouching beside them. “Hey, little ones.” His voice was soft, careful. “What’s going on?”

Ren sniffled but didn’t speak. Aiko peeked up at them, then hesitated when her eyes landed on you.

You stayed quiet, offering a small smile, not wanting to overwhelm them.

“They’re not talking much,” the teacher explained gently. “But we think something has been bothering them for a while. It might be best if they tell you.”

Bakugou crouched beside Kirishima, his red eyes soft with concern. “Come on, brats. Tell us what’s wrong.”

It took a moment, but then, in a tiny voice, Aiko whispered, “The other kids said it’s weird that we don’t have a mommy.”

Silence.

Kirishima and Bakugou exchanged a glance.

“They… what?” Bakugou’s voice was dangerously low, but Kirishima nudged him gently to keep him in check.

Ren wiped his nose on his sleeve. “They laughed at us when we said we have two dads.” His lower lip trembled. “They said all families are supposed to have a mommy and a daddy. And that maybe… maybe our mommy left ‘cause she didn’t love us.”

Kirishima felt something in his chest crack. He pulled the twins into a hug without hesitation. “Hey, don’t listen to that, okay? That’s not true. You are so, so loved.”

Aiko clutched at his shirt. “But we don’t have a mommy…”

A beat of silence passed.

And then Ren glanced at you again.

“But… do we now?”

You froze.

The question hung in the air like an unspoken wish.

Bakugou and Kirishima both looked at you, their expressions unreadable. It was a moment they hadn’t planned for, hadn’t expected—but maybe, just maybe, the kids had seen something they hadn’t fully realized yet.

Your heart clenched as you met the hopeful, tear-filled eyes of the twins.

You knelt in front of them, keeping your voice warm but careful. “Families come in all shapes, you know. But if… if you’d like, I’d love to be a part of yours.”

Ren hiccupped. “You would?”

Aiko’s eyes were wide.

You smiled, holding out your arms, giving them the choice.

It only took a second before they crashed into you, burying themselves in your warmth.

Kirishima swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. Bakugou turned away, rubbing at his face with a grumble, but his shaking shoulders gave him away.

The twins held onto you like a missing puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

“Yeah,” you whispered against their hair, holding them tight. “You do now.”

And just like that, their family became whole.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #kirishima x reader #bakugo x reader #kiribaku x reader #krbk x reader #bakugo x reader x kirishima

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justmeinadaze · 2 days ago

Text

Curiosity: Part 2 (Eddie X Plus Size Y/N)

Warnings: Younger (Early 20s) Daddy (kinda camboy) Eddie & Older (early 30s) Plus Size Sub Fem Y/N, SMUT, SO MUCH dirty talk <3, daddy kink (cause I'm me), praise, SPANKING <3, light slapping, male masturbation, of course aftercare

FLUFF, Eddie always talking about how beautiful she is <3

ANGST, Eddie still doesn't know Y/N is the girl he's talking to online, mentions of a bad past relationship (she talks about how an ex made her feel like there was something wrong with her size; brief, "sweetie you're too big..."), Y/N gets a bit sassy and Eddie doesn't know how to handle it cause they haven't had the talk about their relationship (yells at her). I think that's it. I know those are the biggies.

More than anything this is him showing her more about the Daddy life and helping her realize she's beautiful inside and out.

Word Count: 7007

Chapter 1/ Donate to Me <3

“Hey, Y/N. I need my laptop back to finish this—Oh shit! I’m so sorry.”, your roommate shouted as she immediately backed out of your bedroom and shut the door. “In my defense, it’s not normal for you to have a boy over!”

“Well, that’s good to know.”, Eddie murmurs making you laugh as cover your face in embarrassment.

“Give me a minute, Kelsey!”, you shout as you start to get out of bed. “I’ll be right back. Um, feel free to use my bathroom if you need to.”

“Is it ok if I smoke?”, he asks as he gestures towards the double doors in your bedroom that lead to the balcony.

“Oh, absolutely. Just, um, make yourself at home.”

Raising his eyebrows in amusement, he grabs your wrist and playfully tugs you down so his lips can kiss yours.

“You’re really adorable.”

Smirking, you caress his cheek as he bites his bottom lip and pokes your nose.

As soon as you exit your room and hand her her laptop, your roommate begins her interrogation.

“Who the fuck is that? He’s so cute! Tell me everything!”

“Can we do this later? I’m so exhausted.”

“I’ll bet you are.”, Kelsey laughs as you narrow your eyes towards her playfully. “Ok, fine, but YOU are washing those sheets, ma’am.”

“Noted.”

After pouring a cup of coffee for each of you, you reenter your bedroom to find Eddie still outside almost finished with his cigarette.

“Hey, I brought you some caffeine if you want some.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. Did you get the third degree?”

“Kind of but I was able to get a reprieve if I promised to tell her more later.”

The metalhead smirks as he nods, tossing his smoke over the banister before following you back inside and wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“I had a good time with you last night.”, he murmurs as you lean back into his chest and crane your neck to kiss his lips. “Um, before we continue…this…there’s something I have to tell you.”

Eddie places you on the edge of the bed and grabs one of your chairs in your room to place it in front of you.

“Ok, so, uh, remember when I told you I had a second job?” He waits for you to nod before continuing. “It’s not actually a job-job but more a website…I, um, I have an OnlyFans…where I take off my clothes and…jerk off…for money. Sometimes, very rarely, I’m intimate with one of my friends who’s been doing this kind of thing for years but…”

His expressive, chocolate eyes search your face, trying to get a read on any emotion you might be feeling to his news.

“Alright, not going to lie, I half expected you to call me a whore and be disgusted so the fact that you’re incredibly quiet makes me nervous.”, he shakily laughs as he waits for you to speak.

“Do you like it?”

Eddie blinks in surprise as he leans back in his seat.

“Um, I mean, I don’t hate it but I can understand why you might.”

“Me personally or other women?” The metalhead breathily exhales as he shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t think you’re a whore and it…doesn’t bother me. I…Eddie, I have to tell you—”

His lips cut you off as he tenderly kisses them, pushing your body back against the bed and placing himself on top of you.

“You’re so cool.”, he murmurs making you giggle as his smile grows. “Did, uh, did you have any questions or…?”

“Can I see it? Your set up?”

***

“Normally, a lot of people just like use their phones or something but I guess my gamer roots needed a bit more.”, Eddie jokes as you watch him log into his computer from the chair he placed beside him.

“I didn’t know you game.”

“Oh, um, I’m not very good at it but my friends play so we’ll have like guy nights and just run around shooting each other in the virtual world.”

While he continued to talk your eyes couldn’t help but wonder down his very kissable throat to his broad shoulders and along his forearm to his hand that quickly clicked the mouse it was holding.

“Alright, so this is my camera obviously. On this screen here I put my equipment controls including the reflection of me on the camera so I can make sure I’m in frame. On the other, I have the site up where I can see their messages to me.”

“Their?”

“My…fans…”

“Are they rude to you or anything?”

“Not all of them.”, he smirks as he glances your way. “I actually made a friend the other day but I don’t know her name. We’re just friends though I swear.”, Eddie quickly confirms.

“What do you say to people when they watch you?”

“I have an initial stream where I just let people get to know me but after an hour I go into a private stream they paid for. I…fuck this is so weird explaining.”, he laughs nervously. “I say stuff like about my cock while I touch myself. Sometimes they ask about my friend I told you about…the one I film with.”

“What’s her name?”

“Steve.”

As he says his friend’s name, his worried eyes lock with your own thinking that this may finally be the one step that’s a step too far.

“Can you give me a demonstration?”

“How so?”

“Like…if you were on camera and I had paid to see you…what would you do?”

An anxious laugh leaves his lips as he turns his chair to face you.

“I’m not exactly prepared.”, he teases as he gestures towards his crotch area.

“So, you’re telling me you’re always hard when you start to stream?”, you sass making him smile as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip.

“No, I guess not.”

His eyes remain on you as he stands up and shuffles out of his jeans, tossing them haphazardly to the floor before reaching into his boxers to pull his dick out.

“Do you do the Daddy thing with them?” Languidly, he strokes himself as he leans back and answers you with a soft but firm mhmm. “When did you realize that’s something you enjoyed?”

“I always knew. What about you?”

“Oh, um, I’ve never done that…this…before.”, you shyly respond, smiling a bit when you notice his wrist flick and his cock twitch slightly at your confession.

“I never would have guessed that with h-how easily you call me that.”

“Things seem to be easy with you.”

At your words, you nervously giggle as you hide behind your hands.

His chair creaks slightly as he leans over and a long line of spit leaves his mouth to land on the mushroom head of his length before he strokes it along his shaft a bit faster than he had been.

“Fuck, Y/N, you have no idea how much shit like that turns me on. The shy little laugh with the innocent eyes. I like kn-knowing I’m the first man to make you feel that way. I wish I was your first everything but…”, Eddie chuckles.

“It felt like it with that monster between your legs.”, you laugh, interrupted when his free hand grabs the arm of your chair and yanks you closer to him.

“Did you like the way it felt…Daddy’s cock stretching you open?”

Eddie whispering dirty words was one thing but having them strain from his beautiful lips as he stared into your irises was another. Biting your lip, you tried to duck away again but his palm hastily cupped your cheek forcing you to remain still.

“Answer me, pretty girl.”

“Yes, I liked it.”

“Liked what…say it.”

The metalhead smirked as you tried to duck away nervously again but his hand kept you in place.

“I l-like the way your cock felt stretching m-me open…”

“Good girl, always such a good girl for Daddy. Can you pull down those sweats and open your legs for me so I can have another look at those cute panties you put on?”

You do as he asks and the man heavily sighs as his eyes trace along your legs to the cotton blocking your core.

“They’re a little wet. Do you like watching Daddy touch himself?”

“Y-Yes, I like watching you… I think you’re incredibly handsome…especially like this…”

“You keep calling me handsome, babe, and I might grow an ego.”, Eddie chuckles feeling your energy lighten. “I think you’re incredibly beautiful. I l-like looking at your legs especially your thighs.”

“My fat thighs.”, you tease but your eyes momentarily shift to the void before finding his once more to notice they’ve darkened slightly.

“Did you mean that negatively…like your ‘fat’ thighs are a problem?”

“I-I-I mean…”

When you absently shrug as if it’s common knowledge, the boy growls under his breath as you watch his jaw tighten and his nose scrunch in what seems like anger.

“What?”, you murmur, repeating yourself when his only response is to pump his fist a bit faster and harder.

“Your weight doesn’t affect how fucking gorgeous you are.”

“I’m sorry.”, you whine. “I d-didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Mmph—you didn’t upset me, Y/N. The idea of you or anyone else thinking about you that way…upsets me.”

Surging forward, you kiss his lips, reveling in the taste of nicotine that lingers, thankful that he allows it even though you feel him not fully reciprocating.

“Jesus Christ.”, Eddie grumbles and you open your eyes just in time to see his spend hit thigh.

Silently, he reaches for his tissues to clean himself while his face remains furrowed.

“I’ve never liked the way you talk about yourself.”, he mumbles, taking the Kleenex and throwing them away.

“I’m just…I was just joking…”

“At your own expense?”

“Is this really what you want to talk about after what we just did?”

Eddie huffs as he grabs his pack of cigarettes and puts one between his teeth before lighting the end.

“YOU’RE the one who brought it up in the middle of what we just did. I’m just tired of it. If it’s not your weight, it’s your age and you make it sound like you’re undesirable or something. Did someone make you feel that way?”

Your head swiftly turns to glare into the void. Eddie’s seen that look before on many people he’s annoyed with his loudmouth in the past.

He hit a nerve.

“Look, I’ve been single for a while so I’ve mastered the art of self-deprecating jokes. I’m sorry I fucking hurt your feelings or whatever with a comment about ME.”

Angerly, you get to your feet and reach for your pants but he beats you to it, effortlessly tugging them from your grasp.

“I think it’s time we talk about some things.”

“I don’t want to. Now give me my pants, little boy, and take me home!”

At your words a fire let within him that reflected through his eyes startling you slightly even though you kept your glare firm.

“Little boy, huh?”, he growls roughly before taking an inhale of his cigarette and blowing smoke to the side. You stumbled backwards slightly as he released his hold on your sweats and sat back down. “You can wait outside and I’ll pay for the fucking uber. Get out of my house.”

“Eddie, I—”

“No. Get your shit and fucking leave. I don’t think you’re ready to see how I handle bratty behavior.”

“Y-You won’t even take me home?”

“I can make sure you get there from the app. Now, this is the last time I’m going to say it…Get…out.” You heard it in his tone; the anger mixed with the pain. You calling him that also struck a nerve but your wall went up and you couldn’t help yourself. You hated seeing him this way wishing you could take back your words.

“Eddie, I’m…I’m really sorry—”

“NOW!”

You jumped as his deep shout rung in your ears before quickly scurrying out the door.

##################

Eddie called in the next day and every time you tried to text or call his phone, he didn’t answer.

You were worried.

At least that’s what you told yourself to justify taking your roommates laptop and signing in to the OnlyFans account to schedule a session with him that evening.

When his face illuminated the screen, he seemed to be hidden under a haze of smoke.

“Millennial, babe, you don’t have to keep paying for sessions. I can give you my phone number so we can talk.”, he chuckles as you watch him bring a bong to his lips and inhale. “I hope it’s alright I’m a little buzzed.”

“Are you ok? You seem sad.”

When his glassy eyes and slurred smile find the camera, you would give anything to hug him and hold him in your arms.

“I am a little. That girl I told you about came over yesterday after a fucking perfect night together…and I showed her my set up…She was surprising cool with it, by the way.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah…we, um, she called me handsome and I told her she was beautiful; told her how much I love her gorgeous legs and thighs. I swear, Mill, I could fucking live between those thighs… I’ve been watching them move when she walks since we started working together and…fuck me… Now that I’ve experienced them wrapped around me…I’m obsessed.”

“But…”

Eddie’s chocolate irises shifted to the floor as his smirk faltered for a few seconds.

“She always makes little jabs at her weight or her age and it fucking kills me. Like how can she not see how goddamn beautiful she is and those things aren’t mutually exclusive. Her having some extra meat on her bones or being older has nothing to do with her physical traits. And that’s not even what matters to me…it’s just an added bonus that she’s hot.”

“Did you tell her all this?”

Eddie shakes his head as he reclines in his seat.

“Daddy got in the way.”

“Ok, you’re going to need to explain that. Lol.”

“Look, I assumed by the way she called me Daddy she had been in a dynamic like that before but she told me last night it was new for her.”

“Ok, I’m lost.”

The metalhead rolls his eyes playfully as he sticks his tongue out at you making you smile.

“She got sassy and called me ‘little boy’. As soon as I heard it, I wanted to punish her right then and there.”

“Punish?”

“Yeah, I have my own methods that usually has my partner turning into liquid goo but…”, he laughs. “We haven’t had that talk yet. We haven’t had any conversation about our relationship. I don’t know what’s too far or no goes. I apparently said SOMETHING to upset her but I don’t know what because her wall went up. The whole thing just ignited that side of me and since I don’t know how comfortable she is with all that…I had to ask her to leave. I knew…if she kept pushing… I might not be able to stop myself from throwing her over my knee and spanking that perfect ass.”

“Eddie lol”

“I’m serious, honey. Fuck, just the thought is making me hard.”

“Why don’t you show her?”

“My hard dick? I think that ship has sailed.”

“No! Lol. Show her what a punishment would look like. Give her a demonstration. If she’s open to calling you Daddy and trying all this, then show her everything THIS is.”

“Be Daddy and guide her.”

He reads your words over and over, his eyes flicking towards the camera as his eyebrows dip in what looks like confusion.

“Give her a demonstration, huh?”

“Shit.”

You forgot that was the wording you used with him when he told you about his OnlyFans.

“You know, Millennial. You’re so smart. See…this is why we’re friends.”, he laughs, seeming not to notice the identical wording. “Give me your number! I feel bad that you pay just to talk when we can do that for free.”

“I don’t mind, sweetheart. You deserve all the good things.”

***

“No, sir, I’m not…I’m just trying to explain our policy. If I could change it…Please, sir, please…please don’t scream at me.”, you sigh as you listen to the customer on the other end of the call. “Sir, I understand your frustration but…”

While you sat there strongly considering ‘accidently’ hanging up on this man yelling at you, your headset was abruptly lifted from your head and you swiveled your chair to see Eddie throw himself down in his, scooting closer to your side.

“Hello, sir, this is Edward, the manager at this facility. How can I help you out today?”, he lied.

Your slightly surprised expression watched him earnestly as he listened to the man speak.

“I see…Well as the representative explained, that’s not something we can compensate for…because of our policy…Sir, listen to me carefully…I said listen…You were already disrespectful to the kind person who tried to help you so you’re already on thin ice with me. If you raise your voice to me one more time, I’m going to disconnect the call.”

The echo in the speakers reverberated loudly as the customer started to scream again and the boy didn’t even hesitate as he leaned over your body to disconnect.

“You could get in trouble for that.”

“Hm, I could but knowing this shit company I probably won’t.”, he grins as he slides back to his side of the cubicle. “Plus, no one talks like that to my work wife.”

“Eddie? I’m sorry.”

The metalhead leans back in his seat as he his soft eyes scan you over.

“After work tonight, I’m making you dinner. Meet me at my place around 8.”

It wasn’t a request and you had absolutely no qualms with that. When you got off, you hastily went home to change, deciding on a black dress that knotted around your waist at the side of your hips accentuating your curves a bit more and cutting off mid-thigh showing off a feature of yourself you now knew he enjoyed.

Your black heels clacked against the path up to his front door and when Eddie opened it, you couldn’t help but feel overdressed. He was still wearing his black jeans and boots he wore to work that day but had changed into a black button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Wow…you look—”

“Wait, let me guess. Handsome?”, he teases as he invites you in and shuts the door behind you. “Thank you, sweetheart. You look absolutely breath taking. Please…have a seat.” After gesturing towards his table, he pulls out your chair and you grin politely as you sit down.

Your eyes continued to watch him as the metalhead pulled up his hair and moved about the kitchen, serving finished food on a plate and placing it in front of you before filling up a glass with wine to set beside it.

You waited patiently until he completed his tasks and sat down across from you to share the meal he made.

“Oh my god, Eddie…This is amazing!”

“Thank you. My mom showed me how to make it when I was kid.”

The two of you casually talked but you could feel the tension in the atmosphere. You weren’t sure what it was about this man but you desperately wanted to fall to your knees in front of him and beg for forgiveness for hurting him. You wanted to curl up in his lap and kiss his face till that gorgeous smile and dorky sense of humor returned.

You just wanted Eddie.

“What’s going on over there?”, he asked as his studious eyes watched you slightly fold into yourself.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“No one’s ever made me dinner before.”, you answer, your voice slightly cracking as you lightly giggled.

Rising to his feet, Eddie came to your side of the table and turned your body to face his as he kneeled in front of you, taking your palms in his rather large hand.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean to hurt you or insult you. I just…you were right. I’ve had people…relationships in my past talk about me negatively and I just—” His thumb gliding along your lips silenced you as your cheek turned into the palm he had rested against your face. “I’ve been single for a long time by choice. I’ve been so scared of getting hurt again… This whole thing with you is COMPLETELY new for me. I like you so much but there’s so many factors…my age, my weight, our work relationship… I’m scared.”

Slowly, the man pushes up to softly kiss your forehead, lingering there for a few moments and you take the opportunity to inhale his cologne while feeling the warmth that radiated from his chest.

“Come on, pretty girl.”, he whispers as he stands to his full height and takes your hand, leading down the hallway to his bedroom where he places you on the edge of his bed.

Grabbing his desk chair, Eddie sets it directly across from you and moves till his knees lightly graze yours.

“From this point forward tonight, you will refer to me as Daddy and you will only speak when you are spoken to. Do you understand me?”

His voice was still low but filled with a sexy husk that had your thighs rubbing together.

“Yes, Daddy.”, you reply breathily.

“Yes Daddy what?”

“Yes, Daddy, I understand.”

“Good.”, he nods, flashing you a gentle smile as he tilts towards you to lean on his elbows. “Now, occasionally throughout our time, I may ask you what color you are feeling. Green means good, yellow means slow down, and Red is stop.”

“Like a stop light.”

Eddie smirks as he nods.

“Yes, honey, just like a stop light. Now…did I ask you something for you to respond?”

Blinking, your head promptly hangs as you fiddle with your fingers.

“No, Daddy.”

“Alright, thank you for being honest and not giving me an excuse. I’ll let that slide for right now. It won’t happen again.” Craning his neck, his lips find yours and when he pulls away you bite your bottom lip to contain your giddy smile. “Red is our safe word. If at any point, you or even Daddy says that word that means we immediately stop playing right there. If I do something that makes you uncomfortable or I’m hurting you, just say that word and we stop. No questions asked. Well…besides me making sure you’re alright and taking care of you.

What do you say if Daddy is making you uncomfortable?”

“Red.”

“Atta girl.”, he praises. ��When it comes to me, there isn’t much that makes me uncomfortable but since this is all new for you, sweetheart, what are some hard no goes for you?”

“I…I’m not sure. There are things I haven’t tried in a while because of the men in my past…Daddy.” You hurry your last word when you realize you almost forgot it and thankfully he seemed to let it go.

You were trying.

“Can you elaborate on that for me a bit, baby?”

Your eyes squeezed shut as your ex’s voice echoed through your mind.

“God, Y/N, what are you doing?! You can’t be on top. Jesus, what were you thinking?”

“Um, no, sweetie, trust me. You can barely sit on my lap without crushing me. You think I can handle you on my face?”

“Pfft, toys and handcuffs? Baby…come on now. Bracelets I buy rarely fit around your wrists.”

A palm lightly tapping your cheek brought you back to reality as your eyes snapped open to meet Eddie’s.

“What color, Y/N?”

“Green.”, you whisper. “Green, Daddy.”

“I’m going to ask you something a bit personal and I’ll allow for this to go unanswered. Y/N, did your ex make you feel insecure about your body?”

It takes you a couple of minutes before you finally nod.

“Yes, Daddy, and some friends I used to have.”

“Are they here in Hawkins?” You shake your head. “Good because I would fucking tear them apart.”, he growled until his eyes met yours again and softened. “How about when we play we take it one thing at a time, ok?”

“O-Ok, Daddy.”

“Good, good girl. Now, I’m into things like spanking, slapping, stuff like that. How does that make you feel?”

“I’m willing to try, Daddy. I, um, I feel like I wouldn’t like…like being hit with things like a belt or…”

“Ok, none of that. That’s more harder dominate and I’m a soft dominate. I don’t get pleasure from doing that kind of stuff. No disrespect to people that do, consensually of course.”, Eddie chuckles making you smile.

“What do you get pleasure from?”

The man smirks as his chocolate irises scan along your frame.

“You…and submission…”, he purrs. “Speaking of, did you just speak without being spoken to? Mhmm.”, he hums when you start to hang your head again and he catches it between his fingers. “That’s being added to the tally. I am the kind of Daddy that punishes a bad girl and you were a bad girl the last time you were here.”

Your mouth fell open as he slides backward away from you, quirking his eyebrow as if daring you to speak again which you decline.

“One thing that really bothers Daddy is disrespect. You disrespected me when you called me ‘little boy’. Is that how you perceive me, honey?”

“No, Daddy, I swear!”

“Then why did you say it?”

“I…I don’t know. I…”

“Did little girl have a big emotion she didn’t know how to handle so she just said the first mean thing that came to her mind?”

“Y-Y-Yes, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I—”

His palm across your face gave you pause as you grab your cheek and try to catch your breath. It wasn’t a hard slap but it absolutely got your attention.

“Color, baby?”

“Green, Daddy.”, you practically pant causing him to adjust the bulge in his jeans at the sound.

“I didn’t ask you if you were sorry. You answer the question Daddy gives you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to spank you, Y/N. 5 for the disrespect, 5 for you speaking when you weren’t supposed to, and 5 for you disrespecting yourself.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at his statement as he nods and lightly tugs on your palms signaling for you to stand.

“Take off your dress for me, baby.”

Doing as he instructs; you glide your outfit off your shoulders and down your legs allowing it to pool below your feet. On impulse, you start to raise your arms to cover your body but he promptly grabs your wrists and forces them to your sides.

“Did I tell you to do that?”

“No, Daddy.”

Eddie’s intense, dark eyes drink you in from head to toe and once again, he shifts himself around in his pants.

“Goddamn, baby. We’ll have to get more matching sets for you because that black lace is fucking driving me crazy. Fuck. Lay down on your stomach with your head towards me on the bed.”

As you do what he says, the metalhead stands, unbuttoning his shirt before casually tossing it to the side and climbing on to his mattress behind you.

“Since this is the first punishment, I’m going to take it easy and relax some of my normal rules but I do want you to count after each one. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Abruptly, he grabs your arms that had been resting under your head and holds them at the wrist behind your back.

“Louder, Y/N! I need to be able to hear you.”

“Yes, Daddy!”

“Good. Now keep your arms right fucking here.”, Eddie grumbles as you feel the bed jostle slightly. As his palms softly run along your thighs, you can’t help but moan. “I told you, baby, these thighs are fucking perfect.”

When his hand connected with your behind your entire body came to life as a squeak escaped your lips.

“Color, honey?”

“Green, Daddy.”

“What did I say to do after I spank you?”

“C-Count. One, Daddy.”

“You seemed confused when I mentioned disrespecting yourself. Let me make it clearer.”, he declares as he hits you again and you count it off. “You always make these comments about yourself; that because you have some curves that means you’re not beautiful.”

At the word “curves”, Eddie’s palm roughly grabs the meat of your ass before he spanks you again.

“That because you’ve lived a bit longer than someone then that means you’re not worthy of having fun or being with someone who would fucking worship you.”

*SPANK*

“That because a group of ignorant fuckers made you feel less than, then it must be true. No, baby. You. Are. Beautiful. Say it.”

“I’m beautiful.”

*SPANK*

“Louder like you fucking mean it!”

“Ahhh I’m beautiful, Daddy! I’m beautiful.”

You feel the atmosphere shift as his chest presses to your back and his lips caress the shell of your ear.

“Inside and out, Y/N.”, he murmurs, delicately kissing your cheek before tilting back. “Now, on to you disrespecting me.”

*SPANK*

“Six, Daddy.”

“Do you think I deserved that? You speaking to me that way?”

“No, sir.”

Eddie carefully pulls down your underwear and throws them towards his closet.

“Those are mine now. Fuck, baby girl, you’re so wet. Do you like Daddy spanking you?” You can’t help but pout at his mocking tone and in return he spanks your behind once more. “Don’t pout, little girl. You did this to yourself.”

Taking a hold of your thighs, he spread your legs open a bit more and you mewled when you felt his spit hit your pussy lips. His thumb collected the remnants and your mouth fell open as he pressed it against your clit.

*SPANK*

“E-Eight, Daddy, fuck.”

“What are you going to do next time you feel something like that?”

“Talk to—mmph—you.”

*SPANK*

“You’ll be open with Daddy instead of calling him names like a little brat?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy.”

*SPANK*

“Because you know Daddy’s here to take care of you and would never do anything to hurt you or make you feel unsafe.”

“Yeeesssss!”

Eddie’s fingers grasp the back of your neck as he holds you down and applies the perfect amount of pressure to your clit with his thumb that has your eyes rolling as you come undone.

While your body continued to spasm from pleasure, he gently turned you on to your side till your front half was facing him.

“You’re doing so well, baby, taking your punishment like a good girl. We’re almost done. What color are we at, sweetheart?”, he softly cooed as he pets your hair.

“Green, Daddy.”

“Good. You wouldn’t lie to Daddy right?”

“No.”, you giggle as you keen into the mattress causing a knowing smile to flicker along his lips.

You’re exactly where he wants you to be; you’ve dropped into the right headspace and thankfully, you seem comfortable.

Pushing back onto his knees, Eddie fumbles with his belt buckle and your wide, glassy eyes find his as he frees his cock from its confinement.

“Open your mouth, pretty girl.” Without question, you do what he asks and your eyes flutter closed as he guides himself inside. “You don’t have to count anymore but I want you to keep still and let Daddy use you, ok?”

When you nod, he utilizes one palm to grip your hair as his other spanks your behind. You moan around him and his chest vibrates at the feeling.

“Shit…atta girl. That’s my girl.” His hand comes down once more while he steadily thrusts his hips. “Tap my thigh if it’s too much, baby, since your mouth is full. Fuck, I wish you could see how gorgeous you are right now.”

*SPANK*

“That’s it. Tongue flat…breathe through y-your nose…”

When his hand comes down this time, the one he has threaded through your hair clings down tighter as he remains still feeling you gag around him.

“You can take it, baby, fuck! A couple more seconds!”

When he finally pulls back, Eddie spanks you one final time and fully lets you go to allow his face to be level with your own.

“You did so good, baby girl. What color are you at?”

You cough as he continues to caress your face but instead of answering, you startle him when you dive into his embrace, pushing him back against his pillows as you cry.

“I-I’m so sorry, Daddy. I promise…I’ll try to be more open with you…and talk to you when I’m…feeling something. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I really appreciate that. Can you answer my question for me so I know you’re alright?”

“I’m ok. Green, Daddy, Green.” Eddie smiles as he tilts back to kiss your sweaty forehead. “The zipper of your pants is kind of pinching me though.”, you jest, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he laughs and adjusts you both till he’s on top of you after pulling off his jeans the rest of the way.

“Sorry, pretty girl. Here, let’s take this off.”

As he reaches blindly behind your back to unhook your bra, you tenderly trail soft kisses along his shoulder to the crook of his neck. After the garment falls to the floor beside the bed, the metalhead’s lips latch on to your nipple and on impulse your legs wrap around him as your fingers tangle in his hair trying to pull him closer.

“Fuck, everything on you tastes so sweet.”, Eddie whispers against your skin as his tongue licks between the valley of your chest to your neck.

While he sucks that sweet spot along your throat, you feel him reach between your bodies before you both groan as he guides his cock into your entrance.

“Your okay, baby. Daddy’s got you.” His words cause your pussy to clench tighter around him and he grunts at the feeling as he lifts his head to rest his forehead on yours. “Open your eyes and look at me, sweetheart.”

Eddie watches you struggle to do what he asked as your eyelids flutter open and your jaw drops, your breath warming his mouth as he rolls his hips. The contrast between the gruffness earlier to the softness now felt so euphoric and you were enjoying every minute of it.

Pushing up onto his palms, he picked up his rhythm, firmly pumping his length deeper inside you than anyone else had ever been.

“Don’t—shit—don’t take those beautiful eyes off me.”

“Y-You feel…feel so good…”

“Yeah? Daddy’s cock feels good? Keep talking to me, baby.”

“Don’t…don’t stop…please. I need to feel you cum.”

A breathy fuck left his lips as his head hung and the tendrils of hair that had fallen out of his hair tie grazed cheek. Your hands found purchase on any part of his body you could touch, his sweaty chest, his muscular back, and his equally damp neck. You leaned up to press your mouth to his and the taste of his tongue mingling with yours was more than enough to drive you over the edge.

Eddie felt it immediately, falling flat against you to roll his hips as hard as he could till you body shook and came.

“Good…good girl. Daddy’s gonna give you what you want.”, he whispered with exasperation, desperate for his own release. After a sexy smirk and a soft caress of his nose against yours, his head fell to the side as he chased his high, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room till you heard him loudly grunt in your ear.

His fingers dug into the pillow beside you as he slammed his spend into your cunt and your limbs clung tightly around him, guiding his movement with your palms on his ass.

You were in such a total state of bliss you didn’t even feel him get out of bed until you were being lifted into the air.

“Whoa, sweetheart, it’s alright. I’m just taking you to the shower. You’re ok.”, he comforted as you quickly clung to his neck.

You hissed briefly when warm water hit your behind but once it subsided, you melted into the water pressure. Eddie kneeled in front of you and tenderly kissed parts of your skin as he reached for something behind you. It took you a moment to realize what he was doing, surprising you when the feel of a washrag carefully glided along your frame.

No one had ever done this for you before. No one had ever taken the time to do any kind of aftercare let alone be this in depth. Your eyes carefully watched as he focused in on his task, being extra gentle when the rag ran along his handprints on your ass.

Rising to his feet, he cleaned the rest of you and as soon as he was done, you (a bit roughly) wrapped your arms around his waist as you placed your head against his chest. His own arms circled around you, holding you to him as he rested his cheek on top of your hair. You listened to his heartbeat as he silently held you; for how long you weren’t sure nor did you care.

When you finally pulled back and your eyes met his, you saw nothing but care.

After spinning you around, you giggled as he allowed the water to drench his hair and body while he haphazardly ran his palm with soap along his skin. When Eddie was done, he made you laugh harder as he turned off the faucet and shook his head like a dog in your direction while trying to contain his own smile.

“Wait right here for one second, ok?”, he asked after guiding you out and handing you a towel.

The metalhead wasn’t gone for long and when he returned, he hastily dried you making you realize that you hadn’t even begun doing the task yourself waiting for him to come back and take care of you.

When he brought you back out into his bedroom, you took note that he changed the sheets and laid out some essentials onto his mattress. Once he had a pair of boxers on, Eddie turned you away from him as he took a seat on his bed and after a few moments you felt something cold touch your skin.

“Op, sorry. I should have given you a little warning. This is lotion to prevent any kind of bruising or anything like that to this sexy ass.”, he conveys, his smile growing when you laugh. “You may be a bit sore for a day or two but… Do you feel like you need anything else, honey? Ice or anything?”

“No, thank you.”, you reply in a small voice that tells him you’re still slightly in that headspace.

“Ok, pretty girl. How are feeling in here?”, Eddie asks as his fingers reach up to playfully tap your forehead.

“I feel ok…calm…I’ve never…no one has ever taken care of me after.”

The boy notices your expression sadden slightly and as he pulls a big shirt over your head; he kisses your lips and brings you closer to him.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me, sweetheart. No matter what, Daddy will take care of you and do aftercare. That’s another important rule, ok? After we play, I need you to be open and honest with me about how you feel. If you’re in pain or your head feels a bit heavy and low, let me know.”

“I promise.”

Nodding to himself, he reaches for the water bottle he brought, handing it to you so you can chug some of it back before handing it off to him who promptly finishes the rest and tosses it towards the trashcan.

“What about you?”

“What do you mean, babe?”

Blinking and shifting bashfully, you try to answer his question while in your current headspace.

“How do I…aftercare you?”

Eddie beams up at you so wide you can’t help but blush before he circles his arms around your waist and pulls you back into his bed.

“Taking care of you is my aftercare but I love that you asked me that. I promise though, if I need anything I’ll be open and honest with you.” His gaze shifts for a moment as a thought passes. “This is more a less what being in a sexual relationship with me is like, Y/N. Was there anything I did that you would rather we not do?”

“I liked it, Eddie…all of it.”

“Good…good. That’s why I had you leave the other day. We hadn’t had this talk yet and I didn’t know what you were comfortable with. When it comes to being Daddy, I can be stern when I need to be. When I’m with Steve, we usually do the harder stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Restraints, slapping, toys, humiliation…”

“Maybe…maybe I can watch one day…if you’re comfortable with that.”

Eddie’s slightly surprised expression meets your serious one.

“Are you sure? I sense that you’ve been through some things…I mean you alluded to…I don’t want you to feel like I’m cheating on you… I haven’t even been on my site except to talk to that friend I told you about.”

Fuck…I forgot about that…

“Eddie, I have to tell you something.”

As his soft, earnest eyes waited for you speak, you couldn’t help the fear that weld up in your throat. Eddie was the nicest, most caring man you had ever been with and you were afraid once you came clean you’d lose him.

You just got him back after hurting him once already…

“I…just wanted to tell you…it doesn’t bother me. I know you’re only doing it for the money.”

The metalhead breathes a sigh of relief as he leans down to kiss your lips.

####################

@dashingdeb16 @myherometalhead @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @twirls827 @micheledawn1975 @chelebelletx @hardladyheart @spiderxbatty @twirls827 @daveythorntonslocker @eddies-dungeon-and-dragon @mrsjellymunson @utterlyinsanity

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incomplete-leclerc · 3 days ago

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　𝗣𝗨𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗬 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗖.　andrea kimi antonelli · #12

　　　cuddling with your best friend isn't weird, right?

genres : fluff ... best friend to lovers ... kimi x fem!reader.　 request : anon for kimi + “just never figured you for a little spoon.” for the 100 event.　word count : 0.6k.　warnings : none.　 note : okay we are so back 💪💪 (kinda i hope, pls let me not disappear for a month after this).　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

You knew Kimi like the back of your hand. Being best friends for too many years to count meant picking up on all the little things that others would have to dig deep to find out. Kimi was the one person who never took you by surprise, who you could read like an open book.

But on the rare occasion, he still managed to catch you off guard.

“You want me to cuddle you?” you echoed the words that had left the boy’s mouth seconds ago, frozen in slight shock.

It wasn’t the cuddling that particularly surprised you. Kimi was affectionate and so were you. Cuddling wasn’t foreign for you two— platonic cuddling, of course. But in terms of who was the big or little spoon, there were always silent set rules. Kimi seemed to always be the one spooning you whenever hugs turned into cuddles. His request to be the recipient was uncharacteristic for him.

“Yes. Is that weird?” His tentative and slightly confused voice at your reaction made a smile start to form on your lips. Your best friend was adorable. Always clarifying and questioning as if the world was spinning too fast for him. It wasn’t that he was slow or unable to pick up on things, but rather he prioritized your comfort more than anything. Even if he knew what all your expressions and inflections meant in his head, sometimes he wondered if one day he would misjudge. It was always safer to just ask.

“For you? Maybe. Just never figured you for a little spoon,” you replied, your smile now growing into a grin, one that teased Kimi without words.

“Well, when you put it like that—“

You grabbed his arm and pulled quickly, yanking you both down onto your bed.

“What are you doing?” Kimi pried, rushed words falling from his lips as your arms quickly encircled around his torso.

“Cuddling you. Just like you wanted.”

The smile that you gave Kimi— that self satisfactory mischievous one that he didn’t like to admit he adored so much— made his heart drop to his stomach.

Hugs with you were never weird. Cuddles with you were never weird. Always in a platonic, best friend kind of way, naturally. Except, this suddenly didn’t feel like something best friends did.

Heat crawled up Kimi’s neck as he tried desperately to ground himself to something before he made things weird. It was a classic cliche— that boys could never just stay friends with a girl. He had always joked about it with you in the past, proudly boasting how you both defied the odds. He remembered saying how he would never be able to see you in a romantic light.

That was almost 5 years ago now, and the Kimi back then felt very different from the Kimi now. The one that you were holding in your arms, way too close for him to focus on anything else in the room except for you, you, you.

Your gaze drifted over his look of surprise and the slight flush on his cheeks. You noticed him slowly start to relax in your hold after a few seconds, slow blinks of his brown eyes staring into yours. You couldn’t help but find it comforting, how he fit so well in your arms, curled up so close.

Kimi was the one person that you could read like an open book, and right now your eyes were skipping over the words, putting together the sentences in your brain, the understanding clear as day.

Maybe what you had with Kimi wasn’t as platonic as you had thought.

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surielstea · 2 days ago

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Dancing With Fate - III

Read part one and two first!

Pairing: Nyx x TamlinsDaughter!Reader

Summary: Nyx and Reader are advancing in their relationship, now in the Day court where they can spend time together without fear of getting caught.

Warnings: A little heated kissing but this is just a fluff chapter!

A.Note: Guysss this little series is about to get so good and juicy I promise, also please vote on this poll for what you’d like to see in the next chapter!

Wordcount: 7.5k

The morning I was set to leave, Spring Court's estate felt suffocating. The weight of my father's expectations, the ever-watchful eyes of the sentries, the knowledge that I was slipping away not just for a visit—but for him—pressed down on me. I told myself it wasn't a lie. I was going to see Lucien. I was supposed to be there. But deep in my chest, the bond hummed, whispering truths I couldn't ignore.

I could still feel his lips on mine, the press of his hands at my waist, the quiet promise he had left me with before I winnowed away. Three days. It had felt like an eternity. Now that the time had come, I found myself glancing over my shoulder as I crossed the courtyard, my pulse quickening with every step toward the open lands of Spring.

My father had been surprisingly agreeable when I asked to visit Lucien—perhaps because I rarely asked for anything at all. Perhaps because it was easier for him to believe I sought an escape rather than suspect the truth. Either way, the approval had been granted after minor convincing.

I let out a slow breath, focusing on my destination as I prepared to winnow.

The air shimmered around me, and with a final glance at my home—if it could even be called that—I vanished.

The Day Court was a world of golden light and sprawling dunes, a kingdom carved from the sun itself. I landed on one of its marble pathways, the heat instantly settling over my skin like a second layer. White and gold towers stretched toward the sky, the brilliance of them nearly blinding.

Lucien was already waiting.

He leaned against one of the courtyard pillars, arms crossed, his red hair catching the sunlight in hues of copper and fire. He arched a brow the moment I appeared, pushing off the pillar with a lazy sort of grace.

"You're on time," he mused. "Did the skies part for a miracle, or are you actually excited to see me?"

I rolled my eyes, falling into step beside him as he led me toward the palace. "Don't flatter yourself, Lucien. I'm just desperate for decent company."

His chuckle was warm, genuine, but his sharp gaze flickered over me, assessing. Lucien always noticed more than he let on. "And here I thought Spring Court was finally growing on you."

I scoffed. "Like poison."

Lucien didn't argue. He simply guided me through the sunlit halls, the scent of citrus and sea breeze drifting through the open archways. But I could feel the words he wanted to say pressing against his tongue.

"Go on," I said finally. "Say whatever it is you're thinking before you combust."

He cast me a knowing glance. "You have a look about you."

I blinked. "A look?"

"A very particular look." He stopped in front of a set of golden doors, his expression unreadable. "The kind that usually means trouble."

I fought the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. "You're imagining things."

"I've known you since you were six," Lucien huffed a quiet laugh, pushing the doors open. "But if you say so."

The throne room was empty when we stepped inside. Not that I expected anything different—Lucien had told me Helion would be absent for the week, handling an issue near the borders. It made my request easier, less complicated.

"How long will I be staying?" I asked, trailing a hand along the intricate carvings of the marble table.

"As long as you need," Lucien answered, his voice easy, but his gaze watchful. "But your father expects a week. Don't get any ideas."

I turned to him, weighing my words carefully. "You did say I could visit whenever I wanted."

"That, I did," he acknowledged. "But I also know you don't make casual trips anywhere. So either you've grown fond of me—" He smirked. "—or there's something else going on."

I hesitated, the bond thrumming softly in my chest. Nyx would be here soon. I could feel it, that gentle pull like a tide calling me home.

"I just need time," I said finally. "Time away from Spring. Time to breathe."

Lucien studied me, his expression softening just slightly. Then he nodded. "Then you'll have it."

Relief flooded through me, but before I could thank him, the air behind me stirred.

The scent of summer rain and star-kissed skies filled the room.

My breath caught.

Lucien's lips twitched, amusement flashing in his russet eye as he glanced past me. "Right. Now this all makes sense."

I turned, and there he was.

Nyx stood in the archway, clad in deep blue, his dark hair tousled by the wind. His sapphire eyes locked onto mine, something unreadable flickering within them.

A slow, lazy smirk curved his lips. "Miss me, princess?"

Lucien let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Cauldron boil me. You do have a look about you."

Nyx didn't hesitate as he crossed the room, moving with that effortless confidence that made it impossible to look away. Like the world had never given him a reason to doubt himself. Like he belonged here, with me.

The bond hummed softly in my chest as he stopped a few feet away, his gaze settling on Lucien with a quiet, knowing amusement.

Lucien, for his part, didn't seem surprised. He just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before leveling a sharp look at me. "So. This is why you came."

I winced. "Lucien—"

He held up a hand. "Tell me the truth. How long has this been going on?"

I hesitated, stealing a glance at Nyx, who only smirked. Smug bastard. "It's...new."

Lucien arched a brow. "New?"

"Three days," Nyx supplied unhelpfully, rocking back on his heels. "Well, three days since she kissed me."

Lucien's eye twitched. I swatted Nyx's arm.

"Since we kissed," I corrected.

Lucien's gaze flicked between us, unimpressed. Then he exhaled heavily. "And your parents?"

My stomach twisted. I dropped my gaze, my fingers curling into the sleeves of Nyx's jacket. "None of them know."

Lucien let out a short, humorless laugh. "Gods, just like your parents. Just like them." He ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. "Why do both of your families insist on making my life difficult?"

"Lucien—" I started, guilt pressing into my ribs.

"I know, Fawn," he interrupted, shaking his head. "You're good. You're okay."

I exhaled, my shoulders loosening slightly. I hated using Lucien's kindness like this, but I needed this. I needed to be here, needed him.

Lucien gave me a long, considering look before sighing dramatically. "My wife will be thrilled that Nyx is visiting, so I suppose you can stay." He gave a look of acknowledgment to the heir of Night.

Nyx dipped his head in gratitude, but before he could respond, Lucien turned to him fully with a sharp, easy threat. "Though, if you hurt her, and I'll be sending armies to your doorstep."

I groaned. "Uncle—"

"Completely understood," Nyx said, ignoring my protests.

Lucien only huffed, then turned toward the open archway. "Come on, Your Highness, let's get you settled before I regret my entire existence."

Nyx winked at me before following, falling into step beside him as they led me through the sunlit halls.

—

Lucien's home within the Day Court was smaller than the palace itself but no less grand. The rooms were warm, decorated in golds and creams, with sweeping balconies that overlooked the distant dunes.

Lucien pushed open a set of doors, revealing a guest suite. "This is for her," he said pointedly, flicking his gaze to Nyx. "You, however, can take the room down the hall."

Nyx smirked. "Separate rooms? What do you take me for, Vanserra?"

Lucien gave him a deadpan stare. "Someone with a death wish."

I stepped inside before they could continue, rolling my eyes. "You two are worse than children."

Nyx only chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as I took in the space. It was lovely—soft linens, airy curtains, a private balcony that bathed the room in golden light, and a ginormous bathtub sunken into the floor like the room's very own indoor pool. All this for a guest?

I was going to tease Lucien about it but when I turned back, Nyx was watching me carefully.

"We don't have long," he murmured, the humor fading just slightly from his voice.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my dress. "I know."

Lucien cleared his throat. "Right. That's my cue to leave." He shot me a look, something softer beneath his usual exasperation. "Get some rest, Fawn. Meet me for breakfast in the morning."

I nodded, and with one last warning glance at Nyx, he slipped out.

Silence settled.

Nyx didn't move from the door. He just looked at me, something unreadable in his expression.

Three days. Three days without him, and yet the pull between us was stronger than ever.

I let out a slow breath. "I missed you."

Nyx's smile was slow, knowing. He stepped closer, hands bracing on either side of the doorframe. "Yeah?"

My pulse fluttered. But I refused to look away. "Yeah."

Nyx hummed, gaze sweeping over me like he was committing me to memory.

"C'mere then." He gives me one of those signature smirks.

I let go of the grip I had on my dress as I approached him, suppressed smile on my face.

His eyes follow me, watching my every movement as I come closer but not making a move to cross the threshold of my bedroom.

I peer up at him through my lashes, blinking once, twice. Then, "I missed you too," He murmured, leaning down and sealing a gentle kiss to my aching lips.

I pulled away first, and immediately regretted it the moment his lips left mine.

But he moved away, and with a quiet, secretive grin, he murmured, "Come find me when you can't sleep."

And just like that, he was gone.

—

Sleep evaded me.

I had tried—tried curling into the soft sheets, tried counting my breaths, tried pretending the bond wasn't a tangible thing pulling me toward the other side of the hall. But it was no use. The awareness of him, of Nyx, was a whisper against my skin, a constant hum in my chest.

With a soft exhale, I pushed back the covers and slipped out of my room.

The halls were quiet, bathed in moonlight. The Day Court at night had a different kind of beauty—soft, glowing, endless. I made my way toward his room, heart hammering for reasons I wasn't ready to name.

Nyx must have sensed me before I even reached the door, because the moment I lifted my fist to knock, it swung open.

He stood there, leaning lazily against the frame, shirtless, like he had been waiting. His smirk was immediate. "Couldn't stay away, Princess?"

I rolled my eyes, brushing past him into the room and inviting myself in. "Don't flatter yourself."

His room was similar to mine, only slightly smaller, with the same open balcony letting in the cool night air. The scent of him—night-blooming jasmine, crisp wind, something uniquely Nyx—wrapped around me instantly.

I turned just as he shut the door, crossing his arms. "So, what's keeping you up? Me?" His grin was all arrogance.

I huffed. "The bond."

Nyx's eyes darkened slightly, but he still managed a chuckle. "I am the bond, sweetheart."

Heat bloomed in my chest, but I ignored it, watching as he sat on the edge of the bed with a casual grace. "We should talk about it."

Nyx arched a brow. "About how wildly in love with me you already are?"

I tossed a glare at him. He returned it with a laugh, his sapphire eyes somehow beckoning me closer. "Alright," he said, quieter this time. "Let's talk."

I swallowed, unsure where to begin. "Are we...accepting it while we're here?"

Nyx's expression turned thoughtful, something softer creeping into his gaze. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I don't want to rush you," he said, voice low, steady. "But I also don't want to pretend it's not there."

I nodded slowly. That was the problem. The bond was there, a silent, unyielding thing, urging us closer. Ignoring it felt unnatural. But accepting it—fully—was irreversible. And rejecting it, for some reason, was out of the question.

Nyx must have sensed my hesitation because his lips twitched. "You know," he mused, a grin on his lips that could only mean trouble, "Lucien and Elain's rooms are at the opposite end of the hall."

I blinked, confused. "And?"

He smirked. "So if there are any... aftereffects of us accepting the bond, they won't hear a thing."

Heat flooded my face. "Nyx."

He grinned. "Just saying, if you're worried about keeping them up—"

"Nyx." I smacked his arm, and he just laughed, catching my wrist with ease.

With a soft tug, he pulled me forward until I was standing between his legs. My breath hitched as he peered up at me, his grip warm, steady.

"You're overthinking it," he murmured.

I bit my lip tentatively. "It's a lot to think about."

His hands slid up my arms, slow and careful, like he was mapping out the places he could touch, where I would let him. "Then don't think," he whispered. "Just...stay."

I hesitated.

Then, finally, I let out a breath and climbed onto the bed beside him.

Nyx shifted easily, stretching out against the pillows, one arm behind his head as he watched me settle in. "See? Not so bad."

I rolled onto my side, facing him. "Don't get used to this."

"Too late," he said, grinning.

A comfortable silence stretched between us, the weight of the bond settling into something warm, something oddly familiar.

Then—

"What if we did accept it?" I asked softly, tracing patterns into the sheets with a fingertip.

Nyx was quiet for a moment. When I glanced up, his gaze had softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"I think," he murmured, reaching over to brush his knuckles against my cheek, "it would feel like this."

"Like what?"

His thumb skimmed the corner of my mouth, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper.

"Like something I don't ever want to stop."

A shiver ran through me, but I forced myself to scoff. "You're so dramatic."

He chuckled, his hand drifting away, but not before his fingers brushed against my wrist, lingering. "You love it."

I did. I really, really did.

Nyx was still watching me, his expression unreadable but utterly devastating. His fingers, still barely brushing against mine, curled slightly, testing.

I should have pulled away. Should have ignored the way the space between us felt unbearable, like a string stretched too tight, ready to snap.

Instead, I turned my hand over, letting our fingers fully intertwine.

Nyx inhaled sharply.

His other hand lifted, tracing the shape of my jaw before tilting my chin up ever so slightly. His touch was featherlight, like he was waiting for me to pull back, to stop this before it started.

I didn't. I couldn't.

His eyes darkened, and I barely had time to take a breath before his lips brushed against mine.

Soft, at first. A question. I answered by pressing closer, hand against his hard chest.

Nyx groaned, low in his throat, and then he was kissing me in earnest, his hand sliding to cup the back of my neck, pulling me flush against him.

Heat curled through me, my body igniting at the sheer rightness of it—of him. His lips moved against mine with slow, devastating precision, coaxing, deepening.

I gasped as his teeth grazed my lower lip, and he took the opportunity to press even closer, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a way that had my fingers running up his nape and tangling in his hair, pulling, needing.

Nyx growled softly, his grip tightening, his body shifting so that I was beneath him now, the weight of him pressing into me in the most delicious way.

I should have stopped him. Should have reminded him that Lucien and Elain were likely eavesdropping, that this wasn't what we came here for.

But all I could do was gasp against his lips, drowning in him as he kissed me like he'd been waiting a lifetime to do so.

And maybe he had.

The tether between us hummed, alive, crackling like a storm ready to break. My entire body felt like it was on fire, burning for something I wasn't sure I was ready for—but gods, did I want it.

Nyx pulled away just enough to press his forehead against mine, his breaths ragged, uneven. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, his lips barely brushing against mine. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

I didn't say anything.

Because I didn't want him to stop.

Instead, I tightened my grip in his hair and kissed him again.

Nyx practically purred, deepening the kiss instantly, his hands sliding down my sides, gripping my waist like he was trying to anchor himself. I whimpered as he tilted my head back, his lips tracing a path along my jaw, down my throat—

I shuddered. "Nyx—"

He froze, his breathing heavy. "Too much?"

I hesitated, my mind hazy, body thrumming, aching. I didn't want to stop, didn't want this night to end—but I knew if we kept going, if I let him keep kissing me like this, there would be no turning back.

Slowly, I nodded.

Nyx let out a shaky breath, then pressed a lingering kiss to my shoulder before rolling onto his back, dragging me with him. His arm curled around my waist, keeping me tucked against his side.

I pressed my face into his chest, inhaling deeply. His heart was racing.

"Sleep, Princess," he murmured against my hair, pressing a final kiss to my forehead.

I exhaled softly, my body still humming, my lips still tingling, my heart still pounding.

But as Nyx's warmth surrounded me, as his arms tightened slightly around me, I found that—for the first time all night—I was finally at peace.

And sleep came easily.

The warmth of the Day Court sun streamed in through the open balcony doors, golden light spilling over the plush bedding and dancing across the smooth marble floors. A gentle breeze carried the scent of citrus and wildflowers, and the distant sound of birdsong filled the air—soft, melodic, impossibly peaceful.

I stretched beneath the silk sheets, the remnants of sleep clinging to my limbs. Nyx's steady breathing was warm against my neck, his arm a heavy weight draped over my waist. The bond hummed between us, quiet, content.

Carefully, I slipped from his grasp, his fingers twitching slightly in protest but aside from that he didn't stir.

I smiled to myself, watching as he burrowed further into the pillows that likely smelled of me, the golden light turning his midnight-dark hair almost copper in the morning glow.

For a male who spent so much time under the stars, he certainly slept through the hours of night like a log.

Shaking my head fondly, I padded across the room, stepping out into the hallway and making my way back to my own quarters across the hall.

The Day Court truly was beautiful in the morning—the soft glow of the sun filtering through sheer golden curtains, the air crisp and warm all at once. By the time I reached my room, I was fully awake, the peaceful hum of the court settling over me like a second skin.

I dressed in a white silk gown, the fabric flowing like liquid over my frame, cinched at the waist with a delicate golden belt. My jewelry was plentiful—thin, glimmering chains draped over my collarbones, golden cuffs sliding up my arms, rings adorning my fingers.

I had just finished fastening the final piece of jewelry when the door behind me creaked open.

I caught his reflection in the mirror before he could even enter.

Nyx stood in the doorway, his hair an absolute mess, his eyes heavy with sleep. He hadn't bothered with a shirt, his bare chest golden in the sunlight, the tattooed whorls of the night sky on his skin dark against the warm glow. He was beautiful—in that utterly devastating, ruinous kind of way.

He said nothing as he crossed the room, his steps slow, languid, his body still half-asleep.

Then his arms were sliding around my shoulders, his bare chest pressing against my back, his face tucking into the crook of my neck. His lips brushed against my skin—soft, lingering.

"Come back to bed," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

I smiled, meeting his gaze in the mirror as he sighed against my skin. "You are such a night owl."

One of his hands trailed up my arm, fingers ghosting over the golden cuffs there. "That's because I am Night," he grumbled. "It's unnatural for me to be awake this early."

I huffed a quiet laugh, reaching up to lace my fingers with his where they rested on my shoulder. "And yet, you're awake."

"I wouldn't be if you hadn't abandoned me." His lips brushed over my throat again, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I have breakfast with Lucien," I reminded him, though the words were already losing their strength.

Nyx hummed, as if considering coercing me out of that particular plan. His grip tightened slightly, his fingers curling around my waist as he exhaled against my skin. "Or," he suggested, his voice a low murmur, "you could stay."

I turned in his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back just enough to murmur, "I'll be back soon."

Nyx sighed, dramatically, his hands tracing slow circles along my back. "You're cruel," he muttered.

I grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You'll live."

"Debatable."

I rolled my eyes, but before I could move, he kissed me again—slow, lazy, lingering. By the time he pulled away, I had half a mind to actually abandon breakfast.

But I forced myself to step back, smoothing my gown as I gave him a knowing look. "Go back to sleep, Night Prince."

Nyx smirked, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that was far too awake for someone who had been dead to the world only minutes ago. "You'll come find me after?"

I nodded. "I'll come find you after."

Seemingly satisfied, he took a slow step backward, his lips twitching. "Enjoy breakfast, princess," he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't miss me too much."

I barely resisted the urge to throw a pillow at him as I slipped out the door.

The Day Court's dining terrace overlooked a sprawling garden, the morning sunlight painting the marble floors in warm golds and soft whites. A faint citrus breeze carried through the open-air space, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread, honeyed fruit, and roasted coffee.

Lucien was already seated at the table, a cup of tea in one hand, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

"Good morning, Fawn," he greeted, setting his cup down as I slid into the chair across from him.

I sighed, reaching for a slice of peach from the array of food laid before us. "I knew I should have stayed in bed."

Lucien chuckled, reaching for his own plate. "You wound me. I would have thought you'd missed me."

"I did," I admitted, which earned me a pleased look. "But I also knew that my first morning here would be spent with you poking at me like a bored hound with a bone."

Lucien hummed, popping a grape into his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest. "You make it sound so terrible."

I gave him a dry look. "You live for gossip."

"And you have been supplying me with an endless amount of it," he countered, flashing a sharp grin. "You and the heir to the Night Court, sneaking around behind your father's back?" He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Do you know how much restraint it takes for me not to send a letter to Tamlin about this?"

I nearly choked on my tea. "You wouldn't."

Lucien's russet eye twinkled with mischief. "Wouldn't I?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, but there was no real threat in my stare. He was teasing—mostly. "You wouldn't because I'm your favorite."

Lucien let out a bark of laughter. "You think that's enough to keep me quiet?"

I plucked a croissant from the basket, tearing off a piece with deliberate slowness. "I also brought Nyx with me, which means Elain is getting a visit from her favorite nephew," I said sweetly. "And I doubt she'd be pleased if his visit was cut short by some ill-timed news reaching Spring."

Lucien raised a brow, amused. "Using my wife against me? Low blow."

"You leave me no choice."

He chuckled, shaking his head before taking a sip of his tea. "Fine, your secret is safe with me. For now."

I exhaled in relief, but he wasn't done.

"So," he continued, smirking, "do you always sneak into his bed, or was last night a special occasion?"

I set my croissant down with exaggerated care. "You are insufferable."

Lucien grinned, positively delighted. "Oh, come now. I'm merely curious."

I sighed, shaking my head. "And here I thought you wanted to talk about Spring."

Lucien's expression didn't shift, but I saw the flicker of something—wariness, perhaps, or exhaustion—pass through his russet eye before he settled back into that smooth, unbothered demeanor.

"You want to talk about Spring?" he mused, sipping at his tea. "Now that's a first."

I hesitated, fingers toying with the edge of my napkin. "It's been... stable?"

Lucien huffed a quiet laugh. "Stable is one word for it."

I lifted a brow, silently urging him to continue.

He sighed, swirling his tea in his cup. "Your father is as he always is. Withdrawn. Distrustful. Trying to mend what little he has left, though his attempts have been... half-hearted, at best." A pause, then a softer, "He does love you, you know. Don't take that for granted."

I looked down at my plate, a strange weight pressing against my ribs. "I know, I try not to. I love him too."

Lucien sighed, setting his cup down. "Well, that was depressing."

I let out a weak laugh, grateful for the shift in subject. "You brought it up."

"Yes, but now I regret it," he muttered before shooting me a sidelong glance, that familiar smirk returning. "Luckily, we have a much juicier topic to discuss."

I groaned. "Lucien—"

He ignored my warning tone, lips twitching. "How was sleeping with the Night Court's heir?"

"I hate you."

"Did you snuggle?" He grinned. "You did, didn't you?"

I picked up my spoon, debating throwing it at his head.

Lucien laughed, positively beaming. "Oh, this is delightful."

"You are the worst."

"I am," he agreed, unbothered. "But I'm also right."

I sighed, shaking my head. "I am never telling you anything ever again."

Lucien simply smiled, far too pleased with himself.

And somehow, despite his relentless teasing, breakfast was... nice. Easy, even.

Lucien had always been that way—quick-witted, sharp-tongued, but warm beneath it all. And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to enjoy that warmth, even as he smirked knowingly over the rim of his tea cup.

The soft pad of footsteps against marble had me glancing up just as Elain entered the terrace, sunlight catching in the golden waves of her hair. She was radiant in the morning glow, dressed in a pale yellow gown that complemented the warmth of her brown eyes.

Lucien's teasing stopped instantly.

His gaze softened, his entire being seeming to realign as he turned toward his mate. The smug amusement he had wielded so effortlessly moments ago melted into something quieter, something devotional, as if Elain were the only thing in existence.

"Good morning, my love," Lucien greeted, rising smoothly to pull out a chair for her.

Elain smiled at him, a soft, knowing thing, before placing a kiss on his cheek and settling into her seat. "Good morning," she replied before glancing at me, her expression warm. "I'm so happy you're here."

I smiled back, genuinely. "I'm happy to be here."

She took a sip of tea before asking, "What do you have planned for today?"

I glanced at Lucien, who was too busy staring at his mate to contribute to the conversation, then looked back at Elain with an amused huff. "That depends on what there is to do in the Day Court."

Elain brightened. "Oh, there's so much. The markets are always lovely in the mornings, and later today there will be a performance in the amphitheater—music, dance, sometimes storytelling, depending on the day. We could also visit the gardens."

At that, Lucien seemed to shake himself from his daze just long enough to say, "She loves the gardens."

Elain laughed softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I do."

The moment their hands touched, Lucien's thumb traced small circles over her knuckles, his russet eye drinking her in as if he hadn't seen her in ages, as if she were the only thing tethering him to this world.

I looked away, feeling like an intruder on something sacred.

Instead, I focused on my tea, swirling it in my cup before Elain's next words had me stiffening.

"And what about you?" she asked gently. "What do you have planned with Nyx?"

Lucien tensed beside her at the mention of his nephew but, surprisingly, didn't interrupt.

I hesitated before answering. "I... don't know yet."

Elain tilted her head slightly, studying me. "You two seem happy."

A small, shy smile tugged at my lips despite myself. "It's... new."

Her expression softened. "New can be wonderful."

I glanced at Lucien then, at the way his entire world seemed to orbit Elain, at the ease with which they simply existed together.

They had a love that was constant, unshaken. One that didn't need to be loud or demanding, because it was felt—in the way Lucien always reached for Elain without thinking, in the way she always seemed to understand him without words.

I wanted that.

I wanted something sure. Something safe. Something like them.

Elain must have seen something in my expression, because she reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "You'll find your way," she assured me, voice as soft as the morning light.

I swallowed, nodding. "I hope so."

Breakfast ended not long after, Lucien and Elain caught in their own little world as I excused myself.

I walked back to my room slowly, heart and mind tangled in thoughts of what I wanted—of him.

And of whether or not we would ever have something like the love I had just witnessed.

I pushed open the door to my room, the silk of my gown whispering against the marble floor as I stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the mess of dark hair sprawled across my pillows, the sheets tangled around long limbs and bare skin.

Nyx had crawled into bed. My bed.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "You do know you have your own room, right?"

A low, sleepy groan rumbled from the depths of my blankets, his face still buried in my pillow. "Too far," he mumbled.

I snorted. "It's across the hall."

"Exactly," he sighed dramatically, cracking one sleepy eye open. His voice was heavy with drowsiness, warm and lazy in a way that made something in my chest tighten. "Besides, your bed smells better."

I raised a brow. "That's not a compliment if you're just stealing."

He grinned, stretching like a cat before reaching a hand out for me. "Come here."

"Absolutely not."

His lips tilted into something smug. "Oh?"

"Nyx, it's nearly noon."

"So?" He patted the space beside him. "Come lay down."

I laughed, shaking my head as I stepped closer to the bed. "You are so lazy."

"Excuse me," he feigned offense, propping himself up on an elbow, hair a tousled mess. "I am strategic in my rest."

I huffed, sitting on the edge of the bed, but the moment I did, he was moving—strong arms wrapping around my waist as he pulled me down beside him.

"Nyx!" I yelped, but he only laughed, tucking his face into the crook of my neck.

"There we go," he murmured, his lips pressing against my skin in a way that was entirely unfair. "Much better."

I sighed, pretending to be put out even as I melted into the warmth of him. "You are impossible."

"You love it."

I rolled my eyes, but before I could retort, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my jaw. The argument died in my throat.

"You look beautiful," he murmured against my skin, his voice still thick with sleep. "Does every court suit you? Or are you just naturally perfect?"

A rush of heat curled in my chest. "Flattery will not get you out of trouble."

He hummed, brushing his nose along my cheek before stealing a kiss from my lips. "Five minutes," he mused, brushing another kiss over the corner of my mouth. "Just five and then we can get up."

"Fine. Five minutes." I lean into him, melting into the warmth that was his skin.

He kissed me again, slower this time as if savoring the remnants of whatever sweetness still lingered. "Lucien didn't give you a hard time, did he?"

I huffed a laugh, playing with the strands of dark hair at the nape of his neck. "Lucien is always a menace."

Nyx chuckled, his breath warm against my lips. "I bet he was insufferable."

"He was fine," I admitted, tracing a lazy pattern against his bare shoulder. "Elain joined us."

He tilted his head, brows lifting slightly. "Oh?"

I nodded. "She asked about you."

His lips curled. "And what did you say?"

"That you are insufferable, whiny, and prone to excessive dramatics."

Nyx gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Whiny?"

I grinned. "You are."

He narrowed his eyes playfully. "So harsh, princess."

I laughed, but the sound faded as he brushed his fingers over my cheek, his expression softening. "Did you sleep well?"

I hesitated before nodding. "I did."

"Good." He kissed me again, slow and sweet, his thumb brushing against my jaw. "I like waking up with you—even though you left me before I could."

Something inside me melted at the confession, at the sincerity in his voice.

I bit my lip, trying to fight back a smile. "You're so soft when you're sleepy."

He groaned, flopping onto his back. "And the moment is ruined."

I laughed, rolling onto my side to look down at him. "Come on, Nyx. Admit it."

His arm flung over his eyes. "Never."

I grinned, leaning down to press a teasing kiss against his jaw. "I like it."

His breath hitched slightly, but his arms wound around me again, pulling me closer.

And as I settled into the warmth of him, into the safety of his embrace, I realized—this, whatever we were becoming, whatever this bond between us was shaping into—felt new and foreign.

But gods, it was lovely.

After fifteen minutes Nyx still had me caged against him, his arms wrapped securely around my waist as if he had no intention of letting me leave. Every time I so much as shifted, his grip tightened, and a pleased hum rumbled in his throat.

"Nyx," I warned, pressing my hands against his bare chest, though my voice lacked any real heat.

"Mmm," he murmured lazily, nuzzling into the crook of my neck, his lips ghosting over my skin. "Five more minutes."

I huffed, though the way my body betrayed me—melting into his warmth, my fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders—was not helping my case. "You said that fifteen minutes ago."

"I don't recall."

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "You're impossible."

He lifted his head slightly, his messy dark hair falling into his sleepy eyes. "And yet, you're still here."

I scowled at him, but it was utterly ineffective given the way my face was burning.

His grin widened. "You like this."

"No, I don't."

Nyx hummed, unconvinced. "Sure you don't." Then, as if to prove his point, he kissed me—slow and indulgent, his lips warm and sure against mine. My breath caught, my fingers tightening against his skin.

His hands roamed lazily, tracing along my waist, my back, settling just beneath the curve of my ribs. "You're so soft," he mused between kisses, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. "So warm."

I glared at him, my face burning. "You're so full of yourself."

His chuckle was dark and teasing. "Only because you make it so easy, Princess."

I groaned, flopping onto my back as he propped himself up on an elbow, hovering over me with a stupidly satisfied expression. "You are so lucky left my daggers in Spring."

Nyx only grinned, dipping down to nip at my jaw, his voice warm with amusement. "I'd like to see you try."

I shoved at his shoulder, but he barely budged. His weight was solid and steady against me, and I knew—knew—that I could have pushed him away if I wanted to. But I didn't.

Nyx's fingers skimmed along my arm, down to my wrist, to where he laced our fingers together. "Are you going to stay here with me?"

"I have things to do, you know."

"Like what?" He raised a brow, his nose brushing against mine. "Surely nothing more interesting than me."

I snorted. "You'd be surprised."

He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Now that is just cruel."

I rolled my eyes, lifting a hand to comb through his messy hair, smoothing it back. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, and my heart did something ridiculous in my chest.

I swallowed, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone. "You're so clingy."

His eyes opened, a lazy smirk curling his lips. "And you love it."

I huffed, but my lips twitched despite myself. "Maybe a little."

Nyx's expression softened, his fingers brushing my cheek as he leaned in. "Good."

His mouth pressed against mine again, stealing whatever breath I had left. My heart raced, my fingers fisting in the fabric of the sheets as his hand traced down, over the silk of my gown, teasing along my thigh. His touch burned—not in a way that made me want to pull away, but in a way that made me want more.

And that should have terrified me. It didn't.

It only made me want to hold onto him tighter, to let myself fall.

I exhaled shakily when he finally pulled away, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth. He was still watching me, waiting.

And gods, I knew. I knew.

The mating bond shimmered between us, pulsing, undeniable. I could feel it, pulling me closer to him with every breath, every heartbeat.

I wanted it.

Screw that our parents didn't know. Screw that this would be irreversible. That once we accepted it, there was no undoing it, no way for them to separate us even if they tried.

I wanted this. I wanted him.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of what that meant.

"Nyx?"

"Princess?" he drawled, his voice thick with warmth, teasing as he brushed his fingers over my wrist.

I hesitated for a moment before saying, "Can you teach me how to block you out of my head?"

Nyx's lips twitched. "You mean my Daemati powers?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He hummed in thought, tilting his head. "Of course. Though, why the sudden interest?"

I kept my expression carefully neutral, knowing full well he'd see right through me if I wasn't careful. "Just seems like a good skill to have."

Nyx studied me for a long moment before his lips curved in amusement. "You're a terrible liar."

I scowled. "Am not."

He laughed, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Alright, alright. Come here."

I let him shift us so I was sitting cross-legged in front of him, his hands resting lightly on my knees. His gaze softened, the usual teasing glint dimming just slightly as he said, "I want you to imagine a wall in your mind. Something strong. Something unbreakable."

"A wall," I repeated, frowning.

"Yes. Picture it. And then focus on reinforcing it. Make it thick, make it impenetrable." His thumb traced circles against my knee as he watched me carefully.

I closed my eyes, inhaling slowly as I tried to summon that wall.

"Good," he murmured. "Now, I'm going to push just a little—try not to let me in."

I gritted my teeth as I felt the gentle probing at the edges of my mind. It was strange—like a featherlight touch, testing the defenses I'd barely managed to put up.

"Your wall is shaky," Nyx noted, the laughter in his voice evident. "I could break through it in an instant."

I cracked an eye open to glare at him. "You're so encouraging."

He grinned. "I'm just being honest."

I huffed, closing my eyes again and focusing, really focusing, on that barrier. I imagined thick, towering walls, impenetrable and unwavering. I strengthened them, bracing them against his presence.

Nyx hummed in approval. "Better."

A moment passed.

Then another.

And then—

"Huh," he muttered.

I opened my eyes to find him blinking at me, mildly impressed. "What?"

"You actually did it." He tapped his temple. "Can't hear a thing."

I grinned, triumphant. "Told you I could do it."

Nyx chuckled, his hands sliding up to my waist as he pulled me toward him. "I could still break it." He makes clear. "But now I can't hear em' unless I want to."

I smiled softly, "Good enough for me."

Then he kissed me.

Slow and deep, as if savoring the taste of victory along with me. His hands traced up my spine, his touch warm and steady as he pressed me closer. I melted into him, tilting my head to give him better access as his lips moved against mine with aching patience.

It was a reward, and I greedily took it.

When we finally parted, his lips trailed down my jaw, over the sensitive skin of my neck. "I should teach you things more often," he murmured against my skin, the words sending a shiver down my spine.

I swatted at his shoulder, but it was weak at best. "Behave."

He laughed, the sound muffled against my throat as he kissed a slow path back up to my mouth. "Not a chance."

I sighed, allowing myself to collapse onto the mattress, tugging him down with me. Nyx followed willingly, draping himself over me as if he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

"So," he mused, his lips brushing my shoulder, my collarbone, my jaw. "What do you want to do today?"

We eventually collapsed back onto the bed, tangled together. His hands roamed lazily, his lips finding every inch of bare skin he could reach. Between kisses, we murmured about what we could do today—halfheartedly listing off places we knew we wouldn't go, tasks we knew we wouldn't complete.

"We could go for a ride?" I suggested idly.

Nyx hummed, lips brushing my collarbone. "Mmm, sounds nice." His fingers traced circles on my hip. "Or we could stay right here."

"Lazy," I teased, though I had no intention of moving either.

He nipped at my shoulder in retaliation, making me squeak. "Not lazy," he corrected. "Just—" He kissed the corner of my mouth. "Comfortable." Another kiss on my cheek. "Perfectly, completely comfortable."

My heart thudded, my fingers tightening around his bicep. I could still feel the bond shimmering between us, waiting.

Waiting for me. Because he seemed to have already decided that accepting it was his only choice, the only one he'd acknowledge at least.

Nyx pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his expression soft, but unreadable. "What?" he murmured.

I swallowed hard, smoothing my hand over his chest. "Nothing," I whispered.

Not yet.

He searched my face, but I knew he wouldn't find anything—not now. Because I had learned how to block him out. Because the next time I opened my mind to him, it would be on my terms. A choice. A gift.

Nyx pressed one last kiss to my lips before sighing, letting his head drop against the pillow. I curled into his warmth, letting my eyes drift shut, a secret burning in my chest.

The next time I let him in would be when I was ready to accept the bond. And I wanted it to be somewhat of a surprise.

Which meant he had to stay out of my mind—just for a few days. Just long enough for me to do what I had already decided.

What I knew I wanted.

I glanced at him then, at the male who had stolen my heart in the span of a few weeks, at the way he watched me with that easy, knowing smirk—completely unaware of what was coming.

A slow smile curled on my lips.

What I wanted.

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slytherinshua · 3 days ago

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☆　PURELY PLATONIC　( 高山りき )

genre fluff , friends to lovers , taki x fem!reader cw none wc 602 request no note previous posted to my f1 account as well but i thought it fit taki too !! net @kstrucknet @lune-net

You knew Taki like the back of your hand. Being best friends for too many years to count meant picking up on all the little things that others would have to dig deep to find out. Taki was the one person who never took you by surprise, who you could read like an open book.

But on the rare occasion, he still managed to catch you off guard.

“You want me to cuddle you?” you echoed the words that had left the boy’s mouth seconds ago, frozen in slight shock.

It wasn’t the cuddling that particularly surprised you. Taki was affectionate and so were you. Cuddling wasn’t foreign for you two— platonic cuddling, of course. But in terms of who was the big or little spoon, there were always silent set rules. Taki seemed to always be the one spooning you whenever hugs turned into cuddles. His request to be the recipient was uncharacteristic for him.

“For you? Maybe. Just never figured you for a little spoon,” you replied, your smile now growing into a grin, one that teased Taki without words.

“Well, when you put it like that—“

You grabbed his arm and pulled quickly, yanking you both down onto your bed.

“What are you doing?” Taki pried, rushed words falling from his lips as your arms quickly encircled around his torso.

“Cuddling you. Just like you wanted.”

The smile that you gave Taki— that self satisfactory mischievous one that he didn’t like to admit he adored so much— made his heart drop to his stomach.

Hugs with you were never weird. Cuddles with you were never weird. Always in a platonic, best friend kind of way, naturally. Except, this suddenly didn’t feel like something best friends did.

Heat crawled up Taki’s neck as he tried desperately to ground himself to something before he made things weird. It was a classic cliche— that boys could never just stay friends with a girl. He had always joked about it with you in the past, proudly boasting how you both defied the odds. He remembered saying how he would never be able to see you in a romantic light.

That was almost 5 years ago now, and the Taki back then felt very different from the Taki now. The one that you were holding in your arms, way too close for him to focus on anything else in the room except for you, you, you.

Taki was the one person that you could read like an open book, and right now your eyes were skipping over the words, putting together the sentences in your brain, the understanding clear as day.

Maybe what you had with Taki wasn’t as platonic as you had thought.

&team taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @kpoprhia,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,, @seunghancore,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @talking-saxy,, @hursheys,, @loserlvrss,, @voikiraz,, @hyukabean,, @nicholasluvbot,, @i03jae

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nerdbabee · 2 days ago

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NATAL PLACEMENTS OBSERVATIONS —NERDBABEEE

NOTE: these are my own observations i’ve experienced with these placements/people this is not necessarily true for everyone so take what resonates & leave what doesn’t.

Mars in the 12th + Scorpio moon

i’ve noticed these placements are often susceptible to bad things happening to them almost immediately, I had a friend with these placements & i often consider these placements together as karma, with scorpio moon usually having a rough upbringing or experience a lot of criticism in their younger years these people often grow up to be just a critiquing to others as well, in return they experience bad luck in the areas they are criticizing (eg. my past friend would always critique others beauty & appearance & in return it would flip back on her, this also resulted in her crushes or boyfriends liking or falling for the women she would critique as well as if she critiqued another’s woman’s weight then her partners & boyfriends would easily be drawn into liking that part of whomever she’s criticizing yet it be result in the opposite for her)

Eg. she would critique someone’s weight i’ve also noticed her partners or people around her would then start to criticize hers as well*

NOTE: these are just observations based on both placements in the same chart, this can be different from everyone else ! this specifically applies to my mars in the 12th house people as y’all are very offended by everything i say.. unfortunately i don’t really have anything utterly good to say about you guys based on my experience with this placement.. i don’t dislike this placement i’ve just had bad experiences with them.

Gemini Rising + Sagittarius Sun

these people are quite sociable yet flaky, i’ve noticed with this pair they can be easily liked by others & socially accepted, it’s rare to see these people alone. the bad part of this pair if that they can’t function alone, one of my past friends had this placement & she was very insecure in terms of standing firm by herself, it’s almost like she never felt safe but ultimately these people are usually well liked and popular😭 they are fun asf too, very spontaneous & funny asf i absolutely adored this aspect of her as a friend she was literally the best person to be around literally.

sagittarius moon + sagittarius mars

these people are quick to call out somebody’s bullshit. When they see some unjust hanging around somewhere they will be speaking up about it. The people around them see them as a strong-willed people, someone who is never going to let anyone walk right over them. they are loyal to themselves and their friends, and if any of the people they care about gets harmed they always know that revenge is going to be bittersweet. they are people that others look up to, even those people you don’t believe ever would do. They wish they had the balls that these people seem to possess as long as they know them (for many of you this obviously isn’t true, you have learned to become like this, or forced to become like this)

Saturn in the 9th

When they are young they often experience many types of injustices that make them question the authorities. They may feel that good people are the worst off, they may feel separated by their way of seeing things, their attitude, their race, sexual orientation and even gender, and this gradually makes them lose faith in humanity. I have this placement & i also noticed others try to “prove me wrong” in regards to my knowledge as well, although they often end up being the wrong one it’s a frustrating experience

3rd house ruler in the 7th house

These natives may have many partners before getting married. And precisely because of these experiences many can perceive them as “counselors of love.”, i have this placement & i often found myself giving my friends relationship advice A LOT!, If the ruler is badly aspected, this placement may have a bad relationship with their brothers, while if it is well aspected, they can enjoy a harmonious relationship with them, (eg. me and my brother no longer speak to one another & we are always arguing) & lastly these people can show interest in issues such as law and justice, they have very defined criteria and they will always do their best to defend those who are discriminated against or treated unfairly. (Eg. I’m a social science + Pre law major)

Pisces Sun + Capricorn mars + Saturn in 5th house

these natives are undeniably the most loyal & dedicated partners anyone can ask for, with their pisces influence they are very compassionate & standout to be the ideal partner for any romantic suitor interested in pursuing a connection with them. these people usually go through trials and tribulations regarding love but ultimately they end up with someone just as committed as they are, their partners tend to adore them & spoil them with a lot of gifts i’ve noticed, with the saturn in 5th house influence these people are disciplined and as they grow older become wiser in terms of love, these people deeply understand the meaning of love and how to express to their partners (note, i had the sweetest homegirl with this placement & she would constantly get hurt in love due to this Saturn in the 5th house influence but ultimately she ended up with someone who values her presence whole)

Aquarius Sun in 4th house + Scorpio Rising

These people are often quiet & very private. Usually their home life & romantic life are usually clandestine & hidden from the general public, often times with this placement lineup even their own friends & family see them as secretive & are often trying to discover more about their lives. These people are introverted with a tendency to retreat in the comfort in their own homes, they are often “homebodies” & prioritizing making their home their special sanctuary. these people can be interested in writing, psychology & cooking

ok , i’m done

#future spouse #pac reading #general reading #love reading #pick a card #pick an image #self love #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a pile #astrology observations #astro observations #astro notes #astro community #astronomy

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cloudyluun · 1 day ago

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Until You Stay | famous!harry

Summary: Beth Monroe is a sharp-tongued journalist looking for her big break. Harry Styles is a cocky, untouchable rockstar who doesn’t take well to being challenged. What starts as a battle of wills—sharp words and razor-edged tension—spirals into something darker, filthier, and impossible to walk away from. But when feelings get involved, when the masks slip, will they still be able to pretend it doesn’t mean anything?

A/N: This is a commissioned work of fiction based on Harry as a famous singer, I make no claims of knowing him personally in any way. But someone trusted me to bring their filthy, angsty dreams to life, and I may have gone just a little feral in the process. So enjoy the chaos, the tension, and, of course, Harry being an insufferable asshole.

Word Count: 7,7k

Warnings:

Explicit Smut (very detailed & filthy)

Rough Sex, Degradation, and Dom/Sub Dynamics

Jealous/Possessive Harry

Toxic Dynamics & Power Struggles

Strong Language & Dirty Talk

Angst & Emotional Turmoil

Paparazzi & Media Manipulation

Mentions of Alcohol & Self-Destructive Behavior

A Hard-Won Happy Ending

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Beth Monroe had always known she was meant for more than this.

Twenty-seven years old and already jaded, she was the kind of journalist who wanted to chase real stories—the ones that peeled back the glossy surface of the world and exposed what lay underneath. The truth. Not the watered-down, PR-approved version of it, but the raw, unfiltered mess of reality. That’s why she had spent years clawing her way through the ranks of journalism, determined to escape the suffocating confines of celebrity gossip and meaningless soundbites.

But the industry had other plans for her.

She had started with ambition, fresh out of college, ready to write the stories that mattered. But the jobs that paid? The ones that kept the rent covered and the lights on? Those were the ones that required clickbait headlines and shallow coverage of people who barely seemed real.

And so, Beth had become another faceless name in the sea of entertainment journalists, forced to write about scandals, red carpet outfits, and who's dating who. She’d learned how to craft engaging pieces that held just enough bite to make them feel substantial, but in the end, it was all just noise. A constant cycle of disposable stories about people whose lives would never be touched by the words she wrote.

That’s why this assignment felt like her last shot.

Her boss had made it clear—this was either going to be her big break or her last chance before she was permanently relegated to covering B-list divorces and influencer drama.

"We need something real, Beth," her editor, Jonathan Pierce, had told her, fingers tapping against his desk as he leveled her with that too-patient look. "Not just another shallow puff piece. Styles is at the peak of his career right now. People want to know who he is, not the version we see on stage, but the man underneath it all."

Beth had bit back the urge to roll her eyes.

Harry Styles.

Of course.

If there was one name that could guarantee headlines and clicks, it was his. He was a global phenomenon, a walking enigma, an untouchable icon. At thirty, he had long since outgrown his boyband past, solidifying himself as one of the most powerful and respected musicians in the industry. His concerts sold out within minutes. His albums dominated the charts. His face was plastered across billboards, magazines, and social media feeds worldwide.

And yet—he was also infamously private.

Beth had done her research. He gave interviews, sure, but they were carefully controlled, filled with charming deflections and rehearsed soundbites. The media loved him, but no one actually knew him.

Her job? To change that.

She had been granted exclusive access to his European tour, shadowing him across multiple countries, given rare, behind-the-scenes insight into the life of Harry Styles, the person.

Beth knew how this would go.

She would show up, ask the hard-hitting questions, and be met with infuriatingly smooth non-answers. He’d probably flash that boyish smirk, tilt his head just right, and make it impossible for anyone to push too hard. The public adored him for that.

But Beth?

She wasn’t here to adore him. She was here to unravel him.

Still, she wasn’t expecting her first glimpse of him to hit her like a gut punch.

The moment she stepped into that room, she knew.

He was going to be a problem.

The private event was held at an intimate venue in Paris; a low-lit, exclusive affair where only VIPs, industry elites, and carefully selected press members were allowed inside. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, leather seating, and the faint musk of whiskey poured into crystal glasses.

Beth walked in, blending into the sea of journalists and label executives, scanning the room for the man she had spent weeks researching.

And then she saw him.

Harry Styles did not belong to the real world.

There was something about the way he existed in a space, the way people naturally gravitated toward him—an effortless pull, an undeniable gravity.

He stood near the back of the room, dressed in an all-black ensemble that should have looked simple but instead made him look infuriatingly expensive. The tailored slacks. The silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to hint at tattoos inked across golden skin. The loose, effortless curls.

But it wasn’t just his looks.

It was the way he carried himself like he was untouchable.

Beth watched as he laughed at something someone said, flashing that devastating grin that made cameras worship him. But it was the look in his eyes that caught her attention—sharp, assessing, distant, even as he smiled.

And then, as if sensing her stare, he turned.

Their gazes met.

A slow flicker of recognition crossed his face, though they had never met before. His green eyes scanned her, quick and unreadable.

And then, just as fast, he looked away.

Dismissive.

Beth felt heat rise to her throat.

Oh.

Oh, he was going to be a problem.

And he had no idea what was coming for him.

Beth didn’t look away first.

She wasn’t the type to shrink under scrutiny, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. But Harry? He barely spared her a full second before shifting his attention elsewhere, like she wasn’t worth a second glance.

The disinterest was strategic, she realized almost immediately. A controlled dismissal. The kind that kept people chasing, trying harder, falling over themselves for just an ounce of acknowledgment. She’d seen it before—men in power using silence as their weapon, turning the simple act of ignoring someone into an exercise of dominance.

It didn’t work on her.

So when she was finally ushered forward—her name murmured alongside a polite introduction—she didn’t bother offering her hand or plastering on a media-friendly smile. She met him with the same level of apathy he had thrown her way.

“Beth Monroe,” the event coordinator introduced. “She’s covering the European tour for Pulse magazine.”

Harry, who had just been charming some record executive’s wife with an easy smile and effortless conversation, didn’t even pretend to be interested. He gave the barest nod, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before lifting it to his lips.

“Journalist,” he mused, voice low, almost amused—but not in a way that invited conversation. More like he was tasting the word and finding it unappetizing.

Beth crossed her arms. "Is that a problem?"

That made him look at her properly.

Up close, she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the sharp contrast between deliberate nonchalance and razor-sharp awareness. She knew the game well—he was observing, measuring, deciding exactly how much space she was allowed to take up.

And then, in the most unbothered, condescending way possible, he simply muttered, "No. Just predictable."

Beth’s lips parted, caught between shock and incredulous amusement.

"Predictable?" she echoed, lifting an eyebrow. "That’s a bit rich coming from a man whose entire brand is built on being the world’s most palatable rockstar."

There it was.

The shift.

The flicker of something in his gaze like she had managed to surprise him. Like maybe he wasn’t expecting her to push back.

It lasted half a second before he schooled his features, tipping his glass back and dismissing her completely.

Beth could feel the eyes on them. The silent tension in the room as the moment stretched between them. But Harry? He wasn’t interested. At least, not enough to entertain her further.

His voice was maddeningly even as he murmured, "Enjoy the party, Miss Monroe."

And just like that, he turned his back on her.

Beth spent the rest of the night watching. Not because she was enthralled—fuck no—but because she needed to understand him. If she was going to do this job right, she needed to know what made him tick, needed to peel back the carefully constructed layers he used to keep the world at arm’s length.

What she noticed was infuriating.

Harry was charming with everyone else. Effortlessly engaged, magnetic in a way that made people lean in, hang on his every word. He gave them just enough of himself—never too much, never too little. His persona was crafted with surgical precision.

But with her?

Nothing.

He ignored her. Not obviously, not rudely, but in a way that felt intentional. Every time she tried to break into a conversation, he sidestepped her. When she asked a question, he answered in vague, detached sentences.

And when she finally managed to pull him into a one-on-one exchange again, it ended just as quickly as the first.

“I’ve noticed you never really answer questions,” she said, arms crossed as she studied him from across the dimly lit bar area.

Harry didn’t look up from where he was stirring his drink with a lazy wrist. “And I’ve noticed journalists never stop asking them.”

Beth exhaled sharply through her nose. “Right. Because heaven forbid anyone learns something real about Harry Styles.”

That got his attention.

He set his glass down, leaning against the counter as his gaze slid over her slowly.

“You lot aren’t interested in ‘real.’” His voice was quiet, but firm. “You’re interested in a headline.”

Beth bristled. “And you’re interested in a narrative.”

Something shifted.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the weight of the conversation settling between them.

Then Harry smirked.

“Good luck with your story, Miss Monroe.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Beth clenched her jaw.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

Beth had dealt with difficult men before. Politicians who thought they were too powerful to be held accountable, executives who assumed her presence in a room meant she was someone’s assistant rather than the journalist they’d have to answer to. She had sharpened herself against condescension and arrogance, made a career out of standing her ground in rooms filled with people who wanted to dismiss her.

But Harry Styles?

He was a different breed of difficult.

For the next several weeks, Beth followed him across Europe, shadowing his tour with increasing frustration. She sat through press conferences where he charmed reporters into asking safe, meaningless questions—the kind that allowed him to give those clever, detached answers that never actually revealed anything.

She watched him interact with fans, saw the way he flipped the switch so effortlessly—one moment the distant, untouchable rockstar, the next, someone who could make a stadium of people feel like they mattered.

And yet, with her?

He remained a wall.

He made it a point to avoid her questions, brushing past them with an easy smirk and a raised eyebrow, like he found her attempts amusing.

“Beth, darling, you’re thinking too hard,” he had murmured once, lounging backstage after a show, still glistening with sweat from the stage lights. “Why don’t you just write the same piece everyone else does? You know, the whole ‘Harry Styles is mysterious but also terribly charming’ bit. Sells every time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t write fanfiction.”

He grinned. “Shame.”

And then there were the games.

Beth would show up for scheduled interview slots, only to be told that Harry was "unavailable." Sometimes it was because he was in a mood. Sometimes it was because he was “too busy” relaxing in his dressing room, scrolling through his phone, while she sat outside with her recorder untouched on her lap.

When she finally called him out on it, he didn’t even pretend to feel bad.

“Beth, love,” he drawled, voice dripping in mock sympathy, “you’re in my world now. Things don’t always run on schedule.”

Her patience cracked. “So you’re just wasting my time for fun?”

Harry leaned back in his seat, legs spread wide, fingers tapping lazily against the armrest. “Not for fun.” Then, after a beat, he smirked. “Though it is fun watching you get all worked up.”

She wanted to throw something at him.

The breaking point came after a particularly brutal argument.

It had been a long day—one of those rare occasions when Beth had actually gotten a few uninterrupted moments to ask real questions. She had pushed harder than usual, refusing to let him slide through with half-answers and smirks.

“Why do you do that?” she had asked, arms crossed as she watched him peel the rings off his fingers after soundcheck.

Harry flicked a glance up. “Do what?”

“Pretend you’re giving people something real when all you’re actually doing is controlling the narrative.”

The look he gave her was sharp, guarded. “That’s rich, coming from someone whose job is to spin a story.”

Beth exhaled through her nose. “You think this is easy for me? That I just write whatever sells? I’m not here to make you look good, Harry. I’m here to write the truth.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

And then, before she even saw him move, he was in front of her.

Too close.

Her breath caught.

She wasn’t sure if he had stepped forward or if she had unconsciously leaned in, but suddenly, there was no space between them. The air thickened, buzzing with something hot and electric.

His jaw flexed.

His hands curled into loose fists at his sides, as if he was holding something back.

Beth lifted her chin, refusing to shrink away.

The corner of his mouth twitched—not in amusement, not quite. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and slow, a quiet challenge.

“You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

Beth swallowed, throat tight. “I think you hate that you can’t intimidate me.”

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating pause.

For a second—just a second—she swore his gaze dropped to her mouth.

But neither of them moved.

Neither of them acted on it.

And later that night, when Beth was alone in her hotel room, staring at the ceiling—she realized she was still thinking about it.

She wondered if he was, too.

Beth liked to believe that she had control over herself—over her emotions, over the way her body reacted, over the frustrating, infuriating pull she felt every time Harry Styles so much as looked at her.

But control was hard to maintain when someone was constantly poking, prodding, pushing just to see where her breaking point was.

And Harry?

Harry was pushing.

Hard.

It happened in Milan.

The afterparty was in full swing—music thumping, bodies swaying, conversations weaving in and out of the dim, golden-lit space. Beth wasn’t drinking, but the atmosphere was intoxicating in itself, everyone high off the post-show adrenaline.

Harry had been watching her all night.

Not obviously, not in a way anyone else would notice, but she felt it. The flicker of his gaze when she moved through the crowd, the way his attention snagged whenever she threw her head back in laughter.

She ignored it.

She refused to let him get in her head.

Which was why, when another musician—Nate, a guitarist from one of the opening acts—struck up a conversation with her, Beth didn’t hesitate to let herself enjoy it.

He was easy to talk to, charming in a way that didn’t feel like a performance. And when he leaned in, whispering something that made her laugh—a real, unguarded laugh—she barely had time to register the shift in the air before Harry was there.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t say anything.

He just stood there, nursing a drink, his stare cutting through the noise like a blade.

Beth felt it before she saw it—the shift in Nate’s posture, the way his fingers curled around the bottle in his hand.

“I’ll catch you later,” Nate murmured, voice a little too careful.

Beth blinked. “Wait, what?”

But he was already slipping away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the room.

And that was when she felt him.

The warmth of his presence behind her, the slow exhale against the shell of her ear.

“You like playing games, love?”

Beth closed her eyes.

Of course. Of course he had to do this.

She turned slowly, deliberately, only to find him watching her with a look she couldn’t quite place.

“Excuse me?” she said, tone light, though she could feel her pulse thrumming against her skin.

Harry tilted his head, mocking. “That was cute. The whole giggle and lean-in routine. Did you rehearse that?”

Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not allowed to have a conversation without your approval?”

His jaw flexed. “Didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, exactly?”

He took a step closer.

Then another.

Beth refused to step back.

His voice dropped lower, dangerously smooth.

“I’m saying… you’ve been running your mouth for weeks. Acting like you don’t give a shit about me. But then—” He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “—then you go and pull that?”

She scoffed. “Pull what?”

Harry smiled. It wasn’t nice.

“You wanted me to see that.”

Beth’s stomach flipped.

She should have laughed in his face. Should have rolled her eyes, brushed past him, walked away.

But she didn’t.

Because there was something about the way he was looking at her.

Something thick and charged and dangerous.

His hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t trust himself not to touch her.

Beth’s breath shook.

The music downstairs faded into a dull throb, the laughter and chatter dissolving into nothing. The party might as well have been on the other side of the world.

It was just them now.

Beth barely registered how it happened—one moment, she was in the thick of the afterparty, heat and voices pressing in on all sides. The next, the door clicked shut behind her. A soft, decisive sound.

She turned just in time to see Harry’s hand linger on the lock, fingers curling around the metal, twisting until it slid into place. A quiet snick.

Her pulse skittered.

Slowly, he turned back to her, gaze dark and unreadable.

Somehow, between one breath and the next, Beth’s back was already against the wall, cool brick pressing through the thin fabric of her dress. She could still feel the phantom warmth of Nate’s touch—light, fleeting—but it didn’t matter. Not when Harry was in front of her now. Not when his body was taut with something sharp, something dark. His eyes, usually lidded with lazy arrogance, were harder now. Narrowed. Burning.

His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was trying to control himself.

Then, low, rough, "You like playing games, love?"

A shiver ran down her spine.

She forced herself to lift her chin. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

His jaw twitched.

Slow. Measured. He reached out, running two fingers up her arm, featherlight but searing. Beth refused to react, refused to show him that he got under her skin.

His lips curled. "Laughing. Touching. Batting your lashes at him like you wanted him to take you right there in front of everyone."

That made her scoff. "Oh, fuck off—"

She barely got the words out before he was on her.

No warning. No hesitation.

One hand shot to her throat—not squeezing, just holding, firm enough to make her gasp as his body pressed flush against hers. His other hand planted itself beside her head, caging her in completely.

His mouth hovered just above hers, breath warm, uneven.

"You wanna push me, is that it?" he murmured, voice like gravel. "You wanna see what happens when I lose my patience?"

Her breath hitched.

It wasn’t fear curling in her stomach. It was something much worse.

She wanted this.

Needed it.

So she pushed him again, knowing it was reckless. "Maybe I do."

That was all it took.

Harry didn’t waste another second.

His grip tightened, and then he was kissing her—if it could even be called that. There was nothing soft about it. No buildup, no hesitation. It was a clash of teeth and tongues, a war between them.

His hand left her throat, moving down, down, over the thin fabric of her dress, gripping her waist so tightly it ached.

Beth’s nails raked down his arms, her own frustration spilling over. She wanted to hurt him. Make him feel this the way she did.

"Fuck—"

The word was ripped from her throat as he yanked her leg up, hitching it over his hip. The dress rode up instantly, baring her thigh, and then his hand was there, fingers digging into her skin, making her burn.

Desperate.

That was what this was.

It wasn’t love.

It wasn’t romance.

It was hunger.

It was starving.

His teeth scraped along her jaw, down her neck. He bit—not enough to leave marks, but enough to make her feel it.

“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging his mouth down her jaw. “Needy. Desperate. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Her fingers fisted in his hair. "Fuck you."

He laughed, breathless, dark.

"Say it," he pressed. "Say you want it."

Beth clenched her teeth. She hated him.

And yet.

"Say it."

She swallowed hard, nails still biting into his shoulders. "I want it."

He hummed in approval, pushing her harder against the wall. "Good girl."

Then he wrecked her.

There was no teasing. No gentle touch. He dragged her panties down and shoved her dress up with no regard, making her gasp as the cool air kissed her exposed skin. His fingers slid between her thighs, finding her soaked, and he smirked.

"Fuckin’ knew it," he muttered, lips brushing her ear. "You act like you don’t want this, but look at you."

She bit her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

It didn’t last.

His fingers slipped inside her, rough, unrelenting, and the cry broke from her throat before she could stop it.

"That’s it," he murmured, pumping them hard and deep. "Don’t hold back now."

Her head tipped back against the wall, hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of his shirt. His thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing, teasing, pushing her closer and closer to the edge with every sharp movement.

"Thinkin’ about him now?" Harry taunted, voice low. "Bet you’re not."

She wasn’t.

She hated it, but she wasn’t.

All she could think about was Harry.

His fingers. His voice. The way he was taking what he wanted without a second thought.

Her whole body tensed, pleasure winding tight in her stomach.

And then he pulled away.

A whimper slipped out before she could stop it.

He grinned. "Not yet."

He undid his belt in a swift motion, shoved his jeans down just enough, and then he was lifting her completely, pressing her against the wall, spreading her open for him.

She barely had time to take a breath before he slammed into her.

"Fuck—"

She choked on a gasp, nails raking down his back as he filled her, stretched her in a way that made her legs shake.

There was no time to adjust.

No time to breathe.

He just fucked her.

Hard.

Desperate.

The wall scraped against her back with every sharp thrust, and she loved it.

His fingers bit into her thighs, holding her in place, making her take every inch, every punishing roll of his hips.

"You take me so fuckin’ well," he murmured, voice strained, lips dragging over her neck. "Like you need this."

She did.

God help her, she did.

She was close—so fucking close, and she knew he could feel it in the way she clenched around him, in the way her nails dug deeper, in the way her body arched.

"Say it," he ordered. "Say you’re mine."

Her breath stuttered.

He thrust harder. "Say it, Beth."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her body screaming for release.

And then she broke.

"I’m yours."

He groaned, deep and guttural, and that was all it took.

Pleasure crashed through her, leaving her shaking, wrecked, gasping as he kept going, drawing it out until she had nothing left to give.

Moments later, he followed, hips jerking, a rough growl spilling from his throat as he came deep inside her.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Their breathing was heavy, erratic, mingling in the thick air between them.

Then, just like that, it was gone.

Harry pulled away, adjusted himself, ran a hand through his hair like nothing had happened.

Beth watched, still breathless, still reeling.

He met her eyes, his own dark, unreadable.

Then, with a smirk that made her stomach flip, he stepped back.

"See you around, love."

And then he was gone.

Leaving her wrecked, ruined, and still fucking wanting.

But worst of all?

She still wanted him.

She hated herself for it.

She hated him more.

Beth barely remembered leaving the party, barely registered the way the city lights blurred together in the back of her cab, the hum of Milan’s nightlife drowning out the noise in her head. Her body still felt him—his hands, his breath, the rough edge of his voice scraping against her skin.

It should have been enough.

It should have burned her out, smothered whatever slow, insidious pull had been building between them.

But it didn’t.

Because when she saw him again the next day, sitting in the green room of the arena, lounging like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t ruined her the night before—Beth realized something awful.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

Harry was different now.

Not in the way Beth had expected—not in the way most men got after a night like that.

There was no smugness, no knowing smirk, no self-satisfied arrogance that she could take a swing at.

Instead, he was… colder.

Distant. Detached. Like she was nothing more than a mild inconvenience, an insignificant blip on his radar.

He barely looked at her.

Didn’t acknowledge her when she walked into a room, didn’t spare her even a glance during soundcheck or press briefings.

And that should have been fine.

She should have been fine.

But the second she started talking to someone else—the second she so much as smiled in another man’s direction—Harry’s jaw would lock.

His shoulders would tense.

His fingers would curl around his drink, around his microphone, around anything to keep from doing something reckless.

Beth noticed.

And she made sure he knew it.

She leaned in closer when someone else made her laugh. Let her fingers linger just a little longer when she touched an arm. Tilted her head just right when she listened, knowing Harry was in the room, knowing he was watching even if he refused to look at her directly.

She wanted to prove a point.

If she was just a fuck, if she was nothing, then he shouldn’t care.

So why did he?

It happened in Paris.

Beth had been talking to a photographer, a harmless conversation, nothing she wasn’t allowed to do.

Harry had been across the room, pretending he didn’t give a shit.

Then suddenly, he wasn’t.

Suddenly, he was right there.

His hand closed around her wrist, fingers tight, his voice just low enough for only her to hear.

“Outside. Now.”

She blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “Excuse me?”

His grip didn’t loosen. “You heard me.”

For a second, she considered telling him to go to hell.

But she didn’t.

Because she wanted this too.

The door barely shut behind them before he was on her.

Teeth at her jaw, hands rough on her hips, shoving her against the brick wall of some dark alley behind the venue.

Beth gasped, but it wasn’t from shock.

She should have expected this.

She had wanted this.

“You’re a fucking brat,” Harry muttered against her skin, his voice thick with frustration, with heat, with something else she couldn’t name. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Beth grinned, sharp and mean. “What am I doing, Harry?”

His fingers tightened.

“You think you can get a reaction out of me?” His teeth scraped her jaw. “Think you can make me jealous?”

Her breath hitched.

“So you admit it?” she whispered. “You were jealous?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because the way he touched her—rougher, filthier than before—told her everything she needed to know.

The first time had been about control. About proving a point.

This time?

This time, it was a need.

Desperate. Dirty. Addictive.

And neither of them could stop.

Every time they tried, they failed.

The silence never lasted. The distance never held.

Because the second they were in the same room again, the second their eyes locked across crowded spaces, it was already too late.

They had pulled each other under too many times to pretend they knew how to breathe without drowning.

Beth knew it was toxic.

Knew it in the way her hands trembled when she buttoned up her shirt in the dark, his warmth still clinging to her skin.

Knew it in the way Harry’s fingers curled into fists when he watched her leave, like he wanted to reach for her but refused to let himself.

Knew it in the way they never talked about it.

Because talking would make it real. Talking would force them to admit that it wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just convenience, wasn’t just a mistake they kept making over and over again.

But they didn’t stop.

Not when they should have.

Not even when the headlines started.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown rumors, twisting what they had into something uglier, something Beth couldn’t control.

She was losing pieces of herself to this, to him.

And Harry—Harry wasn’t losing anything.

Not his reputation. Not his career. Not his control.

She should have left before it reached this point—before it ripped through them like a wildfire, scorching everything in its path, leaving nothing but wreckage and ruin in its wake.

Before it bled into everything else.

Before it turned into this.

It happened in London, outside a sleek, high-end restaurant that reeked of old money and exclusivity—the kind of place Harry fit into effortlessly, where his name alone held weight, where he belonged.

Beth never had any interest in it. The glint of polished silverware, the hushed conversations over expensive wine, the way the air itself seemed thicker inside—like money had a scent, and it didn’t belong to people like her.

She hadn’t even wanted to come. Had told herself, promised herself, that she was done. That she wouldn’t let him do this to her again.

And yet, here she was.

The air outside was thick, muggy, summer pressing against her skin like a second layer, suffocating, clinging. A neon sign from across the street flickered, buzzing intermittently, painting the pavement in broken splashes of red light.

Harry stood a few steps away, pacing, hands raking through his already-messy curls. His jaw was locked, shoulders drawn tight, his frustration visible in the tense way he moved. He looked untouchable—towering, sharp, devastating in his black suit, the collar of his shirt slightly open like even it couldn’t handle the heat of the moment.

His eyes found hers—dark, searing, burning like embers about to catch.

“Are you seriously fucking mad at me for this?” His voice was low, taut, a thread stretched too thin, on the verge of snapping.

Beth folded her arms tightly across her chest, holding herself together. She could feel the anger, coiling hot in her stomach, winding through her like a slow, controlled burn. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

His lips pressed into a hard, thin line. “Enlighten me.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. He didn’t care. He never fucking cared.

“Your team,” she spat, voice shaking despite her best efforts, “just made me look like some desperate, attention-seeking—”

“—that’s not what happened.”

“Really?” She stepped closer, chin tilting up defiantly, her eyes searching his face for something—anything. A flicker of regret. Understanding. A crack in the cold, calculated exterior he was so good at wearing. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like they threw me under the fucking bus to save your ass.”

The photos had hit the tabloids that morning.

Beth Monroe, clinging to Harry Styles. Beth Monroe, picking a fight in public. Beth Monroe, the problem.

Headlines twisting the truth, reshaping the narrative, turning her into something she wasn’t. His PR team had done what they always did—spun the story, cleaned up the mess, protected the asset.

Beth had been collateral damage.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze flicking away as if he couldn’t be bothered to deal with this. “Jesus, Beth, why do you care so much what people think?”

Her stomach twisted—not just at the words, but at how he said them.

Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.

Like all of this—all the nights, all the touches, all the ways they’d clawed at each other, desperate and reckless—had meant absolutely fucking nothing to him.

And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe she had been fooling herself this entire time.

Something inside her snapped—something raw and fragile and past the point of saving.

“You know what?” She took a breath, forcing her voice to stay steady, forcing herself to hold his gaze even though it hurt. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

And before she could change her mind—before she could let him pull her back in—she turned around.

And for the first time, she didn’t look back.

It should have been a relief.

Should have felt like he had won.

But it didn’t.

Harry downed the rest of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he set it down with more force than necessary.

The neon lights of the club flickered above him, casting shadows along the crowded space. Smoke curled through the air, mixing with the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, a heartbeat that wasn’t his. People surrounded him—laughter, touches, whispers—but none of it registered.

His third drink.

Or maybe his fourth.

He wasn’t keeping track. Didn’t need to.

Because Beth was gone.

And he should feel lighter. Should feel fucking free.

But instead, there was just this—this hollow, gnawing feeling in his chest, a slow rot that no amount of whiskey could burn away.

He had told himself it was just sex. That it was just a game.

A messy, reckless game they both played, fully aware of the rules.

So why the fuck was he still thinking about her?

Why did he still hear her voice—sharp and furious, echoing in his ears like an accusation he couldn’t shake?

I don’t. Not anymore.

Why did he still see her face when he closed his eyes—not the smirking, defiant expression she always wore when they fought, but the way she had looked at him that night—raw, open, hurt.

Why the fuck did that bother him?

Harry scoffed under his breath, shaking his head, reaching for another drink.

Fuck that.

She’d be back.

She always came back.

Wouldn’t she?

The weeks passed.

She didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t show up at any more venues.

And no matter how many women he took home—no matter how many soft lips and unfamiliar hands he let touch him—it was never the same.

Because none of them were her.

None of them made him feel alive the way she did when she pushed him, when she fought him, when she stood her ground and refused to give in.

And for the first time, Harry realized—

He had fucked up.

Not just in the way he always did—careless, reckless, breaking things without thinking about the consequences.

No, this was different.

This was real.

This was Beth.

And he had let her slip through his fingers like she was nothing.

Like she hadn’t changed him.

Like she hadn’t fucking ruined him.

It took him weeks. Too many weeks.

Weeks of sleepless nights, of bitter drinks that burned as they went down, of meaningless encounters with women who weren’t her.

Weeks of ignoring the pit in his stomach whenever he reached for his phone and saw her name missing from his notifications.

Weeks of denying—lying to himself—until he couldn’t anymore.

Until it became impossible to pretend that this wasn’t more.

That she wasn’t everything.

So, he found her.

No cameras. No PR team carefully crafting the narrative. No staged apology meant to keep his image intact.

Just him.

Beth stood in the doorway of her apartment, eyes wary, lips pressed together like she wasn’t sure if she should slam the door in his face or let him inside just to yell at him.

She was in sweats, hair tied back, looking so soft and real and heartbreakingly beautiful that Harry had to clench his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching for her.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You really have no concept of boundaries, do you?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Would it help if I said I knocked first?”

Beth lifted a single, unimpressed brow.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

She sighed, exhaling heavily, fingers gripping the doorframe. “What do you want, Harry?”

Her voice was flat, tired—so fucking tired—and it hit him in the chest like a punch.

He did that.

He made her sound like that.

And maybe if she had been yelling, maybe if she had been angry, it would have been easier.

But this?

This quiet disappointment, this absence of fire, of fight—this was worse.

Because it meant she had already decided to let him go.

And he couldn’t have that.

He wouldn’t.

Harry swallowed, licking his lips, feeling the words crawl up his throat, unfamiliar and foreign and terrifying.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, voice rough, uneven. “You got too close.”

Beth’s gaze flickered, but she didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop him either.

“I didn’t—I don’t—” He let out a slow breath, shifting his weight. “You were supposed to be temporary, Beth.” His voice cracked on her name. “And I don’t want temporary anymore.”

Her eyes softened. Just a little.

But she didn’t let him off the hook.

Not yet.

She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head. “So what? You came all this way just to tell me that?”

His jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

“And now you expect me to just—what? Forget everything? Pretend like you didn’t throw me to the wolves the second things got hard?”

“No.” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t expect that.”

Beth exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment before she looked at him again, and fuck, he felt stripped bare under her gaze.

“I was falling for you,” she whispered, the words barely audible but lethal. “And you made me feel like I was nothing.”

His stomach dropped.

“I know,” he rasped. “And I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, Beth.”

She didn’t speak, but her fingers trembled where they curled around her sleeve.

Harry took a step closer.

Then another.

Until she was right there, close enough to touch, but he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he just let himself be seen—raw, vulnerable, desperate in a way he had never allowed himself to be before.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice low, uneven. “But I want to try. I want you.”

Beth swallowed hard, blinking quickly, like she was trying to hold something back.

“Say it again.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Say it again,” she whispered.

Harry took a breath, steady and sure.

“I want you.”

Beth let out a shaky exhale, something breaking, fracturing between them—but this time, it wasn’t falling apart.

It was falling into place.

She didn’t answer.

Not with words.

But when she finally reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him down, letting him in—

He knew.

She wanted him too.

This isn’t like before.

It’s not fueled by resentment, not tangled in frustration or sharp-edged words.

It’s not an attempt to silence their own thoughts or to claim victory in an unwinnable battle.

This time, it’s different.

Because this time, they’re choosing each other.

And neither of them wants to pretend anymore.

It’s quiet.

Not the uneasy, tension-laced silence they used to share, but something softer. He’s brought her here—to his real place, not some impersonal hotel room or a shadowy corner where they could disappear without consequence.

It’s his space.

Dim lighting from the city outside filters through half-drawn blinds, painting warm, golden stripes across the floor. The air is thick, heavy with something unspoken, the echoes of every past moment clinging to the walls.

No noise from the outside world.

Just them.

And for the first time, that’s all they need.

They stand close but don’t touch—not yet.

It’s strange, this carefulness between them, this slow, deliberate restraint. For so long, everything between them has been about force, about taking, about dominance wrapped in lust.

But now—

His fingers reach for her, hesitant but certain, trailing the line of her jaw with an aching kind of reverence.

No roughness. No bruising grip.

Just a slow, featherlight touch, like he’s memorizing her, like he’s afraid to move too fast.

Beth’s breath stutters. She tilts her face into his touch, just barely, just enough to tell him that she wants this too.

When she opens her eyes, he’s already watching her.

Already waiting.

Already sure.

When he kisses her, it’s nothing like before.

Not an attempt to overpower, not a silent demand for control.

It’s soft.

Tentative, at first—like he’s rediscovering her, learning the shape of her lips, savoring her warmth. A slow slide of mouths, the quiet exhale of breath mingling between them.

And then—

The restraint fractures.

A low, desperate groan rumbles in his chest, and his hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, molding her against him. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, but it’s not about possession anymore.

It’s need.

It’s want.

It’s everything they’ve never allowed themselves to feel.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him down into her, and he lets her. Lets her take as much as she wants.

He doesn’t rush.

Doesn’t tear at her clothes like before, doesn’t drag fabric over her skin like it’s just another obstacle to get through.

He takes his time.

Fingers skimming her shoulders, down the length of her arms, over her ribs. He lingers, watching her, drinking her in like he’s seeing her for the first time.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough with something raw, something that sounds like awe.

Her breath catches.

She should feel exposed. Vulnerable.

But the heat in his gaze doesn’t make her feel bare.

It makes her feel wanted.

She reaches for him then, pulling at his shirt, sliding her hands over warm, firm skin, feeling the steady, grounding beat of his heart beneath her palms.

He lets her undress him too.

No rush. No urgency.

Just this.

Just them.

He takes his time.

Worships her with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, exploring every inch like he’s memorizing her, like he never wants to forget the way she feels beneath him.

His fingers trace the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her inner thigh.

He doesn’t hurry.

Doesn’t just take.

He gives.

She fists the sheets when he drags his mouth lower, when he pauses to watch her reaction, when he smirks against her skin at the way she shifts, needy, impatient.

She doesn’t want to beg. Not this time.

But when his mouth finally touches her, warm and devastatingly slow—

She does.

He doesn’t rush her to the edge.

He builds it.

His mouth works her over with precision, savoring every shudder, every gasp, every quiet, breathless plea.

His hands hold her open, steadying her, grounding her, keeping her exactly where he wants her.

He watches her the entire time.

Doesn’t look away.

Not when she trembles.

Not when she cries out his name.

Not when she finally, finally falls apart beneath him.

He just holds her gaze, dark and unwavering, like he’s making damn sure she knows—

This means something.

When he finally slides into her, it’s different.

No rough, frantic pace. No bruising hands.

Just this.

Just the slow, deliberate push of his hips, deep and measured, drawing a gasp from her lips.

He stills for a moment, presses his forehead against hers, breathing her in, grounding himself in the feel of her.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, her nails dragging lightly over his skin.

Not clawing.

Not marking.

Just holding.

He moves then.

Not just fucking—making love.

Every slow thrust feels like a confession.

Every whispered “mine” against her lips feels like a promise.

And this time—

She doesn’t fight it.

She lets him have her.

And takes him in return.

No rush to leave.

No scramble for clothes.

No silence.

Just this.

Just them, tangled in sheets that smell like them, his arms heavy around her, his fingers tracing slow, mindless patterns against her back.

For the first time, he stays.

For the first time, she lets him.

There’s a pause. A deep, quiet moment where neither of them speaks.

Then—

“You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

His voice is quiet. Certain.

Beth doesn’t hesitate.

She shifts closer, presses her lips against his jaw, and breathes him in.

“Yeah, Harry.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips.

She watches it spread, watches the tension leave his body, watches the way he finally lets himself believe it.

“I am.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

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