#i may regret this halfway through

[lingeronyourhazeleyes]

[himblebo]

Did you know?

The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo is actually just like Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine

[warabis]

the silence of atlas's plight has infected me and fallen upon my shoulders

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

reunion

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: Slow burn; unrequited love; angst; yearning; divorced Art Donaldson; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; safe sex

Summary: It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

"Did you hear Art Donaldson is supposed to be here?"

The question is whispered behind you and makes your hand freeze in its signing. You're half-bent over the table at reception, fingers tight around a pen as your mind is jogged.

No way was he turning up, that's what Anne had said.

Tashi will be there, she's the head of the goddamn reunion committee, the ink is still wet on their divorce—that's what Anne had said. Hell, she'd sworn it.

So what the hell is he doing here?

The sound of your name jogs your attention and you manage to finish signing in. You straighten, taking up your name tag and haphazardly slapping the adhesive onto your top. You need a drink, and quickly. You're halfway to the bar before you feel someone wind their arm through yours.

"Okay, I know you didn't wanna come—"

"Anne."

"And I so appreciate you being here so that I didn't have to come alone—"

"Anne—"

"But I got some news and it's going to be a little shocking so I think you should hear it from me—"

"I know he's here."

"What?" Anne freezes, her arm dropping from yours. You turn to see her looking stricken, her cheeks pinking with panic and embarrassment. You sigh softly, glancing around your fellow alumni. Less than half of them look familiar; your eyes catch on the odd face before you realize that you're inadvertently looking for him.

"Look, there are, like...Five hundred people here, alright?" You add. "I probably won't even see him."

"We can go."

"Look, we made the trip, we're here, we may as well stay. It's fine, okay? We're all adults here! It doesn't matter!" Your insistence is chased by a slightly hysterical laugh. "It was, like, a hundred years ago."

"...You're sure?"

"I am positive."

Positive that you need a drink, and positive that you're going to regret agreeing to stay.

--

It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

You were friends, sure. You palled around, had a few classes together, hung out at a few parties—but he was so in love with Tashi Duncan that you'd never made his romantic radar. You'd forced yourself to believe that that was for the best, that you didn't need his love or romantic validation to be happy. But you couldn't pretend that wanting him didn't sting.

He'd had a couple of girlfriends while you were at Stanford, but you could always feel, always see that they were never really his priority. It was Tashi, then tennis, then them.

The two of you had kept touch a little after college, but you'd pushed yourself to move on. Conversation had begun to fade, and when he hadn't tried to keep it up, you had resolved to let him go.

You'd avoided his name in the news as much as you can, but it had been hard. He was on billboards, packaging, tv—it was like you couldn't escape him.

Want melted to sadness; sadness shifted to annoyance; annoyance hardened into disdain. You couldn't see his likeness or hear his name without rolling your eyes. It wasn't his fault, of course, but the prospect of running into Art fuckin' Donaldson made you queasy.

Still, you put on a brave face for Anne, forcing your focus into conversation.

It's a struggle to keep your gaze from seeking him out. You take each sip with a little white lie, convincing yourself that you're looking to make sure you can avoid contact. You spot Tashi a couple of times, but you don't go out of your way to say hello. She's surrounded by a cloud of people—taking pictures, signing programs and name tags and old Duncanator shirts.

When Anne insists on going to say hello, you force a small smile.

"You, um—you go ahead," You nod, taking a couple of steps back. "I'm gonna get some air."

Anne's dark eyes flit over you questioningly before she blessedly lets it go, nodding and going on her way. You turn, swiping a fresh drink off of a passing waiter's tray as you leave.

It takes a few moments for the buzz of conversation to clear from your head. You take a gulp of the prosecco, wrinkling your nose. It's a little sweeter than you usually like, and doesn't mingle well with the three other drinks that you've downed. Tashi's not going to find your lack of presence or greeting conspicuous; you'd been cordial and on speaking terms in college, but the two of you had never been close.

Damn, but it's chillier outside than you thought it would be. The reception had been so warm, so crammed with people. Paired your head being near-permanently on a swivel, you hadn't realize how hot and tense you'd been.

You frown at the waft of cigarette smoke that catches your nose. Who the hell is still smoking in this day and age—

"Are you hiding, too?"

Maybe you can feign that you didn't hear him—that the sound of his voice didn't jog a hundred memories and trigger a flurry of butterflies. But before you can stop yourself, you turn, the words, "I thought you quit smoking," tumbling out of your mouth.

Art's smile widens as he draw the cigarette back from his lips, a stream of smoke pushed out of the side of his mouth.

"I did. Quit quitting, though." He takes one more puff before he flicks it away, drifting closer. "Hi."

Hi, like it's not the first time you've seen him in the better part of a decade. Hi, like neither of you are oceans from where you where when you last saw one another.

"Hi," You manage. He doesn't hesitate to draw you into his arms; he seems to almost do it without thinking. You only allow yourself a moment of resistance before you raise and curl your arms around him. The clean scent of his pressed jacket and woodsy cologne are muddled with smoke. The fingers of one if your hands curls covetously in the fabric of his jacket as his palms smooth gently over your back. You hear him draw in a deep breath, feel him hold it, and then release it with a soft hum.

"How the hell are you?"

Probably better than you are these days.

You shrug a little, mumbling, "Fine."

He draws away, eyes skating across your face.

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"I'm sure."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

You can feel him winding up for another pass at it, but you hold your glass out before he can. His fingers brush against yours as he drains it.

"Why are you hiding?" You ask. He shrugs, nods toward the door.

"It's a lot in there. I forgot what these events are like."

"People wanna congratulate you. They're proud."

"Are you?"

"I am, but I'll hold off. Don't wanna crowd you."

Your attention is drawn from Art's smile as you hear someone clearing their throat over the speaker system inside:

"If we could have the reunion chairpersons to the stage, please!"

You glance toward Art and find him fidgeting, his thumb smoothing across his bare ring finger.

"…Do you wanna go back in?" You offer. He considers before he says, "Wait here."

You watch curiously as he darts inside, and are stunned when he reappears a moment later. You just barely catch a glimpse of the bottle of champagne clenched in his fist before he rests his other hand on your lower back, steering you away with an urgent murmur of, "C'mon."

--

"I'm surprised you came," You tell him. Art doesn't look at you for a moment, and you take the chance to lean back against the hard plastic seat. He's as beautiful as he was the last time the two of you were together, the night before graduation—practically in the same seats. You don't know if he was thinking about that when he'd led the way into the stands, chosen where to sit. Maybe it was pure muscle-memory.

Either way, you don't know how long the two of you have been sitting out there, knees bumping, passing the bottle back and forth. You take in his profile—the slope of his nose and cut of his jaw; the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows.

"My therapist said it would be good," He finally admits. "Told me I needed to get out more, start getting back into events, work at the foundation...What about you, huh?" He turns, brows raising. "You always told me that you hated this stuff."

You're surprised he remembers.

"I do hate this stuff, but," You shrug. "Anne didn't want to come alone."

"You're a good friend. I never forgot that." He sits up and passes the bottle back to you. "What happened to us, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did we stop talking?"

I couldn't keep begging for scraps of attention.

"I don't know," You deflect. "Guess we just lost touch. It happens."

"I shouldn't have let it happen to us."

You look down at the bottle, sweeping your finger across a slipping drop of condensation.

"You were busy."

"You weren't?"

"Not in the same way," You laugh self-consciously.

"What were you busy with then, huh?" He shifts, thigh pressing against yours. "You used to always say you'd uh—burn out by twenty-six."

"Yeah."

"Did you?"

"Oh, it didn't take nearly that long."

"What!" He laughs. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know what to tell you, man. A girl can only take a soul-sucking marketing job for so long."

"So what do you do now?"

"Still in marketing, but I'm a manager, so. Still soul-sucking, but making a little more money."

"You like it?"

"God no, but I don't know what else I would do." You pass the bottle back.

"Could find something for you at the foundation."

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head as Art sputters a laugh, asks, "What?"

"Don't do that, Art."

"Don't do what?"

"I don't need, you know—"

"We could use you—"

"You don't even know what I do at work."

"I bet it's great—"

"You don't even know if I'm a good worker—"

"Sure I do, I know you."

"No, you don't!"

You know it's a mistake the second it leaves your mouth. Art's smile wavers as he leans away again.

"I just mean—" You try.

"I know what you mean. It's been a long time."

"...Yeah, it has." You take the bottle back, drawing deeply from it before passing it back. "I should get going. I'm sure Anne's looking for me."

"Sure."

You don't say goodbye or tell him that it was nice to see him. You just make as hasty a retreat as you can without tripping over your feet.

--

@ a_donaldsonofficial requested to follow you. 3h

You're not sure what surprises you more—the follow request or the message in your DMs: Dinner?

--

His groan is sinful and low, and makes you rethink ever losing contact with the guy. Under the warm glow of the diner's lights, his eyes slip shut, fingers tightening around the bun.

"...When's the last time you had a burger?" You finally manage to ask.

"I can't remember." He admits it through the mouthful, and you don't begrudge him the couple of flecks of food that land on the table. You smile, plucking up a couple of fries.

"Art?"

"Mm."

"Why'd you ask me to dinner?"

Art sets the burger down as he swallows, taking off his napkin to clean off his hands.

"I was thinking...About what you said at the reunion."

"Mhm."

"About me not knowing you. You're right. But you know what?" He presses on before you can process your surprise. "I don't think you know me, either."

You think for a moment, brows furrowing. He's right. You know the image of Art Donaldson that's been projected to you over the years—on tv screens, in magazines, in online clips.

"...I don't think I do," You agree.

"Figured we should fix that. Catch up, fill each other in on what we've missed."

"Okay."

"So, after college..." He trails off, waving his hand. "Fill me in."

"Moved to New York."

"Uh-huh."

"Working in marketing."

"Burned out before 26—"

"Yeah, hit my capitalistic peak at 23."

"That fast?"

"I mean, that's the last time I remember giving a shit about work, so. Yeah."

"Relationships?"

"...A couple," You admit.

"Serious?"

"Yeah. One."

"Married?"

"No. Engaged." His eyes drop to your bare left hand, and you hurriedly tuck it into your lap. "Formerly engaged."

"What happened?"

"It just didn't feel right. I don't think either of us were ready."

"...Was it anyone I knew? I don't remember you dating much at school."

"Guess I didn't."

"You weren't shy."

"Well no, but—"

"So what was it?"

"I had the worst crush on you, dude!" It's another mistake, but where the last one seemed to make Art retreat, this one leaves his gobsmacked. His eyes widen, mouth opening in a wide smile.

"You what?"

"Oh, kay, you know what—"

"I had no idea!"

"I was very subtle."

Art leans back in the diner booth, watching you openly. You can see the gears turning in his head, and you wonder what he may be remembering, holding up and twisting about in this new light.

"...Huh," He mutters.

"You can feel free to forget that at any time."

"I don't think I will...I wish I'd known."

You consider for a moment before you shrug. "I don't know. I'm kinda glad that you didn't."

"Really?" His brows knit with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't like coming second, Art."

Art nods slowly, and you see something tight pass across his face before it's smoothed away again.

"You know what?" He smiles bitterly. "Neither do I."

You nod toward his plate.

"Your burger's getting cold."

--

"So, uh..." Art clears his throat as the two of you take slow, drifting steps to your car. "I'm gonna say two things, and I don't want you to think that they've got anything to do with what you said earlier."

You know exactly what he means, but you just grumble, "I said a lot of things earlier."

"I think we both know which one I'm talking about."

"Uh-huh. So what's up?"

"...I wanna see you again."

"Okay."

"But things are a little...Messy right now. Tashi and I are working on getting Lily into a regular rhythm and it's harder than we thought it would be."

You lean back against your car, tucking your hands into your pockets.

"Mhm...I hesitate to ask."

"Yeah."

"How does this have to do with what I said earlier?"

"I just don't want you to think that this is—"

"A consolation prize?"

"Something like that."

"Whatever you need to do to get in a good place with Lily is fine, Art, you don't need to justify that to me."

"Even if it means you come second?"

You tip your head to the side, pursing your lips. "It's different when it's your kid. I meant that I didn't want to be second to—You know."

"...Yeah," He mutters, looking at his feet as he takes another foot forward. "And for the record, I was thinking of asking you out again by the time we sat down."

"You could've changed your mind."

"I didn't. And I don't want to."

You smile, nodding. "Well I don't want you to, either." You straighten up as you fish into your bag for your keys. "Call me the next time you're in New York."

"Sure."

You reach out, cupping his cheek and leaning in, pecking his cheek. You pull away, smiling at the flush creeping across his face.

"Goodnight, Art."

"Night."

--

It isn't easy at first. Messages are far and few, mostly how are yous and how was your days. You think that as nice as the little swell of contact has been, that's all it'll be—but the two of you both start to really try. The odd text becomes the weekly phone call. Weekly phone calls become daily FaceTimes. On the nights when he has Lily, they're late, usually when you're getting ready for bed. On the nights when he's on his own, the two of you eat dinner together and chat over your calls. It isn't always perfect, but it's more than you could've anticipated from that dinner a couple of months ago.

--

"She down?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in a hotel again?"

"...Yeah." Art seems to admit it grudgingly, and you smile a little as you take up your toner and a cotton pad.

"There's nothing wrong with leaning into it if it's working," You argue. "And not to be that bitch, but you're not exactly broke."

"Might be if she keeps ordering room service and movies on-demand."

You laugh softly, turning your attention to your reflection as you swipe the toner across your face.

"How's your day been?" Art asks.

"Fine, standard. I had to fill out an assessment ahead of my annual review."

"When's that?"

"End of the week."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Mm," You shrug reaching for a serum. "Fine, I guess. I'm doing okay, my team's hitting their targets."

"You're doing better than okay."

"Art."

"You are."

"Well. Thank you for that." You glance over as he goes quiet, catching a glimpse of him as you smooth the serum into your skin. You raise your brows at the sight of his gentle, warm smile. "What is it?"

"You're beautiful."

Your face goes warm at the compliment, and you bite the inside of your cheek to tamp down your wide, idiotic smile.

"You are tired, huh," You deflect.

"I mean it."

"...I know," You murmur, reaching for your moisturizer. "Tell me what you got up to today."

"I had a meeting at the foundation. We're starting planning for the gala."

"Oh yeah? Have you done them before?"

"We've had three before, but I was usually playing or training, so I haven't been as involved in the planning."

"How's it been?"

"We're still in the preliminary stages, but it's been interesting, you know, seeing how the pieces come together before I usually see them."

You nod, picking the phone up from the mirror holder and heading into your bedroom.

"Where are you gonna have it?"

"We're still scouting locations...As a matter of fact," Art adds, "We're considering a few in New York."

"Oh?"

"I'll be down there for at least a few days, and I wanna see you."

You grin bashfully as you climb into bed, settling against your pillows.

"I wanna see you, too. Are you gonna, um—I mean, is Lily gonna be with you?"

"No, it'll be Tashi's weekend."

"Okay, cool. Just wanna make sure I don't mess up your time."

"I appreciate that." Art's tongue swipes across his lower lip, eyes sweeping across your face. "I gotta say..."

"Mmm?"

"I'm looking forward to seeing your apartment."

"Oh, really?" You chuckle. "Why's that?"

"It'll be interesting, that's all. I mean, you already take me to bed every night."

You laugh, covering your eyes as you groan, "Oh, god, shut up!" as Art chuckles.

"Let me know when you're free," You add. "Your schedule's gonna be weirder than mine."

"Yeah, I will, as soon as I know what it is." You watch as Art lays down, propping his phone up on the nightstand. "...Can you stay on?"

"Yeah," You soothe, setting your phone on the nightstand in suit. "Until we fall asleep."

"Okay," He murmurs. The two of you settle in on your sides, watching one another on the phone.

"Night, Art."

"Sweet dreams."

--

The restaurant is picked. Your nails are done, your hair is done; you get a new dress, new shoes, a new bag. You're going to have an amazing night—a good dinner, a great conversation, and, if you have any luck, an amazing good night kiss.

--

You know the minute you see him that you're not making it to the restaurant. Art's eyes sweep over you in covetous wonder when you open the door. He closes the gap between the two of you, drawing you into his arms, and this time you go without a second thought. He presses his face into your neck, letting out a gentle hum at the scent of your perfume. The tip of his nose trails up over your jaw, his lips brushing the corner of your lips as his forehead rests against yours. He sighs as you draw in a nervous breath, and he sways in, lips pressing to yours.

You raise your hand to cup his neck, shivering as his hands smooth over your hips. He guides you deeper inside, blindly reaching back and shoving the door shut behind you as you fling your purse toward the bench in your entryway. His kisses grow hungrier as he steers you down the hall. You slip your tongue along his, smoothing your hand up to grasp his hair. Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his pale, muscled chest to you. He slides down the zipper on the back of your dress and leans away just long enough to draw the dress up over your head. His eyes sweep across you, taking in your lingerie.

You hook your thumbs under the band of your underwear, giving them a teasing wiggle as you back further away from him. You expect him to follow, but he steers you back against the wall, dropping his head to suck hot kisses along your neck and down to your chest. He yanks one of the cups of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, tipping your head back against the wall and whining as he slots his knee between your thighs. You roll your hips down against the hard muscle as he laves and teases your nipple, reaching up to thumb and tweak the other.

"Art—Mm, god that feels so good."

He groans against your skin, trailing his kisses further down as he lowers himself to his knees. You look down as he curls his fingers around your panties—and waits. You smile softly, nodding, murmuring, "Please?"

Art grins, pressing a kiss to your hip before he gently eases the fabric down, waiting for you to lift your feet so he can fling them away. He leans in, swiping his tongue across your aching clit. Your knees would knock if he wasn't wedged between them. You draw in a shallow breath, letting your head tip back as he draws your leg over his shoulder. You shiver at the feeling of the chilly air against your heated, slick flesh. He nuzzles and laps against your cunt, taking each tip of your hips in stride. His hand smooths up your trembling inner thigh, giving your ass a gentle squeeze before he teases a finger into you. You whimper at the touch, unable to help the way your pussy clenches around it.

Art groans at the feeling, turning his head to smear his lips slips against your hip.

"Goddamn," He breaths against you.

"More."

You feel more than hear his gentle chuckle as he eases another finger in.

"Need it bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"I'm getting a pretty good idea." He turns his head, leveling a sucking kiss to your clit that makes you cry out. You tighten your grip on his hair as he pumps his fingers harder, curling and scissoring them as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"Art—Mm, god, fuck, yes—Yes—" Your toes curl in your shoes as your hips rabbit down against his face and fingers, chasing the swell of your orgasm. You look back down as he draws back and find his lips and chin shining with your juices.

"Bed," He urges.

"You can fuck me right here."

Art laughs, standing and smoothing his hand over your thigh.

"We're doing this right."

"We could be doing this right...." You slid your hand down his chest to palm his cock through his pants. "Here."

You grin as Art's eyelids flutter, his dick twitching against you.

"Bed," He insists again.

It isn't far to go, and the two of you are entirely bare by the time you get there. You scooch back onto the bed, spreading your legs as he rolls on a condom. He's over you a moment later, and you watch the bulge of his biceps as he braces his hands on either side of your head. You bite your lip as you feel the brush of his cock against your entrance. You reach down, grasping his cock and guiding him closer.

You tip your head up, tongue teasing the seam of his lips as he eases into you. You melt into the mattress as he crushes against you, filling you completely. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding your legs over his, as if you'll manage to fuse the two of you together. Art's tongue swirls around yours before he captures your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips slowly.

"More," You plead, but Art keeps his pace achingly steady, even when you try to pick up the pace.

"You feel so fucking good," He breathes, "Even better than you taste."

"Harder, Art, please, god damn, please," You whimper. He tips his head to the side nipping at the hinge of your jaw as he reaches down, hiking your hip up even higher. Your mouth fell open with a stunned moan as he presses deeper, the slap of his hips filthily filling the stifling air around you. You arch up against him, nails raking down his back as you feel the swell of another orgasm.

"Art."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm—Fuck, almost—"

"That's it." He sucks his fingers between his lips before he slips them between your bodies, swiping across your tender clit. You begin to close your eyes, but he tuts softly.

"Don't—Don't close your eyes—Look at me," He orders between breaths. You force yourself to focus on Art, taking in the flush on his cheeks, his almost dazed eyes.

"You, too—" You urge.

"Yeah—"

"Oh—yeah," You gasp, unable to keep your gaze on his you cum. You feel Art's hips slap roughly against yours before he slows, groaning low in his chest. You draw in a deep breath as your heart pounds in your chest, sinking back against your pillows as he settles down over you. You smooth your hand over his nape, smiling as he nuzzles against your shoulder, dropping tender kisses to your skin.

"...Art?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're going to be late for dinner."

--

"You know, I've been thinking."

"You've been doing a lot more than thinking, mister," You mutter, and grin as Art laughs. You cuddle closer against his side, nuzzling into his chest as he tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"I'm glad I didn't know you liked me in college."

"Really?" You tip your head up, brow furrowing. "Why's that?"

"...I wasn't ready for you back then." He smooths his fingers along your jaw, eyes wandering your face contemplatively. "It's like you said, you know. You would've come second."

You nod, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

"I don't think I was ready for you, either," You admit. Art smiles.

"And you are now?"

"More than."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

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[radio-fmm]

2 am bathroom meeting

Law x reader

comfort & fluff | 1k words

Masterlist

Your reflection meets you and it’s like you don’t even recognize yourself, your eyeliner smudged, cheeks red and warm, eyes tired and your skin pale as a ghost. You frown, shake your head as if disappointed by it.

A big sigh is all it takes for you to try and keep it together. You are not ok, but that’s ok, you’re used to it. This feeling, heart aching, pounding headache and swollen eyes from crying is part of the journey, of your adventure as a Heart Pirate in this world, so you go trough it even if it means crying at 2 am.

You open the faucet and cold water splashes in your hands, the feeling strangely brings you back to earth, you stretch your hands like a bowl letting the droplets accumulate so you can dump them in your face. As you’re halfway trough it, the door of the bathroom opens loudly beside you. You stumble at the noise, dropping the water on yourself as a very scared looking Trafalgar Law stands just witnessing your misfortune

“Shit I didn’t heard you in here” you steal a glance at your Captain, too sleep deprived to even think about closing the door and leave you be. He also does a run over your form, which keeps him standing at the door

There’s a moment of silence, where you scrunch your face and rub your eyes as annoyance stirs along with your sadness, a terrible terrible feeling while Law stays puzzled. Why were you up at this ungodly hour looking so… wrecked?

“It’s fine I’ll just leave” you finally break the silence, you dry your hands hastily before anything more embarrassing happens but your Captain beats you to it

“Are you ok?”

You scoff- “Clearly not”

Law is not the type to ask this type of questions, you regret the tone in your answer immediately after, guilt visibly in your expression. You don’t want to push him away but right now, you’re not quite yourself and you’ll regret saying something you don’t want to.

Law stays still, eyebrows furrowed. He hates this, not you, but your clear terrible state. But what he hates the most is how he doesn’t really know what to do to help you

You sigh again and walk to the door expecting your Captain to move, but he doesn’t. His face stays reading you, in thought

You rise an eyebrow “Are you ok?, Captain?”

You are both awkward

Law’s body is tense, your eyes keep looking over his head as you hold back tears because this ordeal is making you think about everything again, but you don’t want to talk about it.

The surgeon then pulls a move so unexpected that it has you gasping. He walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, arms crossed and brows still furrowed

“If you think I’m gonna let you out of here like nothing happened you’re insane”

He cares, he really does. You know better than anyone else that under his mean captain facade he adored his crew, he cared for everyone and seeing you like this was also breaking a little part of his dark heart. He curses his decision to trap you here, clearly didn’t quite planned exactly what he was going to say or do which is also very unlike him. You always seemed to do that, keep him in his toes and making him act on instinct, even when you’re just vulnerable before him, sad eyes looking up at him

He liked it, but he’ll never admit it

Your heart rate accelerates and you fear you may pass out of the amount of emotions you are putting yourself through at the same time.

As if giving up, you answer softly- “I am just not feeling well… needed to freshen up” theres almost this embarrassment behind your confession, as if hating having to let him se you like this. You always had the habit of putting on a happy face for everyone around you, being the warm, trustworthy and helpful crewmate

But it was exhausting

Law feels like he’s drowning. He doesn’t know what to do, he goes trough a million options as you stand there all sad and tears already falling

“Do you want to… talk about it?” He settles on that

“Not really”

Another silence, and this one is so uncomfortable it has the surgeon of death wanting to pull his hair out, what now? Should he leave?, cry with you?, bring you water, a sandwich?

Suddenly a giggle escapes you, slowly building on a sweet laugh. The sound makes Law’s heart flip a couple times, pink dusting his cheeks in embarrassment but he’ll allow you to laugh at his cost if that makes you happy even just for a while

“You’re bad at this” you say wiping your tears with the back of your hand

“Yea whatever make fun of me” he says annoyed but with a hint of rare playfulness

“No, no! It’s endearing”

“That doesn’t make it better” a hand runs trough his disheveled dark locks, your eyes meet and both melt

You’re so dumb

After your laugh dies and you sniffle a little, the silence feels lighter, almost sweeter in a way and the weight of your shoulders seems to have disappeared into the night

Law smiles, a genuine smile and he’s glad you’re so understanding, keeping up with his awkwardness. He wants to reach out to you but doesn’t want to step in

“What can I do for you then?” There’s a glint of hope when his honey eyes land on yours once again, you smile sheepishly

“Can I get a hug?”

It’s almost stupid how big of a dorky smile breaks against Laws features, he thanks all the forces above for this opportunity and swears to make it count

“Of course”

Slowly, you walk up to him and land on his arms. A warm, sweet comforting hug envelopes you, soothing your worries and sadness making you sigh in satisfaction. His hands move up and down your spine, your sent invading his senses as he burns this moment in his memory forever

This is exactly what you needed.

extra

You laugh again, it rumbles all trough Law’s chest and he just stares down while holding you close and tight

“What’s so funny?”

“Your heart is going so fast Captain”

“Ok that’s enough teasing”

[heaven-s-black-box]

Notes- To the Beach!; GOM x fem!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: May 10th, 2024

Description: hiii!! hope your having a good day, I was wondering if I could request GoM x reader (separately) with a maybe more quiet and shy reader when they go to the beach and see her in a bikini (maybe a bit suggestiveee but it’s up to you!) they can get a bit flustered and protective 😭 thank you so much and dw if you don’t/can’t complete it <3,

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with @smtere we thank them for their contributions. Hope you don't mind the headcanons, it was the easiest for so many people. This is meant to be post last game, probably summer of their 3rd year.

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Akashi

Is the most outwardly chill about it

Though he does find his gaze drifting and lingering (Aomine got halfway through calling him out once before eating sand)

The first time he justifies it as admiring your swimsuit, every other time is just a whoopsie

He’s not weird about it though, and he tries his best not to stare

Makes sure you put on sunscreen/ cover up if he thinks you need it

Will complement how it looks on you

I did say “most outwardly chill” and I meant it

He may seem cool as a cucumber but if you hug him he will short circuit

He doesn’t get much affection on a normal day and while he is much more mature than his friends, I refuse to believe this boy is not fighting off indecent thoughts every so often

Build a sand castle with him please

Midorima

Flustered and can’t hide it

Dude is pink, and not from the sun

His gaze also drifts and lingers but he won’t even give himself a chance to admire you

You cannot convince me Takao has not corrupted him, at least a bit, he can’t look at you without hear Takao teasing him

Like Akashi he looks out for you if you’re prone to sunburn

Midorima isn’t weird about you wearing a bikini, he just makes it weird by actively avoiding looking anywhere but your face

He definitely relaxes throughout the day though

By the time you’re leaving he compliments you, having finally looked somewhere other than your face

He’s fine with whatever you want to do, might even begrudgingly let you bury him

Kise

The most chill, he has sisters so bikinis aren’t something overly suggestive to him

That said it’s you so it does make him a bit flustered

He is also the most obviously protective because as a model he’s very familiar with… lingering gazes, there will always be weirdos

Keeps a shirt on while on the beach, claiming he can’t afford to burn, but it's actually incase you want it for whatever reason

He definitely enjoys the extra contact though, whether that be an arm around your waist or offering to carry you on his back, Kise strikes me as a touchy person

If your swimsuit starts to come loose he’ll offer to fix it for you

Showers you in complements

Wants to collect shells and swim

Murasakibara

Could not give two shits

Kise was chill, Murisakibara just doesn’t care

He compliments the swim suit, and he definitely stares a bit but when he gets caught he apologizes and looks away

Won’t initiate physical contact but doesn’t mind it, feeling your skin brush against his when you hugged him did make him jump a bit though

I don’t really have much to say here because I really don’t think he’d care

Although he will confront anyone making you uncomfortable, his stature is more than enough to make most people back down

Wants to spend the day lounging on the beach, you might be able to convince him to come float with you

Aomine

If it was anyone but Aomine it would be weird

Shamelessly stares

You can call him out on it but he’ll just make a sound of acknowledgement and keep staring, unless you tell him he’s making you uncomfortable

He may be forward and unashamed but he’s not a complete ass

If someone else is making you uncomfortable or just keeps staring he will fight them, though he tries to avoid that

Asked Momoi for one of her towel jackets for you incase you wanted it, he almost regretted it when she started teasing him for being a softy

He compliments you, but it’s stuff like “your boobs look nice”

Will imply he’d like to see you “show off” more often

Also fairly touchy, like Kise, and will offer to help fix your swimsuit if needed

He will also throw you into the water, there is no escaping

Kuroko

Like Akashi he’s outwardly cool and inwardly panicking just a bit

He will try and fight anyone making you uncomfortable but Aomine and the others have to save him

Like Akashi and Midorima will keep an eye out if you’re prone to sunburn

Any physical contact you make with him will spook him just a bit

He’s close with Momoi, and we know she wears bikinis so I think like with Kise they aren’t anything suggestive to him

I don’t have much to say here either because Kuroko doesn’t really wear his heart on his sleeve, though he will linger a bit closer to you throughout the day

Complements your swimsuit

Prefers to spend the day reading on the beach

[revasserium]

hiii i'm a new follower and i love your writing so much

ik u said no requests in ur bio but i just finished reading ur sanji fic.. so even if ur still not taking requests i'd just like to throw in an idea that u may or may not feel like using in the future, up to you (i'm requesting this with opla sanji in mind but if u wanna use it for zoro that's cool too)

k so imagine reader being invited to a friend's wedding, & being excited to go until they find out their ex is coming too (with their partner of some amt of yrs). so now reader is pressured to bring someone w/ them & ends up asking their best friend sanji bc they don't want others thinking they're still hung up on the past.

wedding dress

opla!sanji; 6,544 words, pining with a happy ending, fluff and a tad of angst, flirting, lovesick!sanji, whipped!!!!sanji, no "y/n", zeff is a whole mood, confessions, sanji-appropriate nickname usage, modern!au?

summary: you invite sanji to be your plus 1 at a wedding

a/n: im so sorry this took so long. but. better late than? never? also, there is a tiny bit of rehashing for ep 6 of the live action for sanji and zeff's relationship so... spoilers?

It’s a chilly, overcast kind of day when the call comes in. And in retrospect, Sanji thinks he should’ve known better when he’d seen your name on the caller ID. He’d hesitated, because by god if it wasn’t his New Year's Resolution to get the hell over you this year, but it’s almost December again and he still can’t help the way his heart races at the sound of your voice.

“Hey sweetheart — long time no talk!” he answers after a brief moment of contemplating his entire life, dusting his flour-covered hands on his apron.

“Hey! Sorry for calling so… out of the blue…” your voice is still as sweet as ever, and the way his stomach twists at the tinkle of your nervous laughter makes him want to kick himself. Still, he forces himself to stay calm, clearing his throat as he checks the oven — it’s almost done pre-heating.

“Now you know what I said about actin’ a stranger — just because you moved halfway across the entire world doesn’t mean we ain’t best friends anymore, right?”

It’s what you’d said when he’d been standing at the airport, three seconds from dropping to his knees and begging you not to go. But he hadn’t, because he knew how hard you’d worked for this — for this opportunity abroad, to study art in the birthplace of the Renaissance itself, in the heart of Italy.

“And… you might be able to come visit me, right?” you’d said, rocking on the balls of your feet, your eyes full of what Sanji could only call false hope — which is always, always the worst and most painful kind.

Sanji had swallowed and nodded and said something or other about Europe and fine dining, but there’s a terrible, prickling heat eating up the back of his neck and a voice that’s screaming at him to pull you to him and kiss you. He doesn’t. And he regrets it to this day.

“Ah — right… I’m actually calling because… I’ll be in the area in about a week and…”

Your voice pulls him out of his reverie and he clears his throat, hitches a smile to his face that he knows you can’t see but he’s sure you can hear.

“Oh! That’s great, darling! You’ve gotta come for a drink, I’ll whip up all your favorites — we can make a night —”

“It’s actually for a wedding.”

There are a few moments in everyone’s lives when they learn the true meaning of a thing for the very first time — elation, pride, stomach-twisting guilt, and… fear. True fear, the kind of fear that shakes the muscle from your bones and sends them tingling, threatens to overwhelm you with numbness. Fear, that pushes adrenaline through you like a drug, forces the world into a terrifying, all-consuming focus.

Sanji feels the fear coursing through him, wild and contentious at your words.

A wedding.

Your wedding? Perhaps?

He can’t bear to think of it; he’s so terrified he can barely breathe.

Then comes the moment after, the wave of everything else that the fear had washed away — confusion, anger, guilt (always guilt, for some reason), because isn’t he supposed to be happy for you? For you, the person he loves most in this entire world, to find love, to know happiness. He should. He should.

“Oh.”

Sanji sags back against the hard, metal counter. Almost mindlessly, he reaches into his pockets with shaking hands, digging around for a smoke.

Your breath is soft in his ear, too far across the phone line and a thousand miles of ocean.

“I originally wasn’t even planning on going — she’s not a very close friend — we had like one class together but —”

And within the span of a minute, Sanji also learns relief. The kind that melts the world around you into sizzling butter and champagne bubbles. The kind that makes you want to lie down on the ground and scream.

“— it was so close to your restaurant so I said yes but I didn’t know he was gonna be there and —”

You’re still talking, rambling like you do. And it takes nearly everything inside Sanji to pull himself back to the conversation.

“Sorry, love, who did you say was gonna be there?”

“My ex — you know the one —”

Sanji grimaces, flicking on his lighter with still-shaking fingers.

“Mm, yeah I do. The tall, dark-haired bastard who —”

“Yeah well — he’s gonna be there too and I just —” he hears you swallow hard and take a long, steadying breath. An unnameable something is calcifying in the depths of his stomach as he waits for you to collect yourself.

Curiosity? Why had you called like this, so suddenly, about a wedding where your ex was going to be? Concern? Were you thinking of going back to him?

But slowly, as you stutter through your next few words, the unnameable thing obtains a name — dread.

“— I just don’t think I could do it myself, y’know? And — and you were the one who got me out of it wh-when I decided to break it off with him so…”

Sanji takes a long drag of his cigarette and casts his eyes up at the high, white-slabbed ceiling of the kitchen, scored with long strips of bright, fluorescent lighting that floods the entire room in a direct, unforgiving glow.

He closes his eyes and counts to three.

“Course I’ll come with you, darlin’. It —” he wets his lips, taps off a bit of ash from his cigarette, and sucks in through his nose, clearing his throat of the words still lodged there, “— it’d be my honor.”

Relief — he hears it in your voice, and by gods he can almost see it — the way your whole face would light up, washed as if by the setting sun, your eyes wide and dark, your cheeks flushing his favorite fucking shade of pink and —

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really owe you for this one —”

Sanji makes a valiant effort at a nonchalant chuckle; it comes out sounding like a dog with a bit of bone stuck in its throat instead.

“Nonsense — what are best friends for, anyway?”

There’s a tiny pause where Sanji can feel the words best friend scraping along the insides of his mouth, barbed and harsh, leaving his tongue feeling raw and metallic.

“You really are the best friend anyone could ask for,” your voice is soft and honest and Sanji wants nothing more than to chuck his phone into the industrial blender.

You tell him that you’ll send him the details, that you can’t wait to see him soon, that you’ve got a world and a half of catching up to do, that you’ll buy him so, so many drinks, and that you’ll come bearing presents. He laughs at the right times, makes soft noises of consent and agreement, and when finally, finally you tell him goodbye, he clicks off the phone and takes another long drag of his smoke.

And then, he whips his hand back and throws the cigarette butt into the large sink, where it tinks against the metal and sizzles sadly in the murky dishwater.

“Real sucker for punishment, aren’tcha, lil’ eggplant?”

Sanji groans, turning around to find Zeff with his arms folded, the hip to his bad leg propped against a counter.

“Will you fuck kindly off — can’t you see I’m going through a thing here?”

Zeff snorts, clunking unevenly towards him.

“You been going through that thing for the last year and a half since you chickened outta askin’ her to stay so —”

“I didn’t chicken out — I — it was her dream to go to Florence and study —”

“And what was your dream then, ey?”

Sanji bangs his palm against the counter and sighs, “It’s not like I could leave you here with —”

“With what? A thriving restaurant business that I started? A guest list out the door and round the corner —”

“I — I helped!”

Zeff rolls his eyes, “Ah sure ya did, but I never asked you to, did I?”

Sanji huffs, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop the torrent of horrible, sad, acrid things he could say and could never mean, so he swallows them back down. When he looks up next, Zeff is still standing there, but there’s a softness around his eyes.

He opens his mouth a few times, but eventually, all he says is, “The oven’s over heatin’.”

Sanji swears and jumps up to tug open the oven door. A wave of hot air whooshes out and nearly catches him in the face. Behind him, he can hear Zeff’s dark, gravelly chuckle, and the dull clunk of his wooden leg.

“You burn the kitchen down, you pay for it.”

And then he’s gone again, leaving the door swinging behind him, and Sanji very much alone with the too-hot oven and a counter full of things he can’t really remember the recipes for anymore.

Nearly a week later, Sanji finds himself standing at the airport, rocking on the balls of his feet, nearly in the exact same place as he’d been a year and a half prior. Except this time, you’re not walking away from him. You’re walking back towards him. He wonders if there’s a name for deja-vu in reverse and comes to the realization that that’s just called… a memory.

And memory seems to work in strange ways now, images superimposing themselves on top of one another — the flicker of a film lens, the bat of an eyelash, the shadow of a smile crimping the corner of your lips. All of this, he sees in the here and now, but he sees it in the air around you too, shimmering and mirage-like — all his memories and dreams of you layered over the shape of you. Your memory like a ghost of itself, trailing behind you as you walk towards him, a shy smile on your face, your cheeks flushed from travel and the cold and —

He doesn’t let himself hope. Not this time.

“Hey!” your voice is just as bell-like as he remembers it, pitched a little higher than it usually is, probably out of nervousness. But it still feels like a kick to the guts. Sanji forces himself to smile.

“Hi, love,” he says, leaning down as you reach him, but the motion aborts halfway because — is it still appropriate to hug you like he’d always done? To press his lips to your cheek or your hairline and revel in the bright citrus of your shampoo, to soak in the butter and cream of your skin like he used to?

There’s an awkward half-second pause before you’re standing up on tip-toe and Sanji’s heart nearly drops out of his ass as you lean in. But then — your lips skim by his cheek and your arms are around him, and stupid, stupid, stupid heart — thundering in his chest like horses or hooves or fists or thumping rabbit’s feet — leaping into his throat and pattering against the base of his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. But it’s not close enough. It’s never close enough.

He breathes and distantly, a part of him notes that you still use the same shampoo.

“Hi…” your voice is warm by his ear, a bit muffled, but he can’t help the way it makes him shiver, “It’s… so good to see you.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice to do the normal thing and, oh, you know — work.

“I’ve — I’ve missed you.”

He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough as he nods again. He feels your arms slackening around him and a fierce, terrifying thing is flapping its wings in his stomach, screeching at him not to let you go. But he does — like he did before.

“I — I missed you too,” he says, though his voice sounds flat and scratchy and he clears his throat again.

A dozen different expressions flicker across the lovely planes of your face and finally, it settles on endeared exasperation.

“Please don’t tell me you still work through like three packs of smokes a day.”

Sanji laughs then, shaking his head as he reaches over for your luggage, “Nah — well, maybe not three but —”

You whack him softly on the arm.

“I actually tried to quit right after you left.”

“You did?”

Sanji shrugs as the pair of you start to make for the exit. He feels your gaze go slanted and shrewd.

“How long’d that last?”

He smirks, “Few hours.”

You whack him again and this time, he dodges out of the way just to bask in the bright spark of your laughter as you chase after him.

“Seriously though, you know how terrible they are for you!”

“Sure do,” he says, tugging one out of his pocket as soon as he clears the airport doors, pivoting left towards the parking garage. You have to jog to keep up with his longer strides, your breaths misting the air between you in silvery puffs.

He makes no move to light it as he helps toss your luggage into the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat. You huff as you wiggle into the passenger’s side.

“Then why —”

Sanji waits patiently for you to buckle your seatbelt before pulling out of the parking space, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting soft against the middle console. He slates you a glance.

“Cause,” he says, fixing his eyes back on the road, an easy smirk twisting his lips, “it’s a metaphor.”

You groan, sinking into the seat, “Just because you read John Green one time —”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I read his entire bibliography after you showed him to me.”

“Ugh, whatever you manic-pixie-dreamgirl-loving ass.”

“Yeah, whatever — you actual manic pixie dreamgirl.”

You smile and Sanji allows himself the brief and aching delusion that the past year and a half didn’t happen, that you never left, and that you’d never leave. That you’d always be here, warm and laughing and just within reach.

The rest of the car ride is spent in mundane conversation, in how was your flight and tell me about Florence and how’s Zeff doing these days and I wanna know about your latest dish. It’s light and easy, and Sanji lets it warm the air around him. By the time he pulls into the front of your hotel, all the unsaid words from the past year and a half have soaked through his socks and into his shoes. It sloshes out onto the pale pavement as he opens the car door.

He helps you roll your luggage up into the lobby and tells you he’ll be here at 3PM to pick you up tomorrow. The venue’s just three blocks away.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then,” you say, pursing your lips, waving as he backpedals towards the automatic doors.

“You’ve still gotta send me pictures of the dress you’re wearing — I gotta find a matching tie.”

You laugh, a bit embarrassed, “Right — and here I thought I might surprise you.”

Sanji freezes, eyes wide.

“O-oh! Er — well, you can just — just tell me what color or —” he waves vaguely, “send a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against —”

You nod, eyes glittering, eager once more, “Oh! That’s a good idea — I’ll do that.”

“Great,” Sanji says.

“Great!” you echo, perhaps a bit too chipper.

He gives you one last smile before turning and striding from the hotel, firing up the engine as calmly as he can, forcing himself not to turn and check if you’re still watching him through the brightly lit, sliding glass doors. He allows himself a glance through the rear-view mirror as he pulls away from the drive and his heart skips a beat when he realizes you’re still standing there, right in the middle of the lobby, fingers wrapped around the handle of your suitcase, your eyes fixed on the shadow of his retreating car.

He lights the smoke the second he turns the corner, your shadow no longer in his rear-view mirror.

That night, Sanji dreams in fits and leaps, flashing images and long, sticky streams of could-have-beens —

He dreams of your laughter in a white-tiled kitchen, of powdered sugar and eggshells cracked and leaking on an exposed wood counter, chopsticks clinking against a thick glass mixing bowl. He dreams of your voice echoing off the shower tiles as you sing off-key, the way you used to when you’d sneak into his college dorm for movie night and a midnight snack. He dreams of coffee mugs and errant rose petals and dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. He dreams of dancing with you in his arms in a darkened dorm room that morphs into a bigger room with a softer carpet, one that he’d never seen before but he knows implicitly (like bodies know) is his home — it has pictures on the walls, trinkets lining the far bookshelf, your favorite scarf draped over the back of the well-worn sofa.

In the dream, you pull your head back from where it's pillowed against his shoulder and smile up at him. He leans down to kiss you, his lips hovering half an inch from yours.

Sanji jerks awake to the sound of his alarm, fingers fumbling for his phone, groaning as he smashes the orange snooze button and flips over to bury his face back into his lumpy pillow.

“Ah… fuck.”

It’s not the first time he’s had that dream, and he knows it won’t be the last. But it’d been so real that night, real enough to make him wonder if it just might come true.

He rubs at his sleep-crusted eyes and peers blearily at all the notifications on his screen. There’s a text from you with a picture attached. He clicks it open to find a short message attached to the picture — I really did want to surprise you…

He blinks for three seconds at what looks like a blurry picture of studded black silk before he remembers —

“Send me a picture of a corner of the dress — just so I have something to color match against.”

He allows himself a laugh, swinging his feet out of bed even as he types back — you coulda just told me it was black…

He watches the three little dots appear and disappear a few times, chewing on his bottom lip, before the text appears — well there are different shades of black, right???

Sanji laughs, shaking his head.

sure there are.

A string of tongue-out emojis, followed by an equally long string of middle-finger emojis.

He spends the rest of the morning fussing over which specific black tie to wear before settling on one that he’s quite sure is the exact same shade of black as your dress (and yes, he does have quite the collection of black ties), before tugging his best suit out to press.

It shouldn’t feel so easy, slipping back into the rhythm of things, of texting and smiling and hearing your voice in his head when he reads your texts. It shouldn’t feel so easy to forget the months of radio silence and guilt, the oppressive, resonant weight of what might have been if either of you had done a single thing different that day at the airport — he wonders if he should’ve reached for your hand, he wonders if you’d ever looked back.

He hadn’t. He couldn’t let himself.

He is waiting for you in the lobby at 2:45, wearing a hole into the plush Persian carpet, collecting strained looks from the concierge who had assured him three times in the last four minutes that he’d already rung up to your room and that you’d said you were on your way.

“Wow, you’re early — sorry I took a while — I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hair and —“

Sanji lifts his head and thinks distantly that all those rom-com cliches of a guy looking up, time itself slackening, the room smearing sideways around him, the music going slow, the lighting soft — all of it is painfully, startlingly true after all.

Because there you are, walking towards him, still saying something, but he can’t make out the words anymore because time isn’t really a thing anymore, is it? He can’t focus on that and also the dark glimmer of your dress, the way the neckline skates just beneath your collarbones, barely skimming the skin there before it slips down along the slope of your shoulders in a way that makes his breath unspool inside his chest like loose threads.

And in the slanted, ethereal light of the winter afternoon, your dress looks like it’s cut from a swath of darkest midnight, moonless and scattered with stars.

You blush as Sanji attempts to pick his jaw up off the floor and hitch his lips into something resembling a smile.

“W-wow… you look…”

Your smile is shy as you press your palms against the dress, looking down, “Thanks… you don’t think it’s… too much?”

Sanji shakes his head, feeling dazed.

“No! I mean — it’s —“ his mouth is dry, drier than he ever remembers it being, and suddenly it’s very hard to swallow and Sanji isn’t even sure the muscles in his neck know how to perform the action, let alone force words out alongside it. He struggles for another few seconds, his jaw working furiously as his eyes skitter down and back up the shape of you.

“You look… perfect,” he says, finally, because the word has been ricocheting around his chest like a stray bullet and he had to let it out somehow.

“Thanks — you don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, your voice breathy in a way that makes Sanji’s stomach squeeze.

He offers you his arm, and you glide forward to take it.

He drives the three blocks to the wedding venue in a daze, his mind spinning slow and off-axis, tilted so by the gentle waft of your perfume, the lullaby of your voice as you chatter nervously about this and that and the weather, I mean, can you believe it’s gonna be an outdoor wedding in the winter? He wonders briefly why you’re so nervous, and then he’s reminded of the reason he’s even here at all — your ex will be here. Ah. Right.

“Ready?” he asks, offering you his arm again as the both of you follow the meandering stream of arriving guests toward the paved outdoor garden area where the ceremony is due to take place.

“No, but… you’re here so…” you let out a breath and for a second, Sanji almost thinks he hears the hint of an ache in your voice. An ache like an old scab picked at too many times, like unrequited love, perhaps. It’s an ache with which Sanji is so intimately familiar that he immediately tamps it down and vows not to think about it again for the rest of the night.

There are stiff-backed waiters wandering around with plates of hors d’oeuvres and thin flutes of bubbling pink champagne.

Sanji grabs two glasses and hands you one.

“Cheers, then.”

“Bottoms up,” you say, tossing back the entire flute in one.

Sanji cocks his eyebrows, grinning as he follows suit, smacking his lips.

“Alright then, I guess if that’s how you’re playin’ —”

Your laughter is light, if a little strained, but he remembers how quickly bubbly drinks tend to go to your head and makes a concerted effort to slow down. You make it all the way through the actual ceremony without bumping into your ex, though you do lean over and grab Sanji’s hand as the bride and groom exchange vows — something about love being a choice, one that they promise to make every morning of every day for the rest of their lives — and he looks over to find you misty-eyed, bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“Sap,” he whispers, leaning over. It earns him a choked laugh and a half-hearted elbow in the ribs, but it’s worth it to see the tension melt from your shoulders.

Sanji turns back towards the bride and groom, exchanging rings now, and unbidden comes the images of you and him standing where they are — you in a dazzling white gown, him still in a dark suit, but one perhaps of more expensive material and much better tailoring. He thinks about all the things he might promise you, wonders at what you might promise him in return —

“I promise to love and cherish you —” you might say.

“I promise to make all your favorite foods,” he might say.

“I promise not to touch your emotional support le creuset pans.”

“I promise not to make you taste all my experimental dishes —”

“Okay, but what if I want to —”

He imagines the way the crowd would titter, how the officiator would affectionately clear his throat. He imagines Zeff’s warm, well-worn laughter, rough and a little torn at the edges because he’s just as sentimental as the next guy behind all the beard and gruffness. He imagines the crowd smiling up at the pair of you, the way you’d squeeze his hands to get the both of you back on track —

He jerks out of his reverie as you tug your hand away from his to clap, and it takes him a beat to realize that everyone else is clapping and cheering too. He blinks — the bride and groom are kissing, pulling apart as the music swells around them and they link hands to walk back down the aisle.

Sanji clears his throat and hurriedly gets up to clap as well, his eyes trailing the radiant smiles on both the newlyweds’ faces. Another sharp ache sings through him but he feels your hand in his again and he can’t tell if he wants to grip you tighter or pull away. They’d both hurt just as much, wouldn’t they?

“C’mon, let’s get inside — I wanna judge the catering with you,” you whisper, your breath tickling his cheek, and he knows without having to look that you’re standing on your tiptoes, your chin almost propped on his shoulder.

He fights down a bout of shivers and smiles, “My favorite part of any formal event, honestly.”

You laugh, “I know — me too.”

So you spend the entire dinner service whispering to each other about the food —

“God, this steak is so well done I think it just might dislocate my jaw —”

“What’s in this sauce?”

Sanji chews thoughtfully before making a face, “Dunno, but it’s got oregano.”

“Oh the cake looks good though.”

“Yeah, but we both know how much sugar and butter goes into that right?”

You nudge him with an elbow, “Weird, cause I’m pretty sure happiness is also made of sugar and butter.”

“Well for me, it’s always been…” but Sanji trails off, biting his tongue. No. He can’t say that — not now. Not here.

Because for him, happiness has always just been you.

So instead, he swallows passed his own mouthful of regrets and attempts a lopsided grin. And thankfully, your attention is drawn elsewhere by a loud peal of laughter before he has to make a shitty joke about happiness being a well-lit kitchen and a gas-lit stove.

You’re both at least a bottle of champagne deep when it finally happens, inevitable as a summer storm — your ex saunters up to you on the dance floor, sporting a grease-slick grin, eyeing you up and down like a piece of well-cut meat. Sanji is at the bar, grabbing more drinks and you’re catching a breath of fresh air just outside the dance hall.

“Well, well, well — look who it is.”

Sanji turns sharply at the sound of the voice, his eyes narrowing — Asshat. Fantastic. The bartender is putting the finishing touches on two custom cocktails but blinks, confused, as Sanji swipes both drinks out from the bar and casts him a hurried grin.

“Thanks mate, these look great,” Sanji raises the cocktail glasses at the bewildered bartender before hurrying off, slowing ever so slightly as he reaches you, straightening his spine and smoothing out his shoulders.

“Here, got them special-made for you,” he says, pressing the cocktail into your hand, cutting into something that Asshat is saying.

“Oh! Thanks — oh wow, this looks so good!” you beam up at him, taking a sip.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you were still hangin’ out with this guy,” Asshat says, hooking his thumbs into his belt-hoops and jutting out his chin.

You frown, pressing your lips, “Excuse me?”

Asshat scoffs, posturing, “I mean, when we broke up, it was cause o’him right? So I just thought you might’ve realized what a mistake that was and —”

Sanji barely has the time to feel offended before Asshat is gasping and stumbling back. You’d tossed the remainder of your drink straight into his face.

“What the —” Asshat sputters, his fists clenching, but quick as anything, Sanji swipes out a leg that catches him right in the shins and makes him stumble. In one fluid movement, Sanji pushes his own drink into your hand before reaching out the other arm to steady the now flailing Asshat, catching him around the shoulders.

“Whoa there! Seems like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend!” he says, loud enough for the people around you to hear. He thumps Asshat on the back in a would-be kind gesture before tugging him close, still coughing, and hissing in his ear —

“Listen here, you asswipe — you’re gonna turn around and walk away and stay the fuck away from us for the rest of this wedding, you understand? I’ve got plenty more o’this for ya if you don’t, got it?”

Sanji scuffs his foot along the gravel-covered ground in a motion that could easily be mistaken as fidgeting, but you know better. And so, it seems, does Asshat, who scoffs and shoves Sanji off him with a glare, but after another second, straightens his drink-soaked jacket, turns, and stalks away.

You let out a long breath, swallowing hard.

“Hey darlin’… you alright?” Sanji turns and bends down to level his eyes with yours.

“Y-yeah — thanks — you didn’t need to —”

“Nah. Course I did — it’s why you invited me, right?” he allows himself a lopsided grin that borders on self-deprecating and you look up, eyes wide.

“No! I — that’s not —”

“It’s okay, love — I promise I’m not offended —” Sanji’s babbling, he knows he is — but he has to, because the alternative of letting you speak, of letting you confirm what he already knows to be true (that you’ve only ever seen him as a best friend, that you love him in all the ways except for the one way he wants you to, in the one way he loves you) is too much. He tucks his hands in his pockets and shrugs up his shoulders, pulling them up towards his ears like armor.

And then you lean in and kiss him, and every single word he’s ever thought of saying just to fill the silence turns to mist and mornings on his tongue. His mind turns blissfully blank and when he regains consciousness (or has he? Because isn’t this the dream he’s dreamt every waking moment of his life for the past… however many years?), he thanks every god he can name that he feels his fingers in your hair, his other hand cupping the soft curve of your jaw. He tastes your uncertainty against his lips and presses in, hoping, praying that if he just kissed you hard enough you might understand.

When you pull away, he can’t help the satisfied purr that curls up his chest at the pinkness in your cheeks and the slightly glazed-over look in your eyes.

“O-oh — sorry I —”

Sanji shakes his head, leaning in to push his forehead against yours.

“Nah, nah, nah — if you tell me that was a mistake now I might just turn around and never speak to you ever again — because don’t you dare —”

You let out a helpless laugh, shaking your head as you reach up to cover his hands with yours. It’s only then that he realizes they’d been shaking. He swallows and he thinks he can taste every single morning after for the rest of his goddamn life in the whisper of your breath.

“It — it’s not, I wasn’t —” you close your eyes and Sanji holds you still, foreheads still pressed. Distantly, Sanji is aware that people are cheering, that more drinks are being poured, that the dance floor is probably a mess. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’ll care about anything else ever again — why would he? Now that he’s got you.

“Shh… take your time, love… we’ve got all the time in the world.”

He feels the relief take you, and then you’re falling into him, burying your face in the lapel of his suit jacket, probably smearing it with your foundation. Vaguely, Sanji considers framing it when he gets home.

“I’m… I’m sorry it took so long — I’m sorry I didn’t — that I wasn’t…” you curl your fist into the material of his shirt and thump him lightly on the chest, even as he laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“I know, darlin’… I know.” Sanji presses his lips into your hair and can’t help a smile.

Finally. Finally.

Your hair smells like citrus shampoo.

Finally.

“I thought about you every single day,” you admit, your voice small when you finally pull back to look at him again. He thinks there might be tears in your eyes, or maybe it’s just the starlight caught in the thick night sky of your lashes.

“Did you now?” he asks, fumbling for some semblance of normalcy amidst this night of revelations.

You nod, fervently, and god he wants to kiss you again. Briefly, he wonders if he should, if he’s allowed to now. Instead, he smiles and cocks his head.

“So? What changed?” and he can’t help the tiny note of hurt out of his voice, the slightest shiver of disbelief. After all, cynicism is a hard habit to break.

Especially after so many years of practice.

You shrug, sighing, “Nothing — everything. I mean — I’d always… but then I thought — you had your career as a chef and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. But it —” you lick your lips, and Sanji nearly breaks when you tear your eyes away from his. He wants to force you back, to soak in the dark and bright of your gaze till he can see the world exactly as you see it.

“It’s always been you…” you say.

At this, Sanji does break. He tips your face towards him with a thumb and a forefinger and leans in, waiting for you to pull back, bracing for it. But you don’t — instead, you press in and close the space between you again, and again, and then again.

He wants to tell you — he needs to tell you that it’s always been you too, that there’s never been anyone else. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he’s known, even though both of you were children back then, and neither of you had any idea what “love” actually meant. He knew then, too.

“Love…” his voice trails off, but you smile, and he knows you know, knows that you can hear it in the rawness behind his voice, in the softness of his breath, in the way it shakes.

You make to kiss him again. But your lips hover half an inch from his and you stop. Sanji sighs.

“What — why’d you stop?”

Your smile is sweet and sharp, honey glinting on a razor’s edge, and he knows that he has you. And maybe that he’s always had you and was just too blind, too terrified, to see it.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s a metaphor.”

Sanji groans, “Fuck your metaphors.”

You bat your lashes, pulling an expression of mock affront onto your face.

“Well at least wine me and dine me first —”

Sanji licks his lips, “What’dyou think I’ve been trying to do for the last ten years?”

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

Sanji smirks and kisses you again, slowly this time, languid and deep. Unhurried. He luxuriates in the way you go soft in his arms, in the way he can feel the gentle hitch of your breath as he runs his tongue along the edges of your teeth, coaxing you towards him, closer and closer and closer.

The hardest, angriest part of him wants to swallow you whole, bite down just to hear you hiss, to taste your blood on his tongue. To make you feel even a sliver of the pain he’d felt. He tamps it back down — there’s time for that later.

Instead, he forces himself to pull back and allows himself the satisfaction of watching you chase him, pursing your own lips with a bashful look away, your cheeks dark.

“So,” Sanji takes half a step back, puffing out his chest in the best imitation of a fuckboy at a wedding party, “wanna get outta here?”

You let out a helpless laugh, falling into his side. He lets the sound ring through him like so many silver bells.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He chuckles, looping an arm around your middle and leaning towards your ear.

“Your place, or mine?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure I still have a toothbrush at your place.”

Sanji hums, “You still have a whole drawer at my place.”

You smile up at him, open and happy and sincere, “Then… I guess that’s your answer then.”

[bradleysass]

Walburga Black - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 620

French Translations at the bottom. And there's a lot of French in here.

Regulus’ fingers trembled as he unfolded the letter, the wax seal already cracked down the middle. His mother’s precise, scathing script bled across the parchment like a blade cutting through silk. Every word carried the same weight it always did—expectation, disappointment, thinly veiled manipulation.

He barely made it halfway through before he snatched his phone off the counter and dialed. The ringing felt like an eternity before a familiar voice answered.

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux, Regulus?" Sirius’ tone was suspicious, but Regulus had no patience for it.

"Elle a encore osé m'écrire." His voice was tight, seething.

A pause. Then, with a scoff, "Bien sûr qu’elle l’a fait. Qu'est-ce qu'elle veut cette fois?"

James, sitting cross-legged on the couch, glanced up at him. He had been flipping through a Quidditch magazine, but the second Regulus’ tone sharpened, he set it down.

Regulus exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the phone tighter. "Elle pense toujours que je vais revenir, Sirius. Que tout ça n'était qu'une… qu'une phase ridicule—comme si elle pouvait juste effacer mes choix!"

Sirius laughed bitterly. "Oh, évidemment. Parce que la famille Black est incapable de comprendre qu’on puisse vouloir autre chose que leur foutue idée de perfection."

"Exactement!" Regulus snapped, pacing now. James’ eyes followed him carefully, his brows furrowing.

"Je lui ai dit, encore et encore, que je n'étais pas son putain de pantin—mais elle refuse d'écouter!"

James’ lips parted slightly, like he wanted to interject, but he hesitated. He knew better than to interrupt when Regulus was on a rant, especially in another language.

"Elle ne t'écoutera jamais," Sirius said, voice softer now, but no less filled with venom. "Elle veut juste garder le contrôle. Si elle pense qu’elle peut encore t’atteindre, elle continuera."

"Mais pourquoi est-ce que ça me touche encore?" Regulus ran a frustrated hand through his hair. His chest ached with something ugly—anger, resentment, and something dangerously close to guilt. "Pourquoi j’ai encore cette foutue envie de lui prouver qu’elle a tort?"

James stood then, quietly stepping closer. He didn’t understand a single word of what was being said, but he recognized the way Regulus’ breath hitched at the end. He reached out carefully, resting a hand against the small of Regulus’ back. A grounding touch.

Regulus sighed, finally pinching the bridge of his nose. He was spiraling. He could feel it.

"Elle ne te mérite pas, Reg." Sirius’ voice softened completely now, all the fire simmering into something gentler. "Et tu n’as plus rien à lui prouver."

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut. He hated that he still needed to hear that.

"Je sais," he muttered. "Je sais."

There was a beat of silence before Sirius added, "James est là?"

Regulus huffed a laugh, finally leaning back into James’ touch. "Oui."

"Il comprend quelque chose?"

"Pas un mot."

Sirius snorted. "Pauvre con."

James, clearly recognizing his name, perked up. "What? What’d he say?"

Regulus tilted his head up to look at him, lips twitching. "He called you a poor idiot."

James gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Rude!" Then, softer, "You okay?"

Regulus exhaled, nodding slowly. The rage had settled into a dull throb, manageable with James standing so close.

"Merci, Sirius," he murmured.

"Toujours," Sirius promised.

As the call ended, James wasted no time wrapping his arms around Regulus, pressing a kiss into his temple. "I have no idea what just happened, but you survived another French showdown, and I’m very proud of you."

Regulus chuckled against his shoulder. "It’s really just the only way I know how to complain about my mother."

James hummed. "Maybe I should learn French."

Regulus pulled back slightly, raising a brow. "You’d regret it."

James grinned, kissing him properly this time. "Doubt it."

Qu'est-ce que tu veux : What do you want Elle a encore osé m'écrire: She has again dared to write to me Bien sûr qu’elle l’a fait. : Of course she did Qu'est-ce qu'elle veut cette fois? : What does she want this time? Elle pense toujours que je vais revenir : She always thinks I'm going to come back. Que tout ça n'était qu'une… qu'une phase ridicule—comme si elle pouvait juste effacer mes choix! : That it was all just a... a ridiculous phase—as if it could just erase my choices! Oh, évidemment. Parce que la famille Black est incapable de comprendre qu’on puisse vouloir autre chose que leur foutue idée de perfection. : Oh, of course. Because the Black family can't understand how anyone could want anything other than their damn idea of perfection. Exactement! : Exactly! Je lui ai dit, encore et encore, que je n'étais pas son putain de pantin—mais elle refuse d'écouter! : I've told her, over and over again, that I'm not her fucking puppet—but she refuses to listen! Elle ne t'écoutera jamais,: She'll never listen to you Elle veut juste garder le contrôle. Si elle pense qu’elle peut encore t’atteindre, elle continuera. : She just wants to stay in control. If she thinks she can still get to you, she'll keep going Mais pourquoi est-ce que ça me touche encore? : But why does it still affect me? Pourquoi j’ai encore cette foutue envie de lui prouver qu’elle a tort? : Why do I still have this damn desire to prove her wrong? Elle ne te mérite pas, Reg. : She doesn't deserve you, Reg Et tu n’as plus rien à lui prouver. : And you don't have to prove anything to her. Je sais : I know James est là? : Is James there? Il comprend quelque chose? : Does he understand anything? Pas un mot. : Not a word. Pauvre con : Poor idiot.

[achilles-rage]

Good Luck Charm: Chapter 8

college football player!buck x plus size!reader

summary: you decide to skip class with evan, and he takes you back to your apartment. after a slight argument, and an awkward run-in with your roommate, he invites you to homecoming at the end of the week.

word count: 6.1k

previous chapter

A/N: YUPPPPP FIC TITLE FINALLY DROPPED!!! this chapter may have gotten away from my, my b. but i like how it turned out hehe. enjoy<33

warnings: no use of y/n, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader, inexperienced!reader, slight smut, angst

MDNI- 18+ only!

It’s almost halfway through October, and everyone around campus is getting ready for homecoming. You’ve never really been interested in it, but with Evan on the football team, you can feel yourself getting a little bit excited about it.

You’re walking to your class with Evan, the one that assigned you as partners for your assignment, when you both get an email from your professor. You both read it at the same time, your professor telling you that she’s made this class a work period for your assignment, since she knows most people won’t be there anyway because of homecoming. A large smile breaks onto Evan’s face as he takes his eyes off his phone screen and looks over at you, stopping you in your tracks and making you face each other.

“Will you skip with me now, princess? We’re already way ahead, I’m sure you can skip just this once.” You fight back a smile as you turn your head to look at him, shaking your head. You know you don’t really have to be there, but you really don’t want to make a habit of skipping class. You’re both in your last year, and you want to make sure you end on a high note.

“But if we use this class, we can get more ahead.” you tell him in a slightly teasing tone, making him smirk. He knows you’re on the edge of giving in, so he tilts his head to the side as he looks down at you, murmuring a soft “please?” 

You purse your lips, pretending to think it over for a moment, while he desperately waits. Finally, you smile widely up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tilt your head to the same side as his.

“I guess I can skip class just this once.” you say with a soft sigh, laughing softly as a smirk breaks out on his face. He puts his hands on your wide hips, squeezing them softly as he speaks.

“Good girl. You won’t regret it. Is your roommate home?” You feel your heartbeat quicken at his words, and your lips part slightly as you try not to look away. You shake your head, swallowing as you think about it. Is he alluding to what you think he’s alluding to?

“Good. I’m taking you there. One of my roommate’s is home all day today.” he says quickly, then takes your hand and all but drags you in the direction of your apartment. 

You giggle softly at his eagerness, but let him drag you along, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

“Not everyone has your long ass legs.” you tease as you finally catch up to him. He squeezes your hand, giving you a wink as he glances down at you beside him.

“I’ll pick you up and carry you if I have to.” he matches your tone, licking his lips as he turns onto your street. You’re not that far from campus, and right now, he’s very thankful for that.

Your eyes widen at his words, and you quickly shake your head, feeling nervousness in your belly. 

“You absolutely will not.” you tell him sternly, a small laugh escaping your lips. It makes your stomach flip to think about, but you really don’t want him to try. You’re sure he’s used to smaller girls, and you’d rather die than see him struggle to pick you up, or not be able to pick you up at all.

He guides you to your apartment quickly, and stands behind you while you unlock the door, his hands making their way to your hips again.

“This place is nice.” he trails off once you get inside, eyes surveying the room in more detail, having been distracted the last time he was briefly in your apartment.

“You’ve seen it before.” You roll your eyes as you drop your bag on the kitchen counter, watching as he stands in the hallway, looking around your living room. He turns to you once he’s finished and makes his way over to you, dropping his bag beside yours before he pushes you back against the kitchen counter. You feel his warm hands on your waist through your thin dress, and you look up at him, feeling all your nerves melt away as you take in his soft expression. He’s looking at you with a dazed smile, taking in the fact that he finally has you all to himself.

“So, what’s your roommate’s schedule like?” You put your hands on his chest as you raise a brow. 

“Why does that matter?” you ask in a confused tone. Why is he bringing up your roommate right now? “Because I wanna know how much time I have with you before she comes home and interrupts us.” he purrs, and you feel your mouth go dry, Now is the time, you think. You desperately want more of him, and you feel like you’re finally ready for it.

“She has a long day today. She’ll be gone until late.” you inform him softly, tilting your head to the side as you move to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. 

“Good to know.” he mumbles with a smirk before leaning down to your lips, his mouth meeting yours in a searing kiss. You moan softly as his hands move down to your hips, squeezing them softly. You part your lips slightly and allow his tongue to enter your mouth, as if claiming you. One of your hands makes its way to his hair, which makes him hum softly. Slowly, he brings one of his hands down to your thigh and raises your dress, letting his fingers move up to your panties sitting on your hip. You feel your breath catch in your throat as his hand dances across your waistband, toward the middle of your stomach, and he picks up on this, leaning back to look at your face.

“Just relax, princess. You’re being such a good girl for me.” you whimper softly at his words, feeling his fingers slowly dipping under the waistband of your panties, but not moving right to where you want him.

“I'm sorry.” you mumble, looking up at him with wide eyes as your hands trail down to his biceps. You hold them firmly, trying to ground yourself, torn between giving into your nerves and giving in completely to what you want him to do. He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he stops his fingers from moving any further.

“You don’t need to be sorry, princess. You’re good. There’s nothing to be nervous about. I’m gonna take care of you. Promise.” he purrs, leaning his head down to kiss your neck softly, fingers starting to go lower, just centimeters from your slit.

“I’ve never-” you say quickly, trailing off right before his fingers make contact. You figure you should be honest with him, as embarrassed as you feel about it.

“You’re- You’re telling me you’re a virgin?” he asks slowly, his brows furrowing slightly at your words. He knew you weren’t as experienced as him, not many were, but he didn’t think you were this inexperienced. He can’t help but move his hand out of your panties as you nod, mind working in overdrive as he takes in the new information. He wants to do so many things to you right now, but he knows he has to be far more gentle than he originally thought.

You blink slowly as he pulls his hand away, inhaling a shaky breath as you push his hands off of you and cross your arms over your chest. You take his surprise as disappointment, and you feel intense embarrassment wash over you as you look down, tears threatening to escape your eyes. 

“No, no, no. Wait a minute. I’m not mad, baby. You just surprised me, I wasn’t expecting that.” he tries to reassure you, noticing your walls coming back up as you avoid his eyes. You shake your head, leaning back as far as you could, still trapped between him and the counter, his hands quickly reaching out to grab your hips again. 

“I thought it was obvious! I could barely even kiss you!” you exclaim softly, looking up at him as a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you for it. I knew you weren’t experienced; I just didn’t think you were a virgin.” he says softly, reaching up to take your arms from your chest. He then takes your face in his hands, forcing you to look up at him. You sniffle softly. You feel pathetic; you can’t believe you’re crying right now. 

“You seemed like you were upset.” you tell him, your voice barely audible. He sighs, leaning forward and kissing your forehead softly.

“I’m not upset, princess. I’m just- I don’t know what to do right now.” Your brows furrow slightly at his words, and you try to lean away from his touch. You can’t help the tears forming in your eyes again as you speak.

“So, you don’t want me anymore?” You can’t believe how today is going. You were about to give yourself to him, and now it feels like that’s so far from happening, you might as well not even think about it. He sees your face fall, and he shakes his head quickly, keeping your face in his hands despite you leaning away.

“No. God, no. That’s not what I meant. I want you, so bad. You have no idea how much. I just- Are you sure you want your first time to be with me?” he asks you softly, his thumbs gently running across your cheeks in a desperate attempt to calm your nerves.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask, your voice slightly louder. Your brows are furrowed. Why is he asking you this? Of course you want him. You thought that was obvious by now. 

“Because I have to be gentle with you, and patient. But, with the thoughts I’m having right now, I don’t know if I could be.” You bite your lip, your eyes softening at his words. You’re so desperate for him at this point that the things he’s saying are going in one ear and out the other. Your roommates' words ring through your head, and you know that right now you just want to get it over with.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” He scoffs slightly at your words. He begins to realize that you don’t quite understand him. If he weren’t so nervous about not hurting you, he’d have you pinned down on your bed, kissing and sucking on your chest and roughly thrusting into you, but he knows he can’t do that yet.

“No, I do, baby. You deserve that. I care about you too much, I don’t wanna hurt you. Ever. Or have you regret it.” You frown slightly at his words.

“Why would I regret it?” He sighs at your question, tilting his head back and closing his eyes for a second to collect his thoughts.

“Baby, you deserve someone who wants everything that you want. A relationship, special treatment. I don’t know if I can give you that. I’ve never been in a serious relationship; I don’t know if I can treat you as well as you deserve.” You can’t help the scoff that escapes your throat, beginning to get angry with him. Where did this switch up come from? Can’t treat you well? You think about when he took you to see the stars. You know he can. If he doesn’t want an actual relationship, you’re starting to think you can handle that, as long as he keeps treating you the way he has.

“What if I didn’t want a relationship?” you challenge, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. You’re beginning to think he just doesn’t want you, and he’s just too scared to be honest.

“Princess, I know you well enough. You’re not that type of girl.” You huff softly, looking away for a moment. He can’t believe your words. It’s like you’re a different person right now; the shy and soft-spoken girl from the last few weeks is nowhere to be found.

“I could be.” It’s his turn to scoff as he shakes his head, giving you a “really?” look.

“I don’t want you to be just so you can be with me.” he tells you, his face falling slightly. His head is reeling, he doesn’t want this new information to change anything, but he can’t help the nerves creeping into his stomach that he’ll be your first. It feels like it changes everything.

“Where is this coming from? Why are you pulling away all of a sudden?” you ask him, your angry tone slowly slipping away, being replaced with a hint of sadness.

“I don’t know, princess. This is all new to me. I don’t know what to do.” He runs his hands over his face, turning away from you and taking a step away. He hopes taking a step away will somehow make his thoughts make sense. Your presence messes with his head. He’s never felt this way before, and it scared him to think that he could mess it up so easily.

“Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to go find a random guy to sleep with and then come back to you? Make it easier for you?” You ask sarcastically, taking a step forward, your arms flailing as you speak. You’re joking, but a small part of you thinks you might just do it if it means you can keep seeing him like this. He takes his hands away from his face, giving you a stern look.

“Absolutely not. I would never let that happen.” he says, his tone low. Jealousy fills every inch of him as he imagines you with another guy, letting him put his hands and mouth all over your soft body. You scoff, running your tongue along the inside of your teeth at his sudden outburst.

“Then what the hell do you want? You don’t want me, but you don’t want me with another guy. So, what?” You can feel your anger bubbling up as you speak in an exasperated tone. He’s not making any sense. He doesn’t want you, but he doesn’t want you to get with someone else?

“I don’t want you to find a random guy at a party. I want you to have someone who’ll treat you with respect. That wants to take his time with you.” You feel yourself move before your brain catches up to you, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him hard.

“Then do it.” you tell him once you pull back. You notice how quick his hands are back on your hip and your jaw, and you think it’s a good sign.

He looks down at you, his breathing quicker than normal as he thinks it over. He’s torn. As much as he wants to give you everything, he’s nervous that he won’t be able to. Your eyes search his as he thinks, and you see in his eyes that he’s about to cave.

You stand up on your toes again and kiss him, slowly walking him back to the couch and pushing him down onto it. You move to straddle his waist, putting both of your hands on his face as his hands find your hips. You’re not sure where your newfound confidence is coming from, but you’re too caught up in the moment to think about it.

“Baby I-” he pulls away after a moment, knowing he can’t just give in to you. He can feel his pants getting tighter as he feels your clothed heat over him, and it’s taking everything in him not to flip you onto your back and rip your clothes off.

“Will you try? You’re better than you think you are. Will you give yourself a chance?” you cut him off, speaking softly, one hand twirling a small lock of hair on the base of his neck. He groans at your words. He can see the hope in your eyes, and he really doesn’t want to let you down.

“Okay, I’ll try. For you.” he says after a moment with a small sigh, and he can’t help but mirror you as you give him a big small. You lean into his lips again, whining softly as he pulls you further down against his lap. 

“God, you’re gorgeous. My pretty girl.” he purrs against your lips. You smile at his words, beginning to move your hips against his in a slow grind. He groans, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulls away.

“You’re making it really hard for me to hold back, princess.” he tells you softly, licking his lips as he looks up at your puffy lips and blown pupils. The only thing on your mind is him, how his hands feel on you, how his lips will feel as they trail down your body. You bring your hands down to the hem of his shirt, and he lets you pull it over his head before you let it drop to the floor. Your eyes take in his bare torso, biting your lip as you trace your fingers down his bare chest.

“We can’t do this, princess. Not today.” he murmurs, eyes trailing down over your clothed figure, aching to see more.

“Please.” you whisper, and his eyes snap back up to your face at the softness of your plea.

“No. No. Don’t give me that look.” he gets out, his hands itching to grope every inch of your body.

“What look?” you ask innocently, looking at him with big, doe eyes. You fight back a smile as he groans, tilting his head back to rest on the couch.

“That look. Those big eyes. I know what you want, princess, but I’m trying to hold onto some shred of resistance here.” he tells you sternly, raising his head back up to look at you. You laugh softly, running your hands through his hair.

“So don’t.” you lean in, whispering in his ear. He can feel your warm breath on his neck, and he’s getting painfully hard as you all but plead for him to take you.

“Stop, princess. Please.” he begs. He can feel his resistance hanging on by a thread. He wants nothing more than to do what you’re asking him to do, but he knows he has to hold back.

“Do you really want me to stop?” you whisper in his ear, leaning down to kiss his neck softly.

“Yes. No. Fuck, princess, I should tell you to stop.” you sit back, looking at his expression. You know he’s still holding back a little, so you try to set your nerves aside as you reach for the hem of your dress, pulling it slowly off your body and dropping it onto the floor. He lets in a sharp breath as he takes in your exposed form. He smirks as he takes in your heaving chest, and the way your hands start to shake in slight nervousness. You can’t help the twisting in your stomach as he takes in your nearly bare body. You know he must like your body enough; he’s been with you for weeks, but you can’t help but still feel a little insecure as he sees you without clothes covering your soft curves.

“What are you doing?” His eyes don’t leave your torso, and he fights back a groan as his eyes land on your soft belly. He can’t help but let his hands move from your hips to the sides of your stomach, tracing the stretch marks littered across your form.

“It’s hot in here.” you murmur with a soft giggle, shrugging. His eyes move back up to your face, and he raises a brow at your obvious lie.

“We both know that’s not why you did that.” he teases softly. He licks his lips, trying desperately to keep his eyes trained on yours.

“Prove it.” you tease him back, leaning back to his neck and kissing him again, your hips instinctively moving against his.

“This isn’t fair, princess. You know what you’re doing.” he groans, his hands gripping your hips even tighter, unsure if he wants to help guide your hips against him or stop your movements completely.

“Please. Touch me.” you whisper before bringing your lips to his, parting your lips as he slides his tongue into your mouth. 

He feels the last of his resistance snapping at your soft pleading. He trails one of his hands to the waistband of your panties again, slowly dipping his fingers into them. You buck your hips as his hands move down to your core, and he feels how wet you are for him. He groans as he feels your arousal, slowly moving his fingers to circle your clit, pulling a soft whimper from your lips as you pull away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his shoulder.

He wants so badly to go further; wanting to feel his fingers slowly stretch you out, but he holds back. He increases his pace slightly, chuckling as he hears your continued whimpering and heavy breathing. He’s barely done a thing, and you’re already so desperate for him. 

“You like that, princess? That feel good?” he asks softly, using his unoccupied hand to tilt your head up and meet your lips in a searing kiss. 

You nod, whispering a breathy “yes” against his lips, moving your hips against his fingers, desperate for more. He chuckles softly, continuing to move his fingers at a slow pace, coating his fingers with your wetness to help with his movements.

As he keeps moving his fingers, you feel your release quickly approaching, so unused to feeling someone else’s fingers on your, and your moans and whimpers become louder and more breathy. You lean back from his lips, tilting your head back as your hands move to his shoulders, your grip tightening.

“You close, pretty girl?” he asks softly, putting one hand on your chin to tilt your head back down, forcing you to hold eye contact. You nod, your breaths coming out in shallow pants as you teeter on the edge.

“Let go for me, princess. Keep your eyes on me.” His words are all it takes for you to fall over the edge. Your body tenses as you come on his fingers, hips bucking slightly as you chase your high. He smiles at how hard you’re trying to keep your eyes on him, and slows his fingers, but he doesn’t stop them completely, instead guiding you through your release. 

“You did so good, princess. So good for me.” he whispers, his hand reaching up to the back of your head as you lean your forehead against his shoulder again. He pulls his other hand out of your panties and brings them to his lips, sucking them clean with a low moan. He savours your taste, trying to commit it to memory.

After a moment, you catch your breath, and lean back off his shoulder. You meet his lips again in a soft kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, slowly moving your hands down to his belt, itching for more. He sucks in a sharp breath and reaches down to stop your hands, shaking his head softly as he pulls back from your lips. 

“Not now, princess. That’s enough for today.” You whine softly at his words, but they make you think. For today? He was adamant before about not doing anything intimate with you, and now, you’re not sure where you stand. 

“So, what does this mean?” you ask softly after a moment of silence. He sighs, tilting his head back against the couch, thinking for a moment. He’s still so torn. He knows doing what he just did maybe wasn’t the best way to go about this confusing situation, but he loved the soft whimpers falling from your lips so much that he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“I don’t know.” he tells you after a moment, raising his head back up to look at you.

“Were you serious? About caring about me?” you ask, tilting your head to the side as you fidget with your fingers in your lap.

“Of course, princess.” You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning ever so slightly closer to him.

“So, now what?” you ask again, hoping he’ll know what to do. This is so new to you. You know he’s not completely used to this either, but you think he might have a better idea of how to navigate this.

“Well, I know I want more of you. I don’t just wanna be with you once and then disappear. I want to keep you.” Your smile widens at his admission and you look down for a moment, face growing hot.

“Keep me?” you ask softly, looking into his eyes as he raises your face back up to his.

“Yeah, however I can. I wanna take you on a date, I wanna go to parties with you. I want you with me. I don’t want you with anyone else.” He knows he’s not making any sense right now, but he’s telling the truth. His thoughts are so jumbled that he can’t make sense of himself. He’s hoping that you’ll be able to; he admires how smart you are.

“And you said you didn’t know if you could give me that.” you remind him, brows furrowed. He lets out a soft laugh, shrugging before his expression goes serious again.

“Yeah. But, I want you. I want you to be mine. My girl.” he mumbles the last part more to himself, a small smile making its way back onto his face at the thought. You’re in slight disbelief. He’s singing a completely different tune than a few minutes ago, and as much as it surprises you, it makes your stomach flip.

“Yeah?” you ask, almost inaudibly, your eyes full of hope.

“Yeah.” he tells you matter of factly, feeling his heart race as it sinks in. You’re going to be his. 

“Okay.” You’re not sure what else to say. You laugh softly, leaning into his chest, resting your cheek against it. He rubs his hand up and down your back, relishing in the fact that you’re all his to touch, to take care of.

You listen to his heartbeat for a few minutes, and then lean back to meet his gaze.

“I’m yours.” you mumble in a daze, a wide smile spreading across your cheeks. He chuckles softly, nodding as he runs a thumb across your cheek.

“All mine, princess.” He pulls you in for another kiss, hands moving back down to your hips as yours hold his head. 

As you continue kissing, you hear your apartment door open. You pull back with wide eyes and jump off of him, sitting beside him on the couch and pulling a blanket over your exposed body before your roommate, Lindsey, sees you.

Her eyes glance between the both of you once she rounds the corner, a smirk forming on her face as her eyes trail across his bare chest. She can see how tightly you’re holding the blanket, and your dress still on the floor in front of the couch, and she immediately knows what she just walked into.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Evan says smugly, leaning back and extending his arm behind you on the back of the couch. He’s very clearly not embarrassed by his exposed torso, or the position you’ve been caught in, and it makes your blood boil. Your head snaps to him, giving him a glare at his tone, your cheeks hot in embarrassment.

“Hi,” your roommate says slowly, dropping her back onto the living room chair, “what are you guys doing?” Your eyes trail back to her, eyes narrowed. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she finds it hilarious. 

“Nothing. Just, um, working on some homework.” you reply softly. You’re not sure why you’re lying. You all know exactly what’s going on, and she’s your best friend, but you can’t stop the lie tumbling from your lips awkwardly.

“Homework, huh? This your study buddy?” she teases, crossing her arms over her chest, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

“I’m Evan.” he informs her, that stupid smirk still plastered on his face. If Lindsey wasn’t here, you’d smack the smirk right off his face.

“Right. You guys been studying all night together?” she asks innocently, but her face is anything but. You groan softly, hiding your face in your hands. You hear Evan chuckle beside you.

“No need to get shy, princess. We’re all friends here.” you glare at him through your fingers, which makes his smirk widen.

“Don’t you have to go now?” you ask Evan in a low tone as you pull your hands away from your face, giving him a knowing look.

“What? No, I-” He’s cut off by your hand colliding with his chest. It’s not enough to hurt, of course, but enough to stop him mid-thought. “I mean, yeah. I should, uh, get going. Don’t wanna be late to that, thing. You wanna walk me out, princess?” You look back over at your roommate with an innocent smile, hoping to be out of this situation soon. You don’t move, painfully aware that you’re almost naked under the blanket, and you know that Evan knows. He just wants to see you get as flustered as possible. 

Lindsey’s eyes travel back down to your dress on the floor and laughs softly before she turns to walk to the kitchen, making herself look busy as she gives you both time to get dressed.

You jump off the couch and grab your dress and his shirt, throwing his shirt at him and putting your dress on quickly, smoothing it down as he catches his shirt and puts it on. You grab his hand, tugging him off the couch and pushing him towards the door, your roommate and him fighting back laughs at your awkward movements.

“Right. You should hurry. Don’t wanna be late for your, uh, thing.” you say softly, opening the door and pushing him into the hallway, barely giving him enough time to grab his bag on the counter.

He turns around to face you once he’s in the hallway, laughing softly as he notices that you have your head poked out the door, keeping it open just enough for your head to fit out.

“I’ll see you later?” you ask softly, a hopeful smile on your face.

“Well, actually, homecoming is tomorrow. Would be nice to have my girl there.” Your smile widens at his semi-awkward stance. He raises a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it softly. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly so nervous; he just had you coming on his fingers, but the idea of you in the stands and cheering for him has his head spinning.

You step out into the hallway, closing the door behind you, knowing your roommate is probably listening.

“You want me to come to your game?” He nods, feeling his nerves float away as he takes in the excited expression on your face.

“Yeah, it’d be nice to see you there, in the front row. I can give you my old jersey to wear.” He smirks, stepping closer to you again and putting his hands on your hips. He can’t get enough of them; he loves how soft they are under his fingertips. You feel your nerves come back, thinking about it. Your worst fear is putting it on and it being tight on you. You know it’s a little unrealistic; his jersey has to go over him and all his gear, but you still feel the nerves in your belly anyway.

“You don’t have t-” he cuts you off, now determined to see you in his jersey, with his name on your back.

“No, I do. I wanna see you in it. And I want everyone else to see you in it.” he murmurs before meeting your lips in a soft kiss. You smile into the kiss, feeling yourself cave as you feel his hope conveyed through the kiss.

“I guess I could.” you trail off once you both pull away. He smiles widely, nodding.

“Yeah, you will. But just a heads up, I think the guys on my team will try to flirt with you, some of them get kinda dumb when they see a pretty face.” You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. You’re sure they do get like that, but you doubt you’re any of their types. 

“I doubt that.” you tell him softly, shaking your head.

“No, I’m telling you. With my jersey on, they won’t be able to help themselves.” You furrow your brows, tilting your head to the side, watching his smile widen at the thought of every guy on his team seeing you as his. 

“What does the jersey have to do with anything?” you ask, confused.

“If you have my name on your back, they’ll know your mine. It’s like a challenge, and they’ll wanna get a rise out of me, trust me.” He’s sure he has nothing to worry about, which is why he’s so excited to see them try to flirt with you. He knows you’ll come home with him at the end of the night. He’ll make sure of it.

“Men are weird.” you joke softly, making both of you laugh softly. He shrugs, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he smirks down at you.

“I never said they weren’t. So, you’ll come? It’s a big game,” You nod, and he smiles before he continues “And you’ll come to the afterparty with me too? Wanna show you off some more, celebrate the win with my girl.” You nod again, laughing softly at his adamance that his team will win.

“But, just a heads up. I might be a little more rowdy if we win. Might get a little handsy.” he explains in a slightly teasing tone, but he’s dead serious. He knows how he usually is after a win, and with you, he’ll be even worse.

“In front of everyone?” you tease softly, feeling your nerves slowly creeping into you again. It’s one thing to have his hands on you when you’re alone with him, but it’s another completely to have his hands on you in front of so many people. You’re barely used to his hands on you in general.

“Gotta show everyone that you’re with me. Gotta show off my good luck charm after we win.” You feel your face heat up at his words, and you look down. You nod slowly, eyes trained on the shirt stretched across his chest. You like the idea of being his good luck charm.

“Should I meet you there? At the game?” you ask, looking back up into his eyes, biting your lip softly.

“No, I’ll pick you up. I’ll be here around 6, I’ll give you my jersey, and then you can sit in the front row and cheer me on. God, I can’t wait to see my name on your back.” He mutters the last sentence mostly to himself, groaning at the thought.

“So, I’m guessing that me wearing your jersey is a non-negotiable.” you tease him, giggling softly at his suddenly very serious expression. 

“You’re damn right. Now, gimme a kiss.” he says sternly, putting a hand on the back of your neck and forcing you up onto your toes as he leans down slightly. He tries to deepen the kiss, but you pull back, suddenly remembering that you’re still in the hallway of your building.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” you tell him softly, slowly backing up to your door, putting your hand on the handle as you lean your back against the door. He hums softly, eyes trailing down your figure.

“Can’t wait. 6 o’clock.” He winks, starting to step backwards until he finally turns and walks down the hallway to the stairs.

You walk back into your apartment in a daze, groaning when you see your roommate sitting at the kitchen island, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Hey.” you trail off, smiling awkwardly at her.

“So, you gonna tell me what that was about?” she teases. You laugh, nodding as you sit down on the chair beside her, beginning to tell her everything.

next chapter

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[nocturniashifter]

𝓐dvice for your Shifting Journey | Pick a Pile

Hello, my angels! After a long time without posting any PAP, here I am. This time it will be advice for your shifting journey and I will be using Lenormand for the first time on a pap as I am new to it, so I really hope you like it! ♡

┈─★ Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only and shouldn't be taken seriously or used as a substitute for legitimate advice. It's also a general reading, so it may or may not resonate with you. ┈─★ How to choose: Close your eyes, take a deep breath and choose the image that catches your attention the most, trust your intuition.

── .✦ PILE 1

Cards: Moon, Mountain, Sun, Crossroad & Man ꤮ ࣪ ⏜ ꤮ 𝅄 ꤮ ࣪ ⏜ ꤮

Hello, pile one! You have already gone through several ups and downs along your journey and due to having faced difficult moments such as “failed” attempts or due to the fact that you have been trying for years, you ended up getting discouraged and some of you may have even stopped trying or felt like giving up halfway through. But, if you want to finally shift, you need to get your head up and do something about it because you will achieve it if you don't keep standing still and doing nothing.

Things may be difficult for you on your journey right now, but know that you will be able to get through this difficult period if you take the first step. The cards ask you to maintain a positive mindset because you will be successful on your journey – and when I talk about maintaining a positive mindset, it doesn't mean that you should get carried away by toxic positivity. On the contrary, throughout your journey you will encounter obstacles that may end up affecting you emotionally and the last thing you should do is repress your feelings and pretend that everything is fine as if negative emotions and feelings are going to stop you from shifting. Spoiler: that doesn't happen. So, when you come across a rock in your path that lets you down, don't repress your feelings but rather allow yourself to feel and express what you are feeling, take the time you need to process them and then let them go & continue your journey with your head held high.

At this moment, you need to decide which path you will take on your journey and you must leave behind the baggage of the past with all those things that no longer serve you, such as the limiting beliefs that you have cultivated in yourself. Stop for a moment and reflect on all the beliefs, good or bad, that you believe to be true about yourself or about shifting. Do you believe that you are capable of shifting and that you are already a master shifter: yes or no? Depending on your answer, you will already know where to start changing your mindset to one that will favor you and bear good fruit.

When you're working on your mindset/self-concept change, don't backtrack because it will only slow you down. It's like Neville Goddard said, you can't serve two masters at the same time – that is, you can't be in two states of being at the same time. Either you are or you are not. Either you are a master shifter who has shifted millions of times effortlessly or you are the person who regrets that they never managed to shift. In fact, there is absolutely nothing stopping you from shifting other than yourself and you may already be tired of hearing this, but it is the purest truth. You are your only limit.

── .✦ PILE 2

Cards: Lily, Scythe, Rider, Stork & Mice ꤮ ࣪ ⏜ ꤮ 𝅄 ꤮ ࣪ ⏜ ꤮

Hello, pile two! You are a person who has been in the shifting community for a long time (some have been there for months and others for years) and who over time has tried many different ways of shifting such as methods, meditations, subliminals and many others. And because you've been on this journey for a long time, you've become comfortable with the way things were or are at the moment. Too comfortable. There are two cases here: the first is that you ended up having many “failed attempts” that demotivated you and you ended up conforming to the false idea that you can't shift and the second case is that you ended up falling into your comfort zone and decided not to have new experiences on your journey – that is, you just do the same thing over and over again even if they aren’t working like they used to and don’t try new things.

Regardless of your case, at this moment you are stagnant and it is time to put an end to it if you want to move forward once and for all and free yourself from this period of stagnation because it is only holding you back. You need to stop for a moment and reflect on everything you've experienced on your journey so far, so you'll be able to identify the limiting beliefs you've placed on yourself that give you the false idea that there's something stopping you from shifting. Furthermore, you will be able to identify what worked for you and what is no longer working so that you can make space for this new phase in your journey. And by doing this, you will be able to change the direction things are going and you will be able to start over towards success.

I also see that you feel envious of other shifters who have already managed to shift, whether before you who have been in the community for a long time or even those who shifted more easily than you – and I don't blame you for that, but you must understand that if they can do it, YOU CAN FUCKING DO IT TOO! What makes you different from them? What makes you so special that you are the only person in the multiverse who is incapable of shifting to the reality you want when you have always done this your entire life without even realizing it?!

You need to be kinder to yourself, take care of yourself and stop comparing your journey to other people's journeys because we are all different and what works for one person won't necessarily work for you and that's okay, you just need to do what works best for you because it's your journey so you have every right to navigate it however you want. It is necessary that you cut once and for all everything that is no longer serving you on your journey and as soon as you do, a new chapter in your journey will begin.

── .✦ PILE 3

Cards: Bear, Stork, Tower, Mountain & Rider ꤮ ࣪ ⏜ ꤮ 𝅄 ꤮ ࣪ ⏜ ꤮

Hello, pile three! You have great power – especially because, at the end of the day, we are all the gods of our reality – and you may be tired of hearing that. But although you are aware of this, you do not actually recognize your own power. You don't really believe that you are really powerful, that you can shift realities whenever you want without anything stopping you and you don't trust your own potential, much less your abilities to change. Many of you even put your desired realities on a pedestal as if it were something unattainable or very difficult to achieve and that requires a lot of effort - but if you stop to think about it, it doesn't make any sense because there is nothing to try to achieve when you were always in your DR even before you discovered shifting.

Because of this, it is past time for you to start seeing yourselves as the powerful people you are and finally recognize your own power so that things can finally change once and for all. If you want things to change on your journey, YOU need to change first because you are in complete control of your journey and if you don't change, nothing will change. You need to go through a period of self-reflection, that is, set aside a moment in your day to reflect on your journey – on everything that has worked for you and what hasn't.

But most importantly, you need to change your self-concept about being a master shifter. If you assume you can't shift, you're right and the same goes if you assume you've already shifted and are a master shifter. Many shifters and manifesting people believe that when they assume a new state of being, they shift to a reality where this assumption is true. So if you assume you are a master shifter, you have just shifted into a reality where you are one and vice versa. That's how the law works, so do yourself a favor and use it for your own benefit and not to make things harder for yourself.

At this moment, things may be challenging on your journey or it will be challenging for you to change your self-concept - mainly because you will feel stuck in the old version of yourself (i.e. when you were the person who couldn't shift and are becoming one who has already shifted) while working to change your mindset but just keep persisting, that is, being the person who is already a master shifter without seeking validation in 3D because it's the 3D that needs your validation. But, regardless of what your case is, you will be able to overcome this and all your effort will be worth it in the end because you will have finally managed to achieve your goal!

© nocturniashifter – don't copy, redistribute or edit my content | dividers

[burnt-by-marigolds]

A (Bitter?) Taste of Power

I’m currently in Act III of my very first BG3 playthrough. I’m enjoying myself immensely in a way I didn’t foresee; I guess I had been too tired of AAA games to believe BG3 could impress me. And yet, there’s a marvel around nearly every corner of the story.

For example, the little cutscene in the flophouse between Astarion and his siblings. I almost missed it entirely, because in my party, Shadowheart has Lathander’s Blood equipped at all times, and that thing emits light. So before I even registered there were any vampire spawns in the vicinity, two mysterious NPCs – Dalyria and Petras, as I was not-so-soon going to learn – went up in a puff of blood-red smoke, even while standing behind a $#%! wall (praise our lord Lathander and his light that shines through solid obstacles). If not for Astarion’s comment, I would probably think it was just some weird glitch on the periphery of my screen.

Anyway, several in-game hours later (and some online searching) I realized I’m not going to meet them again elsewhere and if I want the cutscene, I need to go back to a way earlier save.

But I don’t regret it. The encounter was worth every bit of lost game progress.

It’s no secret Astarion has a penchant for casual violence and cruelty. Kicking squirrels, using mind control to tell others to gut themselves – he may approve of all these actions, should Tav choose to commit them. Enough sitting around – let’s go hurt someone is one of Astarion’s lines said with such playfulness it makes me chuckle every time. And yet, at least during my playthrough, I haven’t seen him act brutally outside of combat. The spawn would approve if my Tav were a bully (he isn't), but up until now, he never did anything himself.

I suppose during Act I and II Astarion is just this kind of a mean kid who likes to watch from the sidelines, hiding behind a tougher ally, and snicker quietly. He’s probably still too scared, still feeling too weak, still trying to get the hang of his new situation. At least, that’s how I imagine it.

Travelling with Tav and others empowers him, little by little. It’s a good thing in general, but there are bumps in the road. As I watched Astarion manhandle Petras, I realized what happens if the work stops halfway – if Astarion gets confident enough to act on his own, but not confident enough to understand he doesn't need to be cruel to show others his worth.

People who are truly self-assured don't need to prove this by outbursts of brutality. They can afford to show clemency. The scene with Petras and Dal shows Astarion still isn't free of Cazador’s influence, as he keeps confusing cruelty with power and power with self-worth. So he has grown enough to take action (instead of letting others handle things and watching from the sidelines), but the underlying motivation remains to avoid appearing weak. Deep inside, there's still anxiety, fear and self-loathing.

There's one more factor that plays a significant role in this scene. Astarion acts tough in front of his siblings, because now he has backup. 

You have no idea what I can do. The sun can’t harm me, Cazador can’t compel me. I don’t need to fear him anymore.

Boastful, isn’t he? So different from the time when my Tav first suggested disposing of Cazador. I still remember how Astarion snapped at Yae for not knowing what he’s saying or who he’d be facing.

But why do I get the feeling Astarion is trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince others? And that he’s trying to impress his companions as much as he’s trying to intimidate Dal and Petras?

Soon enough, the façade crumbles, as Astarion starts to discuss the event with Tav. He gets defensive, he comes up with a whole range of excuses, explanations and justifications. He may even say he's capable of doing the right thing once in a while, as if he deserves a medal for not burning Petras to ash.

I think a part of him knows he overreacted. And the insistent voice in his head tells him other companions will judge him for that and abandon him. The fear finally resurfaces at the end of the dialogue:

We are a team, aren’t we? You’re still with me?

Still placing his worth in extrinsic things, like the support of his new friends. Still so scared of being alone. Remember that memory of the year spent sealed away in darkness?

This is such a potent cutscene; it gave me a lot to chew on, especially regarding headcanons and the relationship between my Tav and Astarion. Yae is no saint himself, but the display of unnecessary cruelty gives him pause. He may need time to process what happened, and temporarily keep more distance from Astarion, which the latter will – of course – read in the worst way possible. There will be misunderstandings, angst, arguments, reconciliations.

But this is a story for a different time.

⊱✿⊰

Postscript:

The date on the file tells me I've written this text over a month ago. 

But then anxiety kicked in. What if I'm wrong? I haven't even finished the game once, I have no right to join in the conversation! I know nothing, I haven't played any of the origin stories! What if there's that obscure bit of dialogue you only get by playing the game for an umpteenth time in a very specific way that sheds entirely new light on this scene? I'm not as smart/observant/articulate/whatever as others!

It took me almost six weeks to realize I can't let my anxious brain win this one. Even if I'm “wrong” (can personal interpretations and impressions really be “wrong”?), this is a testament to how much I've grown to enjoy the game and love the characters and their stories. So, if you've reached the end of this post and even read this postscript – thank you. This is an important step in my fight against the Anxious Brain.

[yanderes-galore]

Lamb vs TOWW (COTL) (Both Platonic)

4/8. Thats halfway.

Hm... I'll see what I can do, yeah. Sharing may have worked better but we'll see.

Yandere! Platonic! The Lamb vs TOWW

(Bishop! Darling)

Pairing: Platonic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Isolation, Cults, Violence, Blood, Jealousy implied, Forced companionship.

I feel in this situation, you'd have to be one of two things.

You'd have to either be a Bishop or a Follower.

Yet Bishop would make the most sense.

As then you'd be a sibling of Narinder and The Lamb, as your sibling's pawn, would naturally take a liking to you.

But there's also the option of being a Follower.

Maybe even one who was a Bishop.

Either way, this rivalry seems a little strange as the power is imbalanced.

For this concept I'll make you a Bishop.

It would probably also be an alternate version of a concept I've already done. (Which I'll link here)

I imagine you wouldn't like either of them.

Narinder was your brother.

While he loved you, he began to resent you for siding with your other siblings.

Narinder was close to you when you were both Bishops, before he was sealed away.

He adores you, his beloved sibling.

You could have been older or younger, either way you two often visited each other's domains.

Narinder visited you the most, however.

He was always the most protective of you.

Although you both felt betrayed later on.

Due to Narinder defying natural order, you felt betrayed he was stealing your Followers from you and expected support.

Meanwhile, Narinder felt betrayed that you sided with Shamura instead of him.

As a result, you were brutally injured just like your other siblings, leading to Narinder being locked away and you guarding a chain.

You despise him, The One Who Waits....

That was the title Narinder went by once locked away.

There's times you catch yourself missing your protective brother, he and his deep purr brought you comfort.

Yet whenever you caught yourself thinking like that, you'd just touch your bloody wound to remind yourself of what he's done.

You'd never heal from his scars.

He didn't hurt you as severely as your siblings, yet it was enough to remind you of your fight.

Narinder, even now, probably still loves you.

He's always been obsessively attentive to you and your flock.

He regrets hurting you, but you had to learn you made the wrong choice siding with Shamura.

He should've mattered more to you.

Now, many years later, you're reminded of Narinder through the Red Crown.

Lambs were meant to be sacrificed to prevent the return of your brother.

You were there when the last one was executed, their large eyes looking at you with such despair.

You never enjoyed watching them die.

It was pointless to attempt to stop it.

Yet you wished you did when that Red Crown was at your doorstep.

This could end one of two ways.

You're slain, or Narinder orders you to not be killed.

If you simply surrendered your crown to this Lamb, you could live.

Although, there's a good chance you're slain like the rest.

The Lamb does not view you in any special way until you're reformed.

If you are slain, Narinder laments the loss quite a bit.

Narinder admits you were too proud or scared of your siblings for your own good.

Said emotions are what made you falter years ago, and it appears you still never learned your lesson.

So maybe it was for the best... one more punishment towards your disobedience....

If you were spared by The Lamb, Narinder is amused yet grateful.

The exiled Bishop muses that The Lamb must be fond of his sweet sibling if they spared you.

It's good you surrendered your crown and unlocked your chain...

Narinder for now allows The Lamb to care for you.

Soon Narinder will have no need of The Lamb anyways once he's free... then he can look after you like before....

If you surrender, it gives The Lamb time to cultivate a friendship with you.

Upon learning your story and attempting to heal your wound, The Lamb begins to wonder if they should really be following TOWW.

If this was after you were slain, they'd have to befriend you slowly after pulling you out of Purgatory.

Eventually, Narinder and The Lamb will fight, stripping the former Bishop of his powers.

The Lamb becomes a God and now looks over you both.

You and Narinder barely talk, and depending on how you're converted, you may struggle to speak with The Lamb too.

You have good reasons to hate them both and their former partnership.

Yet both of them appear to selfishly care for you.

Narinder wants to make amends, to show he still loves you, his dearest sibling.

Meanwhile The Lamb tends to separate you, wanting to protect you from Narinder.

A platonic rivalry would definitely have the dynamic of Narinder wanting to be closer but The Lamb protecting you.

You and your siblings certainly struggle to trust Narinder again.

You not trusting him hurts Narinder.

He's powerless now, he won't hurt you again!

Please just come back to him.

The Lamb, however, keeps dragging your attention back to them.

They distract you from the issues between you and your brother.

They want you fully dedicated to them.

Essentially, The Lamb steals the sibling and friend role from Narinder.

Which leaves the cat baffled.

It would mostly be manipulation from both sides.

Narinder keeps reminding you of times you two got along years ago.

He pulls you close, purrs against you, admits he regrets what he did and misses you...

The Lamb, in response, starts encouraging you to stay beside them.

They make you a disciple, they give you gifts, they remind you that they helped you when Narinder hurt you.

They pull you close into their wool, bleating gently to soothe you.

They give you everything, as if trying to heal your wounds and heart.

Truth is, you just wish to relax.

You're tired of them both acting like snakes, hissing in your ear temptations.

Out of care or not, you don't like either of them.

Narinder can't get rid of The Lamb, but The Lamb could get rid of him.

The only reason The Lamb doesn't is because you still care for Narinder somewhat.

Yet the longer this rivalry goes on...

The Lamb may just lock Narinder in a prison or get rid of him entirely to keep you to themselves...

After all, who will you trust more?

The sibling who harmed you...

Or The Lamb who wishes to protect you from such pain happening ever again in this new life they gave you.

[rachalixie]

Can yyou write something for minho x reader where they're maybe hanging out with the rest of skz in public or something and she gets sacred or something and hold/tugs on minhos shirt and minho gets all soft and just 😳☹️🤧

a/n: this took me entirely too long, the months long writers block is getting to me!! but i hope you like it, it is definitely inspired by the recent haunted house content hehe

you don’t know how you ended up here.

well actually, you do. it was seungmin and jeongin’s doing, dragging the rest of the boys and you along with them to this haunted house in the middle of may when there shouldn’t be haunted houses outside of autumn.

and really, you were all game on the drive there, teasing felix where he sat wringing his hands together and biting his bottom lip in nervousness. you’ve never been to a haunted house, but you were more excited than anything. you liked scary movies enough, the sheer ridiculousness of it made you laugh more than scream in fear. how could this be any different?

but as you’re standing there, halfway through the building and breathless from the way you’ve been shrieking, you regret everything about agreeing to be here. turns out, real life jump scares are much worse than ones on a screen. you’ve been glued to minho’s side the entire time you’ve been here, so close to asking him to turn back and leave through the entrance even though you have the same amount of distance left until the exit.

you’re towards the back, letting the two youngest lead the group and chan, the ever protective leader, is trailing behind you and minho at the end. it would be nice to have him as a protective wall if he didn’t cower to the side every time a single noise was heard, exposing your backs to whatever was behind you. you couldn’t complain though - you were doing the exact same thing.

between the screeches and taunts of the clowns and ghosts and creeping zombies jumping out at you and the combined chorus of yells from your party, you’re overwhelmed. you grip onto minho’s shirt, turning your face to hide into his chest and you have to walk in an awkward sideways shuffle but hearing his fluttering heartbeat under your ear is comforting enough to make it worth it.

the thing is, you know he’s scared too. you saw his face when you arrived there and he heard the screams coming from inside, no matter how hard he tries to hide it you can always read his feelings like the words are written across his features.

or maybe it’s the way he’s gripping onto your hand, the one not tangled into his shirt, like a lifeline. you don’t know who is squeezing tighter, but it will be a miracle if neither of you end up with numb fingertips by the time you get out of here.

you hear him gasp and you peek up at him to see his furrowed brow and slightly parted pout as he looks at you with wide eyes. neither of you are very keen on public affection - you’d prefer to keep your cuddles and smiling kisses and heated touches at home, safe and protected and yours. to have you tucked into him like this because you’re scared was a new experience.

you can practically see the gears turning in his head as his gaze flickers back and forth between you and the dark hallway you’re surrounded by. when you flinch at a bang behind you, his eyes turn bright and he wraps an arm around you, pinning you to him as he shuffles you along. he covers your exposed ear with his hand, blocking out the sounds, and sooner than you think you’re walking out of the building that you swear you’ll never step foot in again.

somehow you’re miles ahead of the others, and you get to watch them a wander out in various shades of disarray. felix is draped across jisung’s shoulders, looking like one of the ghosts that were haunting you just moments ago. jeongin and seungmin were grinning and excitedly recounting their favorite parts, and chan looks a second away from murdering them. hyunjin is coddling changbin, a hilarious contrast to how they usually function.

and minho still has a protective arm around you, gazing warily at the exit doors like something was going to follow you out of there. you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger on his skin for a moment before pulling back. it shocks him out of whatever state he was in, and his eyes go soft when he looks at you.

“okay?” he asks, low enough so no one but you could hear. his voice is like music to your ears after they were attacked by the loud sounds of your friends.

“yes,” you grin, leaning into him a little bit more. “my hero.”

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 7

part 1 | part 6 | chapter 1 on ao3

cw: panic attack, ptsd flashback to minor character death, graphic depictions of… food? lol

Dinner is exactly as chaotic as Steve expected it to be. He and Claudia take opposite end seats with a glass of red wine each, and the kids take the middle and start acting like a pack of caffeinated raccoons: talking over each other, scraping forks against plates, stretching their entire upper bodies across the table and dragging their sleeves through the side dishes instead of just asking someone to pass them the butter; Steve’s starting to wonder if any of these kids have ever eaten at a table before, or if they maybe just wandered in from the surrounding woods. Feral asses.

When they do start asking for things, he regrets wishing they would, because Lucas goes “Erica, can you pass me the salt?” and Erica sneers “I don’t know, can I?” and Mike jabs “Whatever; nobody says ‘may’ anymore, you dork” and Claudia gasps “Michael!” and it all escalates from there until Dustin tries to catapult lasagna off the end of his fork and hits Steve in the side of the head with a glob of warm cheese.

Silence falls around the room.

The cheese plops onto his plate.

“Sh-ii-it,” Dustin breathes, face stuck in wide-eyed shock.

Steve gives Claudia an imploring look.

“Why don’t we clear the table for dessert?”

The commotion starts up again in double time, everyone scrambling to clean up and clear the room before Steve starts bitching about them messing up his hair (and his plate, and his clothes, because the cheese splash sent a spray of little tomato sauce droplets splattering all over him, and isn’t that just perfect; he’s gonna have to hand-scrub the stain out of his khakis), so it’s just him and Dustin left when Dustin’s elbow catches and tips over his wine.

The liquid spills onto his plate: dark, and red, oozing into the uneaten scraps of sauce and cheese and pasta to form a viscous, fleshy sludge. Red like his dad’s office, like his father’s mangled thigh, and it’s just food it’s just food it’s not blood it’s not blood but he can’t fucking breathe, can’t hearing anything beyond the wet, gasping sounds his dad made the night he died, and then he realizes that he’s making them, mouth moving fruitlessly around air that won’t pass, trapped in the bottleneck of his choked-off windpipe.

“Steve?” Dustin asks, and his voice sounds far away. “Shit, shit, Steve! Can you hear me? Are you choking? I know the Heimlich, just- just hold on!”

He snaps out of it when Dustin pulls him halfway from his chair, gets his fists under his ribs and all but punches the air from his lungs. It sets off a nasty coughing fit that leaves Steve snotty and ready to hurl, and he braces himself with his forearms on his knees and stares hard at the ground until the hacking finally stops.

There’s a scuff on his sneakers.

He can’t replace them any time soon.

A moment to catch his breath, and Dustin’s shaking him by the shoulders. “Are you okay??”

Steve keeps his head bowed. “Yeah.” He needs to get the fuck out of here. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He rises from his chair, grateful that everyone else already cleared out before they could witness his little moment, that the blare of the TV from the family room covered the sound of his retching coughs; more grateful still that they won’t notice him now, scampering out of here with his tail between his legs. “Hey listen, man, I’m not feeling so well,” he says absently, fishing his keys from the pocket of his jeans. “Can you get your mom to drive everyone home?”

“Shouldn’t you stay?” Dustin frowns in concern. “If you’re sick? You can go lie down in my room or something, it’s—”

“—Nah, man; I mean, thanks, but…” His hand trembles around his keys, the muscles in his calves screaming bolt, bolt, bolt. “I just- I gotta go.”

He makes a break for it, rushing out the side door so no one else will see him leave (and he knows it’s fucking rude to head out without saying goodbye, but he’s also pretty convinced he’s going to combust if he doesn’t go right now.) “Tell your mom I said thanks, okay?”

“Tell her yourself!” Dustin chases after him, clumsy and slow across the darkened yard. “Dude, will you slow down? Talk to me!”

Steve throws himself into his car like there’s a demodog on his heels. “I’ll call you!”

“What the fuck!” Dustin shouts, but Steve’s already gone.

—

part 8

tagging a few people i know have been following along 🩷 @slowandsteddie @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @pennyplainknits @ledleaf @hellion-child @formosusiniquis @missjashin @runninriot @xpaperheartso @steddieas-shegoes

[yourlittlegoblin]

{A Story in the Stars} Wanderer x Reader

Felt a bit nostalgic because I was thinking a lot about... well everything that recently happened in the past 5 years. Its kinda crazy that its 2025 and I should be sleeping now but um... just had to kinda write this because I'm in that semi-gloomy nostalgic feeling right now... So anyways as per usual I hope you enjoy and its gn!reader and fem!reader today/tonight

The sun hangs mercilessly overhead, casting ripples of heat over the sand as your boots sink with every step. The dry air burns your throat, but you push on, determined. This commission wasn’t supposed to be this grueling, just a simple escort mission through the Sumeru desert. Yet here you are—parched, weary, and regretting every choice that led to this moment.

Beside you, Wanderer walks with infuriating ease, his feet hovering just above the sand as if mocking your struggle. His arms are crossed, and his expression—per usual—is a mixture of disinterest and thinly veiled irritation.

"You’re slowing down," he remarks, his voice cool as a desert night.

"Thanks for the observation," you huff, wiping sweat from your brow. "Want to make yourself useful and carry the supplies?"

He scoffs, a sharp sound that barely disguises the smirk tugging at his lips. "And let you trip over yourself without me watching? I’d miss all the entertainment."

You glare at him, half tempted to throw the heavy pack in his direction. "I’m beginning to regret asking you to come."

"No, you’re not," he counters smoothly. "If I wasn’t here, some incompetent idiot from the guild would’ve taken this job. And you? You’d probably be halfway buried in sand by now."

You roll your eyes but can’t entirely argue. "So you admit you’re here because you don’t trust anyone else to keep me safe?"

He’s silent for a moment, the only sound between you the crunch of shifting sand. Then, with a sigh, he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

"At least one of us has to be sensible," he mutters. "Two fools wandering a desert wouldn’t end well."

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it—warm and bright despite the heat. His words may be sharp, but there’s no mistaking the edge of care beneath them.

"Thank you," you say softly.

His eyes narrow as if trying to brush off your gratitude, but a flicker of something gentler softens his gaze. He looks forward again, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Don’t make me regret this," he grumbles, but the fondness lingers long after the words have faded into the desert air.

{A few long hours later}

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in hues of purple and indigo. Stars blinked to life as a cool breeze whispered through the desert’s edge, where sand met dry, twisted trees and sparse greenery. You push past a low branch, balancing the bundle of firewood in your arms, as the soft glow of your makeshift camp comes into view.

"Finally," you sigh, stepping into the clearing. "I was starting to think the trees had some personal vendetta against me."

Wanderer doesn’t look up from his work. He’s crouched by a crude structure of overlapping branches and cloth he’d managed to fashion into a respectable shelter. His hands move deftly as he secures the last knot with a precise pull.

"Maybe they do," he says flatly. "It would explain how long you were gone."

"Ha-ha," you deadpan, dumping the wood near the fire pit. "How’s the shelter coming along?"

"Finished." He stands, brushing the dust from his hands with a look of casual superiority. "Of course, since I’m the one who built it."

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. The shelter is… impressive. Sturdy, well-positioned to block the wind, and, dare you say, cozy. You tilt your head, watching as he kneels by the fire pit to spark a flame. His movements are measured, precise—controlled in a way that speaks of experience.

"Where’d you learn all this?" you ask, settling beside him.

He pauses, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face before he replies, "I’ve been around."

"You mean you’ve had to camp a lot," you guess, eyes never leaving him as he strikes the flint again. Sparks dance in the air, catching the kindling with a soft crackle. The glow of the fire reflects in his eyes, sharp and clear.

He doesn’t answer directly, but the silence feels telling. "Knowing how to survive isn’t exactly something to admire," he murmurs.

"But I do admire it," you say quietly. "It’s not just about surviving. It’s about being prepared, staying calm—knowing what to do when others wouldn’t."

He glances at you then, the firelight casting shadows along his sharp features. For a moment, something unspoken lingers between you—an understanding that needs no words.

Finally, he turns away, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Well, it’s a good thing I’m here to keep you from wandering off into a desert abyss."

"And it’s a good thing I’m here to remind you to eat and be a decent human being," you retort, grinning.

"Fair trade," he mutters, shaking his head as the flames grow steady and warm.

The fire crackled between you both, the silence stretching out as you poked at the mushrooms with your stick, trying to keep them from burning. The heat from the fire seeped through your clothes, a comfort after the biting chill of the desert night. You couldn’t help but glance over at Wanderer every now and then, noticing how the glow from the flames highlighted the sharp features of his face.

"Do you think we’ll find the way back tomorrow?" you asked, trying to break the tension that had settled between you both. His eyes flickered for a moment before he gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug.

"Eventually," he replied, his tone flat but with a hint of something unspoken.

You caught his gaze for a brief second, but he turned away quickly, refocusing on the fire. It was odd, this quiet between you. Despite the lack of words, there was a certain unspoken understanding in the air, something that neither of you were quite ready to address.

You sighed, poking at the mushrooms again, unsure whether to say anything more. The fire crackled, the only sound breaking the silence.

The scent of roasting mushrooms filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest floor and the crackling warmth of the fire. You sat cross-legged, the simple meal skewered on a stick held above the flames. Across from you, Wanderer remained silent, his gaze distant as the flickering light danced shadows over his face.

The quiet stretched, heavy and strange. You sneak a glance at him, as you had been doing for the past several minutes, eyes tracing the delicate lines of his profile. His expression was composed—impassive, even—but you could sense the restless tension coiled beneath his surface, a storm held tightly in check.

The mushrooms browned and sizzled. You shifted your grip, watching as Wanderer’s eyes flicked momentarily toward you, then away just as quickly. When you finally took a bite, the flavor was… unimpressive. Bland, slightly earthy, with no real seasoning or flair.

You chew thoughtfully before offering him a piece. "Want some?"

He eyes it, his lip curling slightly before he takes the food with a measured movement. A small, quiet bite follows.

"It’s bland," he remarks, voice flat. "But it’s a roasted mushroom. What else would it be?"

You fight back a grin at his predictably underwhelmed reaction. "Better than starving," you point out, turning your skewer over to finish the rest.

He hums, noncommittal, and the silence returns. But it feels different now—less uncomfortable, more familiar. You keep glancing at him, the warmth of the fire not quite matching the flicker of heat in your chest.

Finally, his eyes meet yours again, sharp and knowing. "You’ve been staring."

"Have I?" you ask, feigning innocence.

He tilts his head, gaze never wavering. "Why?"

"Maybe I just find you interesting," you say lightly, but your heart quickens.

"Interesting," he repeats, the word hanging in the air between you. A smirk, subtle but unmistakable, tugs at the corner of his lips. "You should be more careful. Staring too long at dangerous things tends to have consequences."

"And yet, here I am," you counter softly, the fire crackling between you both, "still staring."

His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no sharpness in them now—only something softer, something almost amused, as he looks back at you.

.

.

.

.

The fire had long since dwindled to embers, casting only a faint, warm glow that barely pushed back the shadows of the forest. You lay cocooned in your sleeping bag, the fabric warm and soft against your skin, but your mind wouldn’t rest. Every rustling leaf, every distant call of the desert’s nocturnal creatures kept you awake. You sighed quietly, shifting for what felt like the hundredth time.

Beside you, Wanderer lay still, his hands folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded and focused on the endless sprawl of stars above. The silver moonlight kissed his features, sharp and serene, while his chest rose and fell with steady breaths. He looked peaceful—almost—but the subtle tension in his frame betrayed him.

“You’re awake too,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t turn to look at you. “Obviously.”

A small silence lingers before you speak again. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing important.” His tone is as cool and detached as ever, but there’s a weight beneath it, something distant and unreachable.

You roll onto your side, the fabric of your sleeping bag crinkling softly. “You know,” you say, watching him, “the stars are said to carry stories. Every one of them is a memory or a legend.”

His eyes flick toward you, a faint scoff escaping his lips. “Sentimental nonsense. Stars are just burning gas, light that reaches us from countless miles away. Stories are things people make up to feel less alone.”

You pause, searching his expression. “And what’s wrong with that? Feeling less alone?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. The silence stretches between you like a thread pulled taut. Then, his voice softens—barely. “Nothing, I suppose. If it works.”

The ground is cool beneath you as you shift upright, the stars above twinkling like promises waiting to be kept. Without a word, you shuffle closer, dragging your sleeping bag until it’s right beside his. Wanderer glances at you, the arch of his brow a silent question, but he says nothing when you settle next to him, your warmth brushing his side.

"You’re taking up all the space," he grumbles.

"There’s plenty of space," you counter, resting your head on your folded arms. "Besides, I’m comfortable now."

He rolls his eyes but makes no move to push you away. Instead, he lets out a breath that’s half a sigh, half reluctant amusement.

For a moment, the silence returns, companionable this time. The stars twinkle on, indifferent to the two of you beneath them. Then, a thought strikes you, and you turn your gaze toward him with a soft smile.

"Hey… could you tell me a story?"

He narrows his eyes. "A story? You expect me to entertain you now?"

"Not just any story," you clarify, grinning. "Something from when you were younger. Something you wouldn’t tell anyone else."

The request makes him pause. His eyes grow sharp, thoughtful, and something wary flickers across his face. His lips press into a thin line. "You’re really testing your luck."

"Please? I’ll keep it a secret." You hold out your hand, your pinky extended. "Pinky promise."

For a long moment, he stares at your hand as if considering all the ways he could make you regret asking. His voice, low and deliberate, murmurs, "If I catch you telling anyone, I’ll make you wish you never learned how to talk."

"I won’t," you vow, eyes wide and earnest. "I promise."

He sighs again, muttering something about foolish trust and human sentimentality before finally, hesitantly, hooking his pinky with yours. His grip is light, careful, but it lingers longer than you expect.

With a faint, resigned hum, he lays back down, folding his hands beneath his head once more.

"There was a time," he begins, voice softer now, words woven with distant memories, "when I thought I could outrun the world." A small, almost bitter smile curves his lips. "I was wrong."

He lets the words hang between you, his voice trailing off as if caught in the gravity of a memory too vivid to forget.

"I was alone then," he continues after a moment, his tone edged with a mixture of wistfulness and resentment. "I didn’t need anyone, or at least, I convinced myself of that. I traveled far from where I was made, through forests, mountains, and deserts. Everywhere I went, I thought if I just kept moving, the past would stop chasing me. I’d be free."

You don’t interrupt, even as your curiosity prickles at the weight behind each word. His voice is steady, but his eyes remain fixed on the stars as though seeing something far beyond them.

"There was a village," he says, his brows knitting together. "A small, forgettable place filled with forgettable people. I had no reason to stop there, but I did. Just for a moment." He breathes out slowly, as though releasing a piece of himself he rarely shares. "There was a boy—barely more than a child—who thought I was some kind of spirit. He wasn’t afraid of me. Most people would have been."

The corner of his mouth lifts, but it isn’t quite a smile. "He followed me everywhere, asking questions. What I was doing. Where I was going. If I could show him how to fly." His eyes glimmer with a fleeting softness. "I told him I had no wings to teach him with, but he didn’t care. He said, ‘If you walk on air, then so can I.’"

"Did he follow you for long?" you ask gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

"For too long," Wanderer mutters, his expression darkening. "He was persistent, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him to go away. He said I reminded him of someone—an old story about a guardian who watched over the desert winds." He shakes his head as if the memory leaves a bitter taste. "I was no guardian."

"But you didn’t leave right away, did you?"

A pause stretches between you before he answers, voice quiet. "No. He asked me to stay until he could learn to ‘walk on air.’ I didn’t think he’d manage it, but… he was clever. He built a kite with his own hands. It wasn’t perfect, but the wind carried it." He sighs. "It carried him, too, for a moment. And he laughed—like he had conquered the sky."

The silence that follows is heavy, laced with something unsaid.

"What happened to him?" you ask, dreading the answer but unable to stop yourself.

"He grew up." Wanderer’s voice is flat, devoid of the warmth that had briefly flickered. "He forgot about flying. People always do."

You watch him closely, sensing the ache buried deep beneath his words. Slowly, you reach out and rest your hand lightly against his, offering nothing more than your quiet presence.

"I won’t forget," you say softly.

His eyes shift toward you, unreadable but heavy with something raw and real. He doesn’t pull away. "You better not," he murmurs. "Otherwise, you’ll owe me more than a story."

I nod, offering him a small, tired smile. "I promise, I won’t forget." And then, almost without thinking, I lean over and loop my pinky around his again, a small gesture to seal my promise. This moment feels so right that a tale of my own feels right.

"Okay," I continue, shifting slightly, my words starting to tumble out in a soft, rambling stream. "When I was little, I used to—well, I was always the kind of kid who loved to explore. I’d run off into the woods behind my house, pretending to be some sort of adventurer. I’d climb trees and make forts out of old blankets and sticks, even though my parents told me not to. They were so worried about me getting hurt, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to find something—anything—that would make sense of everything around me, you know?"

I chuckle softly to myself, the words coming easier now. "One day, I found a secret spot, hidden by vines and rocks. It was this little clearing, like it was made just for me. I’d go there almost every day, and sometimes I’d bring snacks and sit there for hours just… watching the world go by. It was peaceful. And I used to pretend I was a princess or something—surrounded by magic and adventure."

The weight of sleep starts pulling at me as I continue speaking, my voice growing softer and slower. I feel the warmth of Wanderer's presence beside me, his quiet attention making me feel safe. My eyes flutter closed, my mind slowly slipping into the soft embrace of sleep, but I can still feel the connection between our pinkies.

"And, uh, there was this one time," I mumble, my voice barely audible now, "I… I pretended the wind was telling me a secret. I told it everything, hoping it would carry my words somewhere special. To someone who would understand."

The soft rustle of his breathing next to me is the last thing I hear before my body finally gives way to sleep, the weight of exhaustion pulling me into a deep slumber.

.....

Wanderer watches me for a long moment, his gaze softening at the sound of my steady breathing. He hesitates, just for a moment, before carefully pulling the edge of my sleeping bag up a little more to keep me warm. His fingers brush lightly against mine as he does so, and for a moment, he simply hovers there, as if unsure of what to do.

He sighs softly, barely above a whisper, "You’re... such an idiot." His words are a strange mix of fondness and frustration, but there's something deeper there, something he’s not ready to acknowledge.

Then, after another long, unsure moment, he reaches over and laces his fingers gently with mine, as if he’s afraid you’ll wake up if he does it too fast. He shifts to lie on his side, facing me, his movements slow and deliberate. The moonlight catches his expression, making his gaze seem distant yet tender all at once.

And there, in the quiet of the desert night, surrounded by the warmth of shared silence, Wanderer finally lets himself fall asleep, his hand still firmly holding yours.

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 21

word count: 8.8k

sorry for the wait, hope you guys enjoy!

The next day, though Harry had to be cooped up at the shop once more, he made sure to bring Aspen along. The girl sat perched by the front desk, swaying in her chair as Niall and Zayn kept her company while her boyfriend worked on another large last minute walk-in piece.

Aspen hadn't minded tagging along to the shop today. In fact, she liked being around Harry's world, seeing the environment he was so comfortable in. It was different from her own, rougher around the edges, but it fascinated her. The steady hum of the tattoo machines, the scent of antiseptic and ink in the air—it was all so uniquely him.

She sat at the front desk, her legs crossed at the ankle as she absentmindedly flipped through one of the shop's design books. Every now and then, her eyes drifted toward Harry's station where he was focused on a client, sleeves pushed up, forearms tense with concentration. He looked good when he worked, brows drawn together, tongue occasionally swiping across his bottom lip in focus. She felt warmth rise in her cheeks just watching him.

Zayn and Niall were keeping her company in the meantime, the two of them going back and forth in their usual banter, making Aspen giggle behind her hand.

"You know, I think I'd look real good with a full sleeve," Niall mused, stretching his arm out in front of him and squinting as if he were already picturing it.

Zayn snorted, shaking his head. "You're too indecisive. You'd get halfway through and regret it."

Aspen giggled as Niall shot Zayn an exaggerated glare. "Oi! I could pull it off." He turned to Aspen for backup. "Don't you think I'd look good with a sleeve?"

Aspen tilted her head, feigning deep thought before giving a shy little shrug. "I think it would suit you... maybe."

Zayn barked out a laugh, pointing at Niall. "Even Aspen doesn't sound convinced."

Niall groaned, slumping back dramatically in his seat, which only made Aspen giggle more. The conversation carried on lightheartedly, small jokes exchanged between them as she grew more comfortable with their dynamic.

"Okay, fine," Niall huffed. "No sleeve. But what about, like, a single bold piece? Something cool and mysterious. Maybe a dagger? A wolf? A dragon?"

Zayn raised a brow. "You sound like every dude who walks in here asking for their 'first ink' and then chickens out when the needle actually touches their skin."

Aspen covered her mouth as she laughed, her shoulders shaking. "Do people really do that?"

"More often than you'd think," Zayn smirked, leaning against the counter. "You should see some of the excuses we get. 'Oh, I forgot I had a meeting.' 'Oh, my girlfriend doesn't like tattoos.' 'Oh, I think I left my oven on at home.'"

Aspen giggled harder, imagining the scene unfolding.

Niall pointed at Zayn accusingly. "Listen, I may be many things, but a coward is not one of them. If I commit, I commit."

Zayn gave him a skeptical look. "That so?"

"Absolutely."

Aspen, still smiling, tapped a finger against the open design book in front of her. "Well... if you had to pick one right now, what would it be?"

Niall leaned over, scanning the page, before pointing to a classic anchor design. "That. Timeless. Rugged. Manly."

Zayn snorted. "Basic."

"Oh, come on!" Niall groaned. "I thought we were past judging people for classic ink choices!"

Aspen bit her lip to keep from laughing too hard, enjoying the easy back-and-forth between them. She liked this—being included, feeling like she belonged in their little world.

Her eyes flickered over to Harry again, watching the way he moved, the way he gently tilted his client's arm to get a better angle, the way he was so deeply focused. It still amazed her, how skilled he was, how much he cared about his craft. He made everything seem effortless.

She didn't even realize she was staring until Niall leaned closer and whispered, "You're drooling."

Aspen's face burned as she snapped her gaze back to him. "I—I am not!"

Niall grinned, nudging her arm. "S'fine, love, we get it. Your boyfriend's hot."

Zayn smirked, adding, "At least you're subtle about it."

Aspen groaned, burying her face in her hands as they both chuckled at her expense.

"Fine, fine," she muttered, shaking her head with a shy smile. "Let's change the subject."

"Aw, but this was getting good," Niall teased, but he relented when she shot him a playful glare.

Aspen took a sip from her water bottle, settling herself again before her curiosity got the better of her.

Aspen absentmindedly traced patterns along the condensation of her water bottle, the soft hum of tattoo machines filling the shop as she let the words roll off her tongue without much thought. "So... where were you guys the other day?"

She wasn't asking with suspicion—just curiosity. It was normal for them all to be busy, especially Harry and Zayn, but with both of them disappearing on the same day, she had assumed they had been working at the shop together.

Zayn, who had been scrolling on his phone, stilled almost imperceptibly. It was brief, barely noticeable, before he smoothly resumed, tapping his thumb against the screen in thought.

Niall, however, was as easygoing as ever, giving a nonchalant shrug. "Dunno. They weren't at the shop, I—"

Before he could finish, Zayn subtly nudged him under the counter, just enough to make Niall pause. The interruption was swift, casual, and Aspen didn't catch on to its meaning.

Niall, never one to be easily flustered, let out an easy chuckle. "Oh, wait, nah. I got my days mixed up," he corrected smoothly, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Yeah, they were definitely here. You know how it is—busy day, tons of walk-ins. I wasn't here much, though. Just popped in for a bit."

Aspen nodded, easily accepting the answer. It made sense. Niall was always in and out, never one to stay planted in one place unless he had a reason to.

Zayn leaned back against the counter, arms crossed as he picked up the explanation. "Yeah, long ass day. Harry and I had some big pieces to do, so we were stuck here forever. Back-to-back appointments. Barely had time to eat, let alone breathe." His voice was smooth, perfectly composed, and it wasn't unusual for him and Harry to take on big projects.

Aspen didn't even think to question it further. In fact, she felt a little guilty for asking—if they'd had such a long day, she didn't want to seem like she was prying.

She stole a glance at Harry across the room. He was still deep in his work, head tilted in concentration, jaw set as he dragged the tattoo machine carefully over his client's skin. He looked so at home in his element.

She smiled softly to herself, brushing away any lingering thoughts. Harry had never given her a reason to doubt him, and besides, if something was wrong, he would tell her.

"Well, as long as you weren't getting into trouble," she teased lightly, taking a sip of her water.

Niall grinned, dramatically clutching his chest. "Me? Trouble? Never."

Zayn smirked, taking a slow sip of his drink, the picture of amusement but offering no further comment.

Aspen giggled at their antics, letting the conversation drift into something else, not noticing the fleeting glance Zayn and Niall exchanged. If she had, maybe she would've realized there was more to the story than they were letting on.

Aspen leaned forward slightly in her chair, resting her elbow on the desk as she idly twirled the cap of her water bottle between her fingers. The conversation had shifted naturally, moving from their usual banter to something a little more personal.

"So, what's the plan for you two, then?" Niall grinned, wiggling his brows between her and Zayn. "Aspen, you finally got yourself a big, brooding tattoo artist. What's next?"

Aspen blushed, the warmth creeping up her neck. She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I don't know... we're just taking things as they come."

"Boring answer," Niall teased, leaning back in his chair. "Come on, give me something. Future plans? Marriage? White picket fence? Maybe some tattooed babies running around?"

Aspen nearly choked on her water, her face burning even hotter. "Niall!" she squeaked, eyes wide.

Zayn barked out a laugh, slapping a hand against the counter. "Too soon, man," he smirked. "Let 'em breathe."

"I'm just saying! You two are disgustingly cute." Niall stretched his arms behind his head. "If Harry wasn't already obsessed with you, I'd be worried."

Aspen tried to play off her embarrassment, but she couldn't stop the way her lips curled into a soft smile. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her bottle again, and when she stole another glance across the room, she caught Harry's gaze.

He was already looking at her.

It was brief, just a flicker of his eyes before he turned his attention back to his work, but it was enough to send a pleasant warmth blooming in Aspen's chest.

Niall was still talking, something about how he was destined to be the world's best godfather whenever Harry and Aspen decided to have kids (which, in Aspen's opinion, was way too early to even think about), but she was only half-listening.

Because every time she glanced toward Harry, she caught him doing the same.

And every time their eyes met, it sent little flutters through her stomach.

"So what about you guys?" she asked, eager to shift the conversation away from herself. "What's your plan for the future?"

Zayn shrugged, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Haven't thought about it much. Business is good. I don't see myself doing anything else anytime soon."

"Fair," Aspen nodded. "And you, Niall?"

"Oh, I'm gonna be rich," Niall declared, pointing at himself with full confidence. "But like, stupid rich. Don't ask me how yet. Maybe I'll invent something. Or marry into money. Either way, I'll be set."

Aspen laughed, shaking her head. "Solid plan."

"Exactly," Niall grinned. "And speaking of plans... Aspen, be real with me—are you gonna stay with this guy forever, or what?"

Aspen opened her mouth to respond, but she didn't have an answer.

Forever?

Her gaze flickered back toward Harry. She wasn't even sure if he was listening to their conversation, but she knew that if she was being honest with herself... the idea of forever with him didn't seem so scary.

She just smiled, a little shy, a little uncertain.

"We'll see," she murmured.

And from across the room, Harry glanced up once more—just in time to catch her looking at him again.

Aspen shifted in her seat, her fingers absentmindedly twisting the cap of her water bottle as she debated whether or not to ask the question sitting at the tip of her tongue. She wasn't usually the type to pry, but curiosity had a way of gnawing at her when it came to Harry—especially when it came to the parts of his life he didn't bring up often.

"Can I ask you guys something?" she finally murmured, glancing between Niall and Zayn.

Zayn quirked a brow, while Niall leaned in like she was about to spill the most interesting gossip he'd ever heard. "Course you can, sweetheart," Niall grinned. "What's on your mind?"

She hesitated for a moment before voicing what she'd been wondering. "Has Harry ever talked about... past relationships? Like, has he ever been in love before?"

Niall and Zayn exchanged a look, one Aspen couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't amusement, nor was it discomfort—it was something in between, like they were deciding how much they should say.

"Depends on what you mean by 'in love,'" Zayn finally said, tapping his fingers against the counter. "If you're asking if he's had girlfriends before, then yeah, he's had a few. If you're asking if he's ever been in love? That's a different question entirely."

Aspen frowned slightly. "So... has he?"

Zayn sighed, tilting his head as he considered his answer. "I don't think so," he admitted. "Not the way you mean. Harry's had flings, some more serious than others, but he's never been the type to settle down. Not because he couldn't, just... he never found anyone he wanted to."

Aspen processed that quietly, her fingers still tracing idle patterns on her bottle. It wasn't a bad answer. If anything, it only made her feel more special—like she was different.

Still, she wasn't quite done with her questions.

"What about the way he talks about me?" she asked softly, suddenly feeling a little shy about the inquiry. "Does he... ever bring me up?"

Niall let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back. "God, Aspen, you have no idea," he whined. "The man does not shut up about you."

Aspen's eyes widened. "He does?"

"Constantly," Zayn smirked. "It's almost embarrassing, really. We could be talking about literally anything, and he'll find a way to bring you into the conversation. 'Aspen would love this.' 'Aspen was reading this book the other day.' 'Aspen said the funniest thing.' It's ridiculous."

Aspen's face heated instantly, her heart swelling at the revelation. She'd known Harry cared about her—he wasn't shy in the way he showed his affection—but hearing that he talked about her so often when she wasn't around made her feel warm in a way she couldn't quite describe.

"Yeah," Niall added, grinning. "And don't even get me started on the way he talks about you when he's drunk."

Aspen's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, he gets all sappy," Niall said, waving a hand. "Like, real soft. Talks about how much he likes you, how you make him feel different than anyone else ever has. It's kinda sweet, actually, if you ignore the fact that he sounds like a lovesick idiot."

Aspen's heart did a little flip in her chest. "He really says that?"

"Every damn time," Zayn confirmed, shaking his head. "And if you ask me, that's saying a lot. Harry doesn't open up easily. But with you? I think he's completely gone."

Aspen chewed on her bottom lip, trying to suppress the giddy smile threatening to take over her face. She'd known Harry felt something strong for her, but hearing it from his friends, from the people who knew him best, made it feel even more real.

After a moment, she gathered her thoughts enough to ask her next question. "Has he ever told you guys why he never got serious with anyone before?"

Niall and Zayn exchanged another glance before Zayn answered. "He's never given us a straightforward reason," he admitted. "But I think it has to do with trust. Harry's not the kind of guy who lets people in easily. He's seen too many people turn their backs when things got hard, so he stopped letting them get close in the first place."

Aspen frowned slightly, her heart aching at the thought. She knew Harry had his walls, knew he carried burdens he didn't always talk about. But the idea that he'd spent so much of his life keeping people at arm's length made her want to hold onto him even tighter.

"Well," she said softly, her fingers curling around the edge of the counter, "I hope he knows he doesn't have to worry about that with me."

Zayn studied her for a moment before nodding, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I think he does," he murmured. "And I think that's why you're different."

Aspen exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth spread through her chest. Maybe she was different. Maybe, despite everything, Harry had finally found someone he was willing to let in.

And maybe—just maybe—she was willing to let him in, too.

As Harry worked, the rhythmic hum of the tattoo machine filled the space around him, the buzz familiar and grounding. His hand was steady, movements precise as he filled in the last bit of shading on his client’s forearm. It was muscle memory by now, the way he worked—careful, methodical, ensuring every line was perfect. But despite how deep he was in his craft, his attention kept drifting elsewhere.

Aspen.

Every now and then, between dipping his needle into ink and wiping away excess, his gaze would flicker toward the front of the shop where she sat. She was perched on the chair, her legs tucked under her, absently twirling the cap of her water bottle between her fingers as she listened to whatever nonsense Niall and Zayn were spewing. She was smiling, her cheeks soft with warmth, and fuck—Harry swore he could feel that smile in his damn chest.

It was different, having her here. Not in a bad way—quite the opposite, really. It was grounding, a quiet reassurance that she was becoming a part of this life of his. A life he never thought he’d want to share so openly with someone.

His fingers tightened around the tattoo machine slightly. That thought—it was dangerous. Because there were parts of his life she couldn’t know. Not yet.

He swallowed, forcing his focus back on the piece he was working on. The secrecy—it wasn’t about not trusting her. He did. More than he cared to admit. But there were things in his world that were better left in the dark. Things that weren’t meant for someone like her—soft, kind, untouched by the shit he and Zayn were tangled up in.

Maybe one day, he’d tell her. But not now. Not when he could still shield her from it.

He exhaled, shaking off the heaviness pressing against his ribs, and refocused on finishing up.

Fifteen minutes later, he wiped down the tattoo one last time, nodding in satisfaction before wrapping it up. “Alright, man,” he said to his client, standing and stretching out his arms. “You’re all set. Just follow the aftercare instructions, and you’ll be golden.”

After handling payment and bidding the guy goodbye, Harry finally took a breath. His break had been long overdue.

As he walked over to the front of the shop, the scent of food hit him first. His brows lifted slightly in surprise as he spotted Aspen setting out plates in front of Niall and Zayn, her movements careful and deliberate as she made sure everyone had what they needed. His own plate was set aside for him, waiting.

His heart clenched at the sight.

She had cooked for them?

Something about that simple act of care made something deep in him ache.

Before he made his way over to grab his plate, he veered slightly, walking past Niall and—without hesitation—snagging a bite right off his plate.

“Oi!” Niall protested, pulling his plate away. “What the hell, mate? You've got your own!”

Harry chewed, smirking as he handed Niall back his fork. “I know,” he said easily with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “but if m'lady made it, I want it all.”

Aspen, who had just taken a seat, turned a deep shade of red at his words, her fingers curling in her lap as she ducked her head slightly.

Niall groaned, rolling his eyes as he snatched his plate back. “Christ, you two are disgusting.”

Harry grinned, but didn’t respond, instead making his way over to his own plate. Before sitting down, he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against Aspen’s cheek from behind.

She stilled for a second, then exhaled, shoulders loosening as a shy little smile played on her lips.

Harry took his seat next to her, grabbing his fork as he dug in. The second he took his first bite, he let out a hum of approval. “Fuck, baby. This is good.”

“She’s got skills,” Zayn agreed, shoveling another bite into his mouth. “Could open up a restaurant or some shit.”

Aspen’s cheeks were still pink as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s really not that big of a deal…”

“It is when all we usually eat is takeout,” Niall chimed in. “This is the best thing I’ve had all week.”

Harry chewed thoughtfully, tapping his fork against his plate before swallowing. “Dunno,” he mused, his lips curling into a slow, cheeky smirk. “I’ve had somethin’ better this week.”

Niall snorted. “Mate, there’s no way you’ve eaten anything better than this. We’ve all been living off gas station snacks and whatever the hell Zayn throws together when he remembers food exists.”

Harry simply leaned back in his chair, draping his arm over the back of Aspen’s. His smirk deepened as he tilted his head slightly toward her, voice dropping just enough to make her stomach twist. “Wasn’t talkin’ about the food.”

Aspen nearly choked on her bite of rice.

Her wide eyes snapped up to him, cheeks instantly burning as she realized exactly what he was implying. Her fingers curled against the napkin in her lap as she shot him a scandalized look, her lips parting slightly in disbelief.

Zayn, always one to catch on quickly, just chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. Niall, on the other hand, took an extra second before groaning in exaggerated disgust. “Christ, Harry. I did not need that mental image while I’m eating.”

Harry only grinned, winking at Aspen before casually picking his fork back up like he hadn’t just made her want to shrink into the floor.

Aspen, flustered beyond belief, pressed her lips together, glancing down at her plate as if it might save her from the warmth spreading all the way to her ears. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, nudging his knee with hers beneath the table.

Harry let out a low chuckle, nudging her back. “But you like me anyway.”

She didn’t dignify that with an answer—mostly because it was true. And he damn well knew it.

Harry smirked, nudging Aspen lightly with his knee under the table. “Guess that means you’ll have to start cooking for us more often, yeah?”

Aspen rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t argue. Instead, she focused on eating her own food, her lips twitching slightly as the conversation between them carried on.

The energy was easy, lighthearted. They talked about everything and nothing—Niall complaining about a client who wouldn’t stop moving while getting tattooed, Zayn discussing the new pieces he and Harry had lined up, Aspen giggling at their banter.

As the laughter settled, the four of them fell into easy conversation, the clinking of utensils against plates filling the quiet lulls between their words. Harry sat comfortably next to Aspen, his arm draped lazily along the back of her chair, occasionally letting his fingers brush the ends of her hair. It was subtle—so subtle that if someone wasn’t looking, they wouldn’t notice—but Aspen felt every touch, every slight movement of his fingers, and it made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t used to.

Zayn was the first to steer the conversation into something deeper, leaning back in his chair as he chewed. “So, what’s the plan for the future?” He raised a brow, glancing between them. “Y’know, since we’re all clearly on different paths here. You lot got it all figured out?”

Niall snorted. “Figure out what? That I’ll probably be covered head to toe in ink before I turn thirty and still be eating this girl’s cooking?” He gestured to Aspen with his fork, grinning. “Because if that’s the future, I’m pretty happy with it.”

Aspen smiled, warmth spreading in her chest at the compliment. “You act like I’ll be cooking for you forever,” she teased.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart, don’t do me like that. You’d miss me if I stopped showing up to steal your food.”

Harry rolled his eyes, smirking as he took a sip of his drink. “You’re like a stray cat. Feed you once, and you never leave.”

Zayn chuckled. “That explains why he practically lives at the shop.”

Niall threw up his hands in mock offense. “You lot love having me around, don’t even try to deny it.”

Aspen giggled, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the question Zayn had asked. “But, um, I don’t really know yet,” she admitted softly. “I mean, I have ideas. I love books, so maybe something with that… but it’s hard to say.”

Harry glanced at her, taking in the slight uncertainty in her voice. He could tell she thought about it—probably more than she let on—but she wasn’t one to be loud about her ambitions. She kept them tucked away, only revealing them in small doses, and for some reason, that made him want to hear them even more.

“What about you?” Aspen nudged Harry’s arm lightly.

He took a slow bite, chewing as he considered his answer. “Dunno,” he said finally. “Tattooin’ is what I love. Keeps me steady, keeps me busy. But…” He paused, swirling his fork against his plate. “I guess I wouldn’t mind somethin’ more down the road.”

“More?” Aspen tilted her head, intrigued.

Harry glanced at her, a small smirk playing at his lips. “What? You think I wanna be slingin’ ink forever?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You’re really good at it.”

His chest swelled slightly at the compliment, but he only shrugged. “Yeah, but sometimes… I think about what it’d be like to settle down a bit.”

That made Aspen pause, her fork hovering mid-air. “Settle down?”

Harry’s smirk didn’t fade, but there was something softer in his eyes now. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Someday.”

Aspen lowered her gaze, heat crawling up her neck. The thought of Harry—this inked-up, reckless, sometimes smug but always caring man—talking about settling down was almost impossible to picture. But at the same time… it wasn’t.

“What about you?” Harry’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

She blinked up at him, then quickly shook her head. “I—I don’t know,” she murmured. “I never really thought about it.”

Harry hummed, studying her carefully before offering her a teasing grin. “Guess I’ll have to change that, then.”

Aspen’s heart stuttered in her chest, and before she could even process his words, Niall groaned dramatically.

“Christ, you two are disgustingly cute. Can we eat in peace without watchin’ you make heart eyes at each other?”

Zayn chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re just jealous.”

Niall scoffed. “Jealous my ass. I like my peace. Not my fault these two make it impossible.”

Zayn smirked as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Speaking of impossible,” he started, glancing over at Niall with a knowing glint in his eye. “Didn’t you go on that date the other week? The one with that girl you wouldn’t shut up about?”

Aspen perked up immediately, turning her attention to Niall, who suddenly looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here. She had never heard anything about Niall dating, and now she was curious.

“Oh?” Aspen tilted her head, eyes bright with interest. “Who’s this mystery girl?”

Niall groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Why do you always have to bring shit up, man?” he grumbled at Zayn before exhaling dramatically. “It was just a date. Nothin’ serious.”

“That’s not what you were saying last week,” Zayn shot back smugly.

Aspen turned fully in her chair, leaning in closer with excitement. “Come on, tell me! I need details.”

Harry snorted beside her, clearly enjoying Niall’s misery as he took another bite of his food.

Niall gave them all an exasperated look before slumping back in his seat. “Her name’s Elena. Met her at a café—well, more like she bumped into me and spilled coffee all over my jeans.” He chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. “She was all flustered and apologetic, tryin’ to clean me up, and I was just standin’ there like an idiot. But we got talkin’, and I don’t know… she was easy to talk to.”

Aspen smiled at the way his voice softened slightly, like he hadn’t meant to sound so fond but couldn’t help it. “That sounds cute,” she mused. “So? How was the date?”

Niall shrugged. “It was good. Took her to dinner, talked a lot. She’s studying psychology, so she’s always analyzin’ people. Pretty sure she was psychoanalyzin’ me the whole time.”

Zayn chuckled. “That’s probably not hard.”

Niall shot him a look before continuing. “Anyway, she’s nice. Sweet. Smart as hell. But I dunno, she’s busy with school, and I’m always at the shop. We haven’t really talked much since.”

Aspen frowned slightly, sensing that there was more to it than just being busy. “Do you like her?”

Niall hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah, I guess.”

Zayn scoffed. “You more than ‘guess.’ You texted her three days straight after the date.”

Aspen gasped, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my god, Niall!”

Niall groaned again, dropping his head against the table. “I hate you all.”

Harry, who had been relatively quiet, finally smirked and chimed in. “So, what’s stoppin’ you? If you like her, ask her out again.”

Niall lifted his head just enough to glare at him. “You make it sound so easy.”

Aspen tapped her fingers against the table thoughtfully before an idea struck her. “Wait! What if I helped?”

Niall narrowed his eyes. “Help how?”

“Well,” Aspen began, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, “you said she’s in psychology, right? I actually have a class with her. We’re not super close or anything, but I could… I don’t know, maybe put in a good word for you?”

Zayn barked out a laugh. “Oh, this is gold.”

Niall groaned for what seemed like the hundredth time, dragging his hands down his face. “Jesus. This is humiliatin’.”

“It’s not humiliating!” Aspen argued. “Think of it as… giving you a little push in the right direction.”

Harry chuckled beside her, shaking his head. “That’s dangerous, mate. Aspen’s got a way of getting what she wants.”

Aspen elbowed him playfully but turned back to Niall with an encouraging smile. “I’ll be subtle, I promise. Just casual, ‘Oh, Niall’s such a great guy’ kind of stuff.”

Niall sighed dramatically. “If this backfires, I’m blamin’ you.”

Aspen grinned. “Deal.”

Zayn smirked. “This is the most entertaining lunch I’ve had in weeks.”

As they continued eating, the conversation naturally flowed into playful teasing and joking, but Aspen made a mental note to follow through on her promise. If there was a chance she could help Niall get the push he needed, she’d gladly take it.

Aspen, still burning from Harry’s words, buried her face in her hands. Harry only grinned wider, reaching over to steal another bite from Niall’s plate, completely unbothered.

As the conversation carried on, Aspen couldn’t help but steal glances at Harry—at the way he fit so easily into the dynamic, at the way he teased and laughed and looked at her like she was something he wanted to keep close.

And for a little while, Harry let himself sink into it.

No stress, no secrets.

Just this. Her.

He’d hold onto it for as long as he could.

Harry sat back in his chair, absently twirling his fork between his fingers as conversation carried on around him. The food was good—great, actually, because Aspen had made it—but if he was being honest, he wasn’t fully present. His mind kept slipping, getting caught up in memories that were much more intoxicating than anything else in the room.

He’d been doing his best to keep himself engaged, nodding along when Niall teased Zayn about something, adding in a comment here and there, but all it took was one glance at Aspen, one moment of catching the soft curve of her lips as she smiled, or the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, and he was gone again.

His grip tightened slightly on his fork as his mind drifted back to that night in his office. He could still feel her, taste her, the phantom sensation of her lips and tongue making his stomach coil with heat. The way she had looked at him—wide-eyed, eager, completely wrapped up in him—had nearly ruined him. He’d had plenty of hookups before, but none of them stuck in his head like this, none of them made him crave more than just the physical. But Aspen? She was burned into his mind, into his fucking soul.

And the bathroom. Christ.

He swallowed hard, taking a sip of his drink to keep himself grounded, but it didn’t help much. He could still see the way she’d knelt for him, how shy she had been but how determined, how she’d hesitated but only for a moment before she found her rhythm. The contrast between her softness and the way she had wrecked him had his head spinning even now. He’d never been so completely fucking whipped for someone, never felt this all-consuming urge to take and give all at once. The way she’d looked up at him through her lashes, her fingers barely able to wrap around him, her lips stretched as far as they could go—it had been enough to make him lose all control.

He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself subtly as he forced himself to refocus. He had to get a grip. It wouldn’t do him any favors to sit there getting lost in his own head while they were all supposed to be enjoying a meal. He glanced over at Aspen, catching the way she was laughing at something Niall said, completely unaware of the way she had him tied in knots.

She had no idea what she did to him.

Harry exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair before speaking up, his voice deliberately casual. “Hey, babe,” he said, shifting his attention to Aspen. “Think you could help me move a few things around in my office?”

Aspen blinked, surprised by the sudden request. “Oh,” she said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, of course.”

Harry smirked, pleased with her easy agreement. Truthfully, there wasn’t much that needed moving, but with Niall and Zayn getting caught up with clients, he had a perfect excuse to steal her away for a few moments. He needed a break, and more than that, he wanted to be alone with her—just her.

“Tryin’ to get her alone, are we?” Niall teased, wiggling his brows as he stood from the table to grab his supplies.

Zayn chuckled, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Smooth, mate.”

Harry rolled his eyes, standing as well before placing a firm hand at Aspen’s lower back, guiding her toward the hall leading to his office. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered, though the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.

Aspen followed quietly, her heart picking up its pace just from the warmth of his palm against her. There was something about the way he touched her—casual yet possessive, like he was always reminding her that she was his. She tried not to overthink it, but the way her stomach fluttered made it impossible.

The moment they stepped into his office, Harry shut the door behind them, leaning against it for a second as he took her in. She looked soft under the dim lighting, her features gentle but curious, and for a split second, he forgot why he even made up the excuse in the first place.

“So… what are we moving?” Aspen asked, glancing around the office.

Harry tilted his head slightly, dragging his lip ring between his teeth as he considered her. Then, with a slow grin, he shrugged. “Dunno,” he admitted. “Might’ve just wanted to get you alone.”

Aspen’s cheeks flushed instantly. “Harry,” she scolded, but there was no real bite to it.

“What?” He smirked, stepping closer, his hands finding her hips with ease. “Can’t a man want some time with his girl?”

Aspen’s breath hitched, her hands instinctively pressing against his chest to create the smallest bit of distance, but Harry only squeezed her hips gently, pulling her in just enough to make her heart race.

“You—” She swallowed, trying to compose herself. “You could’ve just said that instead of pretending you needed help moving things.”

Harry hummed, dipping his head to brush his nose against hers. “Mm. Could’ve,” he mused. “But this way was more fun.”

Aspen’s lips parted slightly, her resolve slipping just from the heat of his proximity. He had this effect on her—one look, one touch, and she was undone.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” she murmured.

Harry grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek before pulling back just enough to look her in the eye. “Good,” he said simply. “Because you do the same to me.”

Aspen barely had a second to process his words before Harry closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. His hands moved from her hips to her waist, fingers pressing firmly against the fabric of her top as he pulled her even closer. She melted into him instantly, her own hands slipping up to cup his face, thumbs grazing along his jawline as she sighed softly against his lips.

It started slow, sweet, like they had all the time in the world to explore each other. Harry kissed her with an intensity that sent warmth spilling through her veins, his lips moving over hers with a tenderness that contradicted the way his fingers flexed against her waist. It had been a long day, a long week, and this was what they needed—just the two of them, no distractions, no rushed moments stolen between the chaos of their lives.

But as much as Harry wanted to savor this, his self-control started slipping the second Aspen let out the softest whimper against his mouth. His grip tightened, his lips parting to deepen the kiss, tongue swiping against hers in a way that had her knees weakening beneath her. Aspen clung to him, her fingers curling into the collar of his shirt as she let herself drown in him.

Harry groaned softly, one hand leaving her waist to tangle in her hair, angling her head just how he wanted as he took his time tasting her. The soft scent of her perfume, the warmth of her body pressed against his—it was overwhelming in the best way. He could stay like this forever, but then Aspen pressed just a bit closer, her body molding against his like she was meant to be there, and Harry nearly lost it.

His lips moved from hers, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down to the soft skin of her neck. Aspen gasped, tilting her head to give him more access as his teeth scraped lightly against her pulse point. He smiled against her skin when he felt her shiver, his other hand gripping her waist even tighter.

“Harry,” she whispered, voice breathy, and it sent a shudder down his spine.

It took everything in him to pull back, his forehead resting against hers as he caught his breath. His chest rose and fell heavily, his grip on her tightening before he forced himself to let go completely.

Aspen blinked up at him, lips swollen and eyes dazed. “Why’d you stop?” she asked softly, her voice laced with curiosity and the faintest hint of disappointment.

Harry chuckled, his hands finding her hips once more as he gave her a gentle squeeze. “Because, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to the corner of her mouth, “if I keep going, I’m gonna start something I can’t finish.”

Aspen’s face turned a deep shade of red at his words, and she quickly dropped her gaze. “Oh,” she squeaked out in a breath, suddenly very interested in the buttons on his shirt.

Harry grinned, loving the way she got all shy on him. “Cute,” he mused, nudging her chin up with his fingers so she’d look at him again. “C’mon, little mouse. Have a seat.”

Aspen obeyed, settling onto the small sofa against the wall, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she tried to recover from the heat still lingering in her veins.

Harry grabbed his sketchbook from the desk before sitting beside her, his arm draped along the back of the couch as he flipped to a fresh page. “I needed a break anyway,” he murmured, tapping his pencil against the paper.

Aspen peeked at him, still feeling a little breathless. “What are you gonna draw?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

Harry smirked, eyes flicking to hers before looking back at the blank page. “Dunno yet,” he admitted. “Maybe you.”

Aspen’s heart skipped at that, but she only tilted her head slightly, a confused smile pulling at her lips. “What do you mean?” she asked softly.

Harry stilled for a moment, debating whether he should keep it to himself or let her in on the little secret he had been holding onto for months. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips as he exhaled, deciding that maybe it was time.

Instead of answering right away, he flipped through his sketchbook, fingers dragging over the edges of the pages as he searched for something specific. Aspen watched curiously, her brows knitting together when she noticed how careful he was being, almost hesitant.

And then he turned the book toward her.

Aspen blinked. Her lips parted slightly as her gaze landed on the first drawing—a sketch of her, sitting beneath a tree, completely lost in her book. The details were so precise, so tenderly drawn, she could almost feel the sunlight filtering through the leaves above her, just like it had been that day during their camping trip.

Her throat tightened. “Is this…?”

“The first time I sketched you,” Harry finished for her, voice softer than usual. “Back at the campsite.”

Aspen reached out, her fingers barely grazing the page as she stared at it, taking in every detail. “You… you drew this back then?” Her voice was breathy, almost disbelieving.

Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. You just… I dunno, you looked so peaceful sitting there. I couldn’t help it.”

Aspen’s chest ached in the best way possible. She turned the page, revealing another sketch of her—this one of her standing by Zayn’s car, arms crossed, deep in thought. And then another of her sitting at the tattoo shop, nose buried in a book, oblivious to everything around her. There were so many.

Page after page, she found herself staring at different versions of herself through Harry’s eyes. Some were quick, rough sketches, as if he had drawn them in a hurry before the image slipped from his mind. Others were detailed, shaded with such care that they looked almost lifelike.

She swallowed thickly, emotions swelling in her chest as she reached another drawing—one that looked fresher, the graphite still bold and untouched by time. It was her, curled up on the couch, wearing the oversized hoodie she had stolen from Harry the other night.

“I drew that one a couple nights ago,” Harry admitted, watching her reaction closely. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Aspen’s fingers trembled slightly as she turned to face him. “You never told me,” she whispered.

Harry held her gaze, his usual cocky demeanor slipping into something more vulnerable. “Didn’t think I needed to,” he murmured. “You’re just… always on my mind, I guess.”

Aspen’s heart stuttered in her chest. The weight of his words settled deep in her bones, making it hard to breathe for a moment. She didn’t know what to say, so instead, she reached out and laced her fingers through his, squeezing his hand in silent understanding.

Harry let out a breath and flipped to the back of the sketchbook. “That’s not the only thing I’ve been working on,” he admitted, flipping past a few blank pages before stopping at something else entirely.

Aspen frowned slightly, eyes narrowing as she realized it wasn’t another sketch—it was handwriting. Lyrics.

She tilted her head, reading the words on the page.

"Sweet creature, had another talk about where it’s going wrong… but we’re still young, we don’t know where we’re going, but we know where we belong…”

Aspen’s breath hitched. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Harry… this is—”

Harry cut her off with a nervous chuckle, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah, I’ve been dabbling with the guitar,” he admitted. “Words just kinda… flow sometimes.”

Aspen traced the title with her fingertips, her heart swelling at the sight of it. Sweet Creature.

“It’s about me, isn’t it?” she asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Harry smirked, but there was a softness behind it. “Who else would it be about?”

Aspen bit her lip, a deep warmth spreading through her chest. She wanted to ask him to play it for her, but something about the way he was looking at her—like he wasn’t quite ready to share it completely—made her hold back.

Instead, she turned the page, revealing another song title scribbled onto the next sheet.

"Meet Me in the Hallway."

Aspen’s brows knitted together as she read through the lyrics, the weight of the words pressing down on her chest. There was something haunting about them, something aching, as if each line bled with regret. The melody was absent, but she could feel it in the rhythm of the syllables, in the spaces between the words where silence spoke just as loudly.

Her fingers traced over the ink, eyes scanning over the phrase again and again.

"Just let me know I'll be at the door, at the door Hoping you'll come around Just let me know I'll be on the floor, on the floor Maybe we'll work it out..."

She swallowed thickly, the lump in her throat making it hard to speak. “This one feels…” she trailed off, trying to pinpoint the exact emotion clawing at her chest.

Harry, who had been watching her reaction closely, answered before she could. His voice was quiet, low. “Guilty?”

Aspen’s head snapped up, and when their eyes met, she understood immediately. This wasn’t just a song. It was them.

It was all the nights she had spent wondering what she had done wrong, why he had looked at her like she was both too much and not enough all at once. It was every moment he had pushed her away despite the way his body betrayed him, lingering too close, brushing against her like he couldn't help himself.

It was the space he had put between them, and the silence that had suffocated her when she hadn't understood why.

Aspen’s chest tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the sketchbook. She had never asked him about those days, about why he had acted the way he had. Some part of her had been too afraid of the answer.

And yet, here it was—laid bare in ink and paper, more honest than he had ever been aloud.

“Harry…” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, exhaling through his nose as he ran a hand through his curls. “I know,” he murmured, his eyes flickering away for a second before coming back to her. “I fucked up back then.”

Aspen sucked in a shaky breath. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Harry cut in, firmer this time. His jaw tensed, his fingers gripping the fabric of his jeans. “I need to. Because I know how I treated you before, and I don’t ever want you t'think for a second that it was because of you.”

Aspen’s heart twisted painfully in her chest. She searched his face, her own emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She had spent so long convincing herself that she had imagined the tension, that she had misread the way his eyes had lingered on her, the way he had always seemed to fight against something when he was near her.

And now, hearing him say it outright, the confirmation was almost too much.

“I don’t think that anymore,” she admitted, her voice soft, reassuring. “Not now.”

Harry let out a slow breath, his shoulders dropping as if he had been holding onto something heavy for too long. His fingers inched toward hers, hesitant at first, until Aspen reached for him on her own, closing the distance.

His skin was warm, rough at the fingertips, and yet he held her hand with a gentleness that made her chest ache.

Aspen studied him for a long moment, taking in the little signs of his discomfort—the way his knee bounced slightly, the way his thumb rubbed absentmindedly over her knuckles, as if grounding himself. She could see the vulnerability in his face, the unspoken weight behind his words.

Slowly, a small smile pulled at her lips. “I think it’s beautiful,” she murmured. “Both of them.”

Harry’s eyes flickered up to meet hers, searching for any trace of dishonesty. “Yeah?”

Aspen nodded. “Yeah.”

For a second, he just stared at her, and then something in him seemed to settle. His grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly, and a small, genuine smile spread across his lips.

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Didn’t plan on showing you these t'day,” he admitted, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his tone.

Aspen squeezed his hand, her heart swelling with something deep and warm. “I’m glad you did.”

They sat there, fingers intertwined, the sketchbook still resting between them like a silent bridge to all the things they had never said. And for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt the need to fill the silence.

Because for once, it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t suffocating.

It was simply them.

A quiet stillness settled between them, warm and familiar, as Aspen gently traced the edges of the sketchbook with her fingertips. The weight of everything they had just shared lingered in the air, unspoken yet understood. Harry, still holding her hand, let his thumb lazily graze over her knuckles, grounding himself in the moment. He wasn’t sure if it was the intimacy of her learning about his songs, or if it was simply the way she looked at him—like he was something good, something worth knowing—but a sense of peace washed over him.

Without thinking, he shifted closer, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. Aspen let out a quiet breath of surprise but didn’t resist, instinctively tucking herself against him. Her cheek pressed softly against his shoulder, and Harry relished the feeling of her fitting so perfectly against him.

For a moment, they sat like that, just breathing in each other’s presence.

Then, Harry tilted his head down, brushing his lips against her temple. It was slow, lingering, like he wanted to imprint himself into her skin. “Didn’t know how much I needed this,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something tender.

Aspen smiled, her fingers finding the hem of his sleeve and lightly toying with the fabric. “Needed what?” she asked softly.

Harry pressed another kiss against her hair, his lips barely leaving her skin as he whispered, “You. Just you, sugar.”

Aspen felt her chest tighten in the best way, a warmth spreading through her limbs at his words. She turned slightly in his hold, looking up at him with those soft, doe-like eyes of hers. The affection in them made something deep in his chest clench, a feeling so strong it nearly stole his breath.

Without hesitation, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, lazy kiss. It wasn’t rushed or filled with desperation—it was something deeper, something sweeter. His lips moved against hers with a careful kind of reverence, as if every kiss was meant to tell her all the things he struggled to put into words.

Aspen sighed against his mouth, her hand sliding up to rest against his chest, fingers curling slightly into his shirt. She felt his heartbeat beneath her palm—steady, strong, real.

Harry couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, pulling her impossibly closer. “God, you’re somethin’ else,” he muttered between kisses, voice hushed like he was speaking a secret only for her.

Aspen’s cheeks warmed, and she buried her face against his neck, a quiet giggle escaping her lips. “You always say that.”

Harry chuckled, nuzzling against her. “’Cause it’s true.”

She hummed in response, her fingers drawing small patterns against his chest. The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t awkward or uncertain. It was filled with the quiet kind of love that didn’t need to be spoken to be felt.

But then Harry, feeling the way she melted into him, feeling the way her presence made everything better, suddenly had the overwhelming urge to say it out loud.

The words formed on his tongue before he could second-guess himself.

“I love you.”

Aspen stiffened slightly against him, her breath catching.

Harry felt his heart stutter, a rare flicker of nervousness crawling up his spine. He hadn’t planned on saying it—not yet, not now—but the moment had felt too right to hold it back. And now, waiting for her response, he felt completely, utterly exposed.

Aspen slowly pulled back just enough to look up at him, her wide eyes searching his face as if trying to determine if she had heard him correctly.

Harry held her gaze, unwavering. He didn’t regret saying it. Harry was more so nervous if he had said it too soon, or if it was too much right now.

Aspen’s lips parted slightly, her throat working as she swallowed. She looked so soft—so pure in the way she was taking in his words, like she wanted to tuck them away somewhere safe.

Then, almost shyly, she ducked her head, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that made Harry’s chest tighten. Her fingers played with the hem of his sleeve again, fidgeting. And then, in the quietest, sweetest voice, she whispered, “I love you too.”

Harry swore his heart stopped for a second.

A slow, breathy chuckle left his lips, pure relief flooding through him. “Yeah?” he murmured, tipping her chin up so she had no choice but to look at him again.

Aspen nodded, still impossibly shy, but her eyes held no hesitation. “Yeah.”

Harry felt something shift inside him, something settle. He leaned down, pressing another lingering kiss to her lips, his grip around her tightening like he never wanted to let go.

“Sweetest thing,” he whispered against her mouth.

Aspen smiled against his lips, and when they pulled away, she nestled back into his side, her fingers tracing absentminded shapes against his arm.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, hearts steady and full.

And for the first time in a long time, Harry felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.