#or maybe that's just the leaning into the titling everything with song lyrics

[mcrdvcks]

Dumb & Poetic

Summary: You like Logan, but he likes Jean. Right?

Word Count: 6k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: honestly, this isn't one of my favorites, but i just needed to write it to get it out of my head.

also, this is after the sabrina carpenter song, but this story has no relation to the lyrics whatsoever, i just thought the title was fitting

reader's powers are manipulating atoms (it'll make sense when you read)

warnings/tags: some uses of y/n, pet name (princess, sweetheart), miscommunication, light violence, blood, implied age gap

Even after going on ten missions and counting, you always found yourself nervous. Especially when you were getting onto the Blackbird, clad in your matching suits. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the air, but your mind was on Logan. He sat across from you, legs spread out, arms crossed over his chest, that usual scowl on his face. It was the way he always looked before a mission, but you couldn’t help but glance over a little too often.

Ororo slid into the seat next to you, her sharp eyes catching your lingering stare. “You know,” she said softly, leaning over slightly, “if you keep looking at him like that, you might as well say something.”

You blinked, face heating up. “What? I wasn’t—”

“Oh, please, Y/N,” Ororo chuckled under her breath. “I’m not blind.”

You sighed and slouched back into your seat, fiddling with the straps. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s Logan,” Ororo shrugged. “Everything about him is complicated. But that doesn’t mean you should hold back.”

You cast another glance across the cabin at him. Logan was still quiet, staring out the window now, completely unaware of the butterflies flipping around in your stomach. You didn’t want to admit it, but Ororo was right. There was something about Logan that made you pause. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be in his own world, like he was still holding onto things from his past. Or maybe it was because of the way he looked at Jean sometimes, like there was still something unresolved there.

“I don’t think he’s over her,” you murmured, feeling the familiar weight of doubt settle in.

“Jean?” Ororo raised an eyebrow. “Please, Jean and Scott are practically married. Logan isn’t hung up on her anymore. If anything, he’s just... Logan.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered. It was hard to let yourself hope for something that seemed impossible. Besides, Logan saw you as the kid, didn’t he? He always called you ‘princess’ or ‘sweetheart’- terms of endearment, sure, but you figured he used them with everyone.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, Hank’s voice came over the intercom, snapping everyone to attention. “We’re approaching the target. This should be a routine recon and hopefully data extraction but keep your guard up.”

Logan stood, moving to the front of the cabin. “You heard him. We get in, get the intel, and get out. No heroics.”

You stood with Ororo, adjusting your gloves and trying to ignore the fact that your heart rate had picked up. It wasn’t the mission that had you on edge, but Logan’s presence, the way he effortlessly took command of the room. You hated how easily he affected you.

The Blackbird landed with a soft jolt, and the team moved into action. Logan gave you a nod as you passed, and you swore you saw something in his eyes—concern? Or maybe you were just seeing what you wanted to see.

As the team fanned out, you stayed close to Jean and Scott, your senses heightened. You were supposed to keep it simple, in and out. But things rarely went that smoothly.

A flicker of movement caught your eye just as Jean’s telepathy brushed against your mind. Y/N, we’re not alone. Be ready.

And then all hell broke loose.

Explosions rocked the compound as enemies swarmed in from every direction. You threw up your hands, quickly manipulating the air around you, converting oxygen molecules to corrosive acids to fend off the attackers. Beside you, Scott fired his optic blasts, and Jean’s telekinesis sent debris flying.

You ducked behind a large pole of concrete, peeking out at the attackers behind you. “Alchemy, think you can get to the data room and get what we came for?” Hank asked over comms, as he and Logan fought a group of attackers.

You took a deep breath and peeked out at the attackers. "I’ll do my best, Hank," you responded, scanning for a clear path to the data room. The explosions and gunfire made it difficult to focus, but you knew you had to move.

“Cover her!” Logan’s voice barked out, and you felt a small surge of determination. He was counting on you. The team was counting on you. It was almost too much pressure to bear.

Ororo and Jean moved to provide cover as you darted toward the entrance of the data room. You manipulated the chemicals in the air around you, creating a thick fog to obscure the attackers' vision, but it wouldn’t last long.

You slipped into the room and immediately went to work on the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. The download started, but it was slow, and you could hear the chaos outside intensifying.

“Hurry it up, Alchemy!” Scott’s voice came over the comms, tension clear in his tone.

“Almost there,” you muttered, eyes glued to the screen. The progress bar crept forward, painfully slow. You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting an attacker to burst through the door at any moment.

A loud crash echoed through the room as part of the hallway imploded, sending dust and debris flying. You ducked, covering your head with your arms as the force of the blast knocked you off balance. The data was still downloading—just a few more seconds. But the chaos outside was getting worse.

"Y/N!" Logan's voice crackled through the comms, barely audible over the noise. "Get out of there, now!"

"Almost done!" you yelled back, heart pounding. The progress bar was at 95%. You just needed a little more time.

Another explosion rocked the compound, and you heard Logan shout something to the others. You could hear gunfire and the clash of metal against metal as the team fought off the attackers. Every second felt like an eternity.

"Got it!" you exclaimed as the download completed. You yanked the USB drive from the computer and turned to make your escape. You entered the open area where the rest of the team was fighting, just as part of the ceiling fell. Instinctively, you raised your hands and quickly converted the falling cement into water, which drenched you from head to toe.

You grimaced, pushing your wet hair from your face, but there was no time to focus on the discomfort. The fight was still raging, and Logan’s voice crackled over the comms again, "Princess, get out of there. Now."

“On my way!” you shouted, breaking into a sprint to rejoin the team. You dodged debris, your heartbeat in your ears, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As you rounded the corner, Scott called out through comms, “everyone get dow- ”

Before you could react or shield yourself, a blast came from all around you, an explosion of some kind. You watched as Logan tackled Jean to the ground, shielding her. It was instinctual, he was only protecting a teammate, and Jean was the closest one to him. At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.

You hit the ground hard, your body skidding across the concrete before colliding with a pile of debris. Pain exploded in your side as you groaned, gasping for breath. Dazed, you tried to push yourself up, but your vision swam.

Your hand came down to your side, fingers grazing the sticky warmth on your glove. It wasn’t the water from earlier—you knew that now. The sharp pain spreading through your body confirmed it. You blinked, vision blurring for a second, but your focus quickly snapped back as your instincts kicked in.

"Princess, come in! Y/N!" Logan’s voice crackled over the comms, but it sounded distant, like he was yelling from the other side of a tunnel.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, struggling to push yourself to your feet. Your side screamed in protest, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You couldn’t afford to be down for long. Not when everything around you was falling apart.

You looked up to see Logan pulling Jean to her feet, his eyes scanning the battlefield before locking onto you. For a split second, his eyes widened, and then his expression darkened.

“Stay where you are,” Logan barked, already moving toward you, cutting through the debris and chaos like a force of nature. His claws were out, gleaming even in the dim light, but it wasn’t the enemies he was focused on. It was you.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though the words felt weaker this time. The pain was growing worse, and you stumbled as you tried to take a step forward.

Logan was in front of you in an instant, his hands on your shoulders, steadying you before you could fall. “You’re not fine,” he growled, his voice low and rough. He looked down at your side, and his lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch,” you lied, even as the pain in your side flared again, making it harder to breathe. You tried to step back, to shake off his hands, but Logan wouldn’t let you move.

“You are not fine,” Logan repeated, his eyes dark as they focused on the piece of metal lodged in your side. His hand hovered over it, the blood seeping from the wound making his jaw clench.

“Logan, seriously,” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

You tried to brush him off, to act like the sharp, burning pain radiating from your side wasn’t there, but Logan’s hands didn’t move from your shoulders. His grip was firm, almost like he was grounding you.

“Stop lying to me, Princess,” he growled softly, his eyes flicking from your face to the metal in your side. “It’s not nothing. I can smell the blood.”

The way he said it made your face flush, and for a second, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was worried. It was written all over his face, in the tension of his body, in the way his claws were still out, ready to strike at anything that came near.

“Logan- ” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding. “I’m getting this out.”

He knelt down in front of you, his large hands gently holding your waist. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine despite the situation. You bit your lip, trying to focus on something- anything- other than the way his hands felt on you.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, glancing up at you. His eyes softened just a bit, as if he was trying to reassure you.

“I’ll be fine,” you muttered, though the knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. It wasn’t the pain you were worried about.

Logan gave you a quick nod, then, with a sharp tug, he pulled the metal shard from your side. You bit down on a groan, your vision blurring for a moment as the pain shot through you. The wound was deeper than you’d realized, and the blood quickly soaked through your suit.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath, pressing his hand against your side to try and stop the bleeding. “We need to get you back to the jet. You’re losing too much blood.”

“I can handle it,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to stand up straighter. “We still have enemies out there. I’m not leaving the fight.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “The hell you aren’t.”

You tried to argue, but the pain flared again, and your vision swam. You stumbled, and Logan caught you easily, pulling you against him.

“Stubborn,” he muttered, his voice close to your ear now. “You’re as bad as me.”

“I learned from the best,” you said, trying to force a smile through the pain. But it was hard to keep the act up when your body was screaming at you to lie down, to rest.

Logan’s grip tightened on you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him. His body was solid and warm, and despite the chaos around you, there was something comforting about his presence.

“We’re getting you back to the jet, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not staying out here like this.”

“But- ” you started to protest, but Logan cut you off again.

“No ‘buts,’ princess. You’re hurt. Let the rest of us handle it.”

Before you could argue again, he gently but firmly hoisted you up into his arms. The movement made your side burn, but you were too stunned by the fact that Logan was carrying you to care.

“Logan, put me down,” you said, your face heating up in embarrassment. “I can walk.”

“Not happening,” he grunted, his arms strong and steady around you. “You can yell at me later if you want. Right now, we’re getting you patched up.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. His face was set in that familiar scowl, but there was something else in his eyes. Concern? Maybe even fear?

“Logan, I’m fine,” you tried again, but your voice was weaker this time. The truth was, you were exhausted. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain was becoming harder to ignore.

Logan didn’t respond, his jaw tight as he carried you through the debris and chaos. You caught sight of Ororo and Scott still fighting off the last of the enemies, and Jean was using her telekinesis to hold back another explosion.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jean’s voice cut through the noise, her eyes widening as she saw you in Logan’s arms.

“She’s hurt,” Logan said, not stopping as he headed for the jet. “I’m getting her out of here.”

Jean looked like she wanted to protest, but she gave a quick nod, her focus shifting back to the battle. “Go. We’ll finish up here.”

As Logan carried you back to the Blackbird, you couldn’t help but glance up at him again. His face was still set in that determined, protective expression, and your heart did another flip.

This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. There was something else between you two, something you had been too scared to admit to yourself. But now, with Logan holding you close, the weight of his concern for you pressing down on your heart, it was impossible to ignore.

So, for now, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of him around you, lingering in it for as long as you could. Because you knew this is the closest you were ever going to get to him holding you like he cared.

---

You blinked, hearing muffled arguing coming from outside the medbay, Jean coming over to your side. “Hey, there. You’ve been out for a day.”

“A day?” You asked, your voice hoarse.

“You sustained significant blood loss, but luckily the metal didn’t hit any organs, or it would be a much different story,” Jean said gently, her eyes watching you with concern.

You blinked a few times, your head still foggy from the whole ordeal. “A day? I’ve been out for a day?”

Jean nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. “You’re tougher than you think, Y/N. You just need to rest.”

You sighed, glancing around the medbay. The arguing from outside caught your attention again. Jean seemed to notice it too, her expression turning slightly more serious.

“Logan’s been a little... on edge since you were brought back,” she said carefully.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Logan. You tried not to let it show, but you’d always been bad at hiding your feelings. Jean gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about him. He just- well, you know Logan.”

You chuckled softly, though it hurt to do so. “Yeah, I know Logan.”

Jean gave you a sympathetic look, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “He’s been worried. More than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “More than usual?”

Jean nodded. “You know how he gets. All gruff and ‘I don’t care,’ but it’s just a front. He was pacing outside the medbay the entire time we were patching you up.”

The idea of Logan pacing, stressed about you, felt both strange and oddly comforting. It was hard to imagine him being that concerned over anyone—let alone you.

The door to the medbay creaked open, and Logan’s familiar, rugged form stepped inside. His eyes immediately locked on you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told you he was angry. And worried.

Jean gave you a quick smile and a soft pat on your arm before standing. “I’ll give you two some space.”

As Jean left, the room fell into an awkward silence. Logan stood by the door for a moment, arms crossed, not moving. His eyes scanned you, probably taking in the bandages, the way you were still propped up on the medbay bed, looking a little worse for wear.

“Hey,” you said quietly, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Logan muttered, walking over to your bed with heavy steps. He didn’t sit, just loomed at the foot of the bed, arms still crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked up at him, trying to push past the discomfort. “I’m fine, really. Jean said I’m tougher than I think.”

“Yeah, and you’re also reckless,” Logan shot back, his voice rough. “You almost got yourself killed out there, Princess.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, and you looked away, fiddling with the blanket. You liked it when he called you that, but at the same time it almost felt like he still saw you as a kid. “I didn’t mean to. I was just doing my job.”

Logan let out a sharp breath, and for a second, you thought he was going to start yelling at you. Instead, he sighed and finally sat down on the chair next to your bed. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking tired.

“I know you were doing your job,” Logan said, his voice quieter now. “But you gotta be more careful. I thought—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he stared at the floor. “I thought I lost you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, like the very idea of you being gone was unbearable to him. You swallowed, unsure of what to say. You’d never seen Logan like this—so raw, so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Logan glanced up at you, his eyes softening just a bit. “You scared the hell outta me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sent a familiar warmth through your chest, but this time it wasn’t just the usual flustered feeling. There was something more behind it, something deeper that you’d never allowed yourself to believe was possible.

“I didn’t mean to,” you repeated, feeling small under his gaze. “I just... I wanted to do my part.”

Logan’s expression softened even more, and he leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I get that. You’re tough, Princess. But you’re also important. To the team... and to me.”

You blinked, your heart pounding. Did he just say that? Did Logan—Logan, of all people—just admit you were important to him? Your mind was racing, trying to process what he meant, but before you could say anything, Logan stood up abruptly, like he regretted letting those words slip.

“You need rest,” he said, his voice gruff again as he turned toward the door. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Logan left the medbay, leaving you alone with the beeping machines.

---

A few days later you were released from the medbay and told to take it easy by Jean. Which you took to heart, perhaps a little too much.

You stayed in your room, only leaving at abnormal times to get food and water since you didn’t want to run into Logan. After all, you were young, practically a child to him, and all you wanted was for your crush on him to fade away like so many others did before.

That’s what you kept telling yourself. It didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to handle. Your crush on Logan had always been this quiet thing, something you never intended to act on. But now, after everything, it felt like it had grown louder, more noticeable. And that scared you.

You sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed, idly fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Maybe you just needed to... talk to him. Be normal again. You’d been friends before, hadn’t you? It wasn’t like he knew how you felt, anyway.

Just as you were considering going for a walk to clear your head, there was a knock at your door. You froze.

“Y/N?” Ororo’s voice came from the other side, soft but steady. “You in there?”

You quickly got up, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Ororo stood there, arms crossed, giving you that look—like she knew exactly what was going on with you. It was unnerving, how she always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone emotionally.

“Hey,” you greeted, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at nonchalance. “You’ve been hiding.”

You blinked. “I haven’t been hiding.”

Ororo gave you a look. “Please. I haven’t seen you at meal times, and Logan’s been extra grumpy. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

You felt your face heat up. “Logan’s grumpy all the time.”

“He’s more grumpy than usual,” Ororo said, stepping into your room and closing the door behind her. “He’s been asking around. Wants to know why you’re avoiding him.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “He said that?”

Ororo nodded, leaning against your desk. “He won’t admit it’s bothering him, but it is. What’s going on?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat back down on the bed. “I just... I don’t know, okay? Things got weird after the mission, and I needed space.”

“Logan didn’t do anything wrong,” Ororo pointed out gently.

“I know,” you mumbled. “It’s not him. It’s me.”

Ororo tilted her head, studying you for a moment before sitting beside you on the bed. “You’re worried about how he sees you, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I mean, kinda of. He doesn’t see me in the way I see him, y’know?”

Ororo gave you a knowing look, her lips quirking up slightly. "And how do you see him?"

You hesitated, feeling your face heat up again. "I... I don’t know. It's just... he’s Logan. He’s been through so much, seen so much, and I’m just… me. The kid who got lucky with mutant powers and likes chemistry too much."

Ororo smiled gently, shaking her head. "You’re selling yourself short, Y/N. You're a lot more than that. And Logan sees it."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Ororo held up a hand. "I’m not saying he knows exactly what he's feeling, but he's not as oblivious as you think. And trust me, the way he’s been acting lately, it’s clear you’re important to him."

You sighed, flopping back on the bed. "Maybe, but it’s not like that. It can’t be. He’s Logan—he doesn’t do the whole feelings thing."

Ororo chuckled softly. "You’d be surprised. He’s more in tune with his feelings than he lets on. He’s just… not used to showing them."

You frowned up at the ceiling. "Then why does it feel like I’m the only one getting all messed up over this?"

Ororo stood up, crossing her arms as she looked down at you. "Because you’re thinking too much, Alchemy. Maybe you should try talking to him instead of hiding."

"I’m not hiding!" you protested weakly.

"Uh-huh," Ororo said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, hiding or not, he’s not going to let this go. Logan’s stubborn like that."

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. "Great. That’s exactly what I need."

Ororo chuckled again. "Just… talk to him. It might help. You can’t avoid him forever."

You sighed, peeking out from under the pillow. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it."

Ororo smiled softly before heading toward the door. "Good. And Y/N?"

You looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Give yourself a little more credit," Ororo said gently. "You’re not just some kid to him. He cares about you. Maybe more than either of you realizes."

Before you could respond, she slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the knot of nervousness growing in your stomach.

---

The next day, you were wandering through the mansion’s empty halls after lunch. You weren’t hiding per se, but you were definitely avoiding a certain someone. Ororo’s words kept echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. Talking to Logan was probably the only way to clear this weird tension between you, but the thought of actually doing it made you want to curl up and disappear.

As you turned a corner, lost in thought, you almost walked straight into him.

"Whoa, easy there, Princess," Logan’s gruff voice startled you as he steadied you with a hand on your arm. "Where you off to in such a hurry?"

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I-I wasn’t—uh, just wandering."

Logan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but amused. "You’ve been ‘just wandering’ a lot lately."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. This was it. The moment you’d been dreading. He was right here, and there was no avoiding him now.

Logan sighed, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. "You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart."

There it was. The thing you’d been trying to dodge. Your heart raced, and you shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "I haven’t been avoiding you."

Logan huffed, his expression softening a little. "I ain’t stupid, Y/N. You haven’t been around much since the mission. What’s goin’ on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your palms start to sweat. "It’s nothing. I just... needed some space. That’s all."

Logan narrowed his eyes slightly, studying you. "Space from me?"

You looked down at your shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting. "Not exactly. I just... things got a little weird, okay?"

"Weird how?" Logan’s voice was still rough, but there was a hint of something gentler beneath it. Concern, maybe?

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. How were you supposed to explain that the reason you’d been avoiding him was because your stupid crush had spiraled into something much more confusing and intense? You couldn’t just blurt that out. Could you?

Logan’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, and he took a step closer, his voice low. "Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you glanced up at him. He was so close now, and the familiar warmth in his eyes was making it hard to think straight.

"I just... I didn’t want to make things awkward between us," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing. "Why would things be awkward?"

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Because I... I care about you, Logan. A lot. And I know you don’t feel the same way because you still like Jean- ”

Logan's frown deepened, and he shook his head almost immediately. "Jean? What’re you talkin’ about?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you bit your lip, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "I mean, I just assumed... everyone knows you used to have feelings for her, and it’s fine, really. I get it. I just didn’t want to make things weird by—"

"Y/N," Logan cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. He stepped closer, his gaze locking with yours. "I ain’t thinkin’ about Jean like that anymore."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You’re not?"

Logan shook his head again, a hint of frustration slipping through. "No, sweetheart. That’s done with. It’s been done with for a while."

Your mind raced, trying to process what he was saying. If he wasn’t still hung up on Jean, then... What did that mean? Why had he been acting so tense around you?

"Then why have you been so... distant?" you asked softly, your voice wavering. "You’ve been acting weird too, Logan. It’s not just me."

Logan looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare sign of discomfort from him. When he spoke again, his voice was a little gruffer. "I’ve been... tryin’ to figure some stuff out, alright?"

"Figure what out?" you pressed gently, taking a step closer to him now. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, but you didn’t back down. "Logan, just talk to me."

He sighed, his eyes meeting yours again, and for a second, you saw something vulnerable flash through his expression—something raw. He was quiet for a beat before he finally spoke.

"After that mission," he said slowly, his voice low, "when I saw you get hurt... somethin’ in me snapped. I couldn’t... I couldn’t handle it, Y/N. The thought of losin’ you like that—" He broke off, his jaw tightening, and you could see the tension in his shoulders. "I’ve been through a lotta shit in my life. Seen people come and go. But you? The idea of you bein’ gone—it messed me up more than I thought it would."

You stood there, staring at him, trying to absorb what he was saying. He wasn’t just talking about the mission anymore. This was more than that.

"Logan..." you whispered, feeling a knot form in your throat. "I didn’t know you—"

"I didn’t know it either," he interrupted, his voice rough but sincere. "I didn’t know I felt like this ‘til it hit me. I care about you, Princess. More than I care to admit, sometimes. And I ain’t exactly good at this... feelings thing, y’know that."

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you were convinced you’d misheard him. Logan cared about you? Like that? It felt surreal.

"You... you care about me?" you asked cautiously, your voice small.

Logan huffed, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. "Hell yeah, I do. I’ve been tryin’ to push it down for a while now, but it ain’t workin’. Not anymore."

You stared at him in disbelief, your pulse racing. "But... I’m just—"

"Don’t even start with that ‘I’m just me’ bullshit," Logan cut you off again, his tone more serious. "You ain’t ‘just’ anything, Y/N. You’re smart, tough as nails, and you’ve got a good heart. You matter to me. And not in some ‘kid sister’ kinda way either, if that’s what you’re thinkin’."

Your cheeks flushed, and your heart skipped a beat. He was being so direct, so honest, and it left you completely speechless.

Logan shifted a little closer, his gaze softening even more as he looked down at you. "I don’t know when it happened, but it did. You got under my skin, sweetheart. And as much as I tried to ignore it... I can’t."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. This was really happening. Logan—gruff, stoic Logan—was telling you that he had feelings for you. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like a kid around him. You felt like someone who mattered, someone he saw.

"I..." you started, your voice shaking a little. "I didn’t think you’d ever... I mean, I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, but I just figured—"

Logan chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to brush your cheek gently. The touch was gentle, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "You figured wrong, Princess."

You blinked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he was looking at you—it wasn’t just teasing or friendly banter. It was something deeper, something real. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was just… I don’t know, bothering you or something.”

Logan’s hand lingered near your face, his thumb brushing your cheek softly. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the sincerity in them, the raw emotion he wasn’t hiding anymore. “You ain’t a bother, sweetheart. Far from it. And if I’ve been actin’ like I don’t care, that’s on me. But I do care. A lot.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His touch, his words—it was all too much, too overwhelming. You’d been crushing on Logan for what felt like forever, and now he was standing here, telling you he felt the same way. It didn’t feel real.

“Logan, I…” You started, but your words trailed off as his hand slid down to your neck, his rough palm warm against your skin. The way he was looking at you, the intensity in his gaze, made it impossible to think straight.

“Stop thinkin’ so hard,” Logan murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just… be here. With me.”

Your heart pounded as you met his eyes, your stomach doing flips. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until you let it out in a shaky exhale. “Okay.”

For a moment, everything felt like it slowed down—the air between you humming with tension. Logan leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, and you could feel his breath warm against your lips. It felt like time had stopped, like nothing else in the world mattered but this moment.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his.

Logan responded instantly, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he kissed you with a kind of intensity that made your knees weak. It wasn’t slow or hesitant—it was rough, urgent, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

You kissed him back, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping his shirt as you melted into him. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and the way he kissed you sent a shock of electricity through your entire body. It was everything you’d imagined and more.

Logan’s free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him until there was no space left between your bodies. You could feel the strength in him, the raw power that he usually kept under tight control, but there was also a tenderness in the way he touched you, like he was afraid of hurting you.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, you lost yourself in him—in the way he tasted, the way he smelled like leather and pine, the way his hands moved over your body like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Logan’s hands were still on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “You really are somethin’, Princess.”

You laughed softly, feeling a little dizzy from the kiss, from everything. “You’re not so bad yourself, Wolverine.”

Logan smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “Could’ve told me sooner, y’know. Saved me a lotta trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, well, you could’ve said something too. You had me thinking I was crazy this whole time.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”

You bit your lip, still trying to process everything. You’d kissed Logan. Actually kissed him. And he’d kissed you back. It felt like a dream, like any second now you were going to wake up and realize none of this had happened.

But it had. He was still here, his arms around you, his eyes on you, his lips still tingling from the kiss. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel nervous or uncertain around him. You felt… right.

[no-144444]

risotto- l.norris

summary: brazil was shit.

pairing: lando norris x fem! reader

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Brazil was his chance, and he fucked it up. He’d never been the best wet-weather driver in the world, he knew that. Going from pole to p6, effectively ruining any chance at the title didn’t exactly make him feel very good. All he wanted was some rest, some sleep, some good food, something to take his mind off his potentially fucked career. But you wouldn’t even be home, too busy overseas to even text him after the race. Not that he was mad, but he wished you had been there, even just in Monaco so that he could come home to you and your famous risotto recipe which was definitely not diet-approved, but it made everything ok again. He would kiss you and you would smell like you, maybe you’d even tell him he did a good job. 

When he opened the door to his apartment, he did not expect to hear slow Frank Sinatra songs playing from his speakers, the smell of butter and parmesan in the air, and his beautiful girlfriend humming along to the lyrics as she soft swayed to the music. 

“You’re home,” you smiled gently, making your way over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Well done on getting through the weekend,” you whispered and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

He teared up slightly, dropping the bag in his hand and tightly wrapping his arms around you, holding you as close as possible. He burrowed his head into the crevice of your neck and sighed, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there. 

You let him hug you for a moment, hugging him back. He was broken, exhausted, and probably way too in his head about it all. You’d seen him do this before, putting too much pressure on himself until it was too late. You patted his back, letting go of him as his arms fell away. “Risotto is 3 minutes away, go get changed into some pjs, yeah?” you instructed. He nodded, yawning and sulking away to his bedroom as you started plating the food. You set it on the table and sat across from him as you both ate in silence. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked. “We don’t have to.”

He shook his head. “I’m kind of tired, I might just go to bed,” he explained. “How was your weekend?”

Deflection, he was good at that. You indulged him anyway. “It was fine, boring,” you admitted. “Just a bunch of collecting samples and testing them. The drug trials are going well though. I missed you too much though, so I decided to come back early.” 

A ghost of a smile graced his lips and you felt your worry lessen. “Boss let you off early?”

“He understood the circumstances,” you nodded. Lando chuckled lightly. 

“I love you,” he confessed. You giggled, taking his hand. 

“I love you too,” you smiled. “Now, let’s get you to bed, yeah?” 

“But the dishes-” “Can be done in the morning,” you finished for him, taking his hand and intertwining them with yours. You dragged him into the bathroom to brush his teeth, where he leaned on you from behind the entire time, making the both of you laugh. He even got his camera out and snapped a few pictures, ‘capturing your beauty’ as he would always say. When you both finally got into bed, he wrapped his arms around you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck once more. Everything was right with the world, you two were together, and once Lando had you, he wasn’t too worried about what the outside world had to say about him.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me

dbf!Joel x f!reader

The first TLOU fic I ever read was a dbf!Joel story and it left an indelible mark on my soul. Unfortunately, I never bookmarked it so I have no idea which one it was. It's only natural that I had to try my hand at one at some point. So, here we are.

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 4.1k

Series Warnings: Mature to start, but will ultimately be Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. There will be angst, drama, fluff, humor, romance, smut... basically, the works. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname from her dad, which will be explained at some point.

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Chapter One: The Day That I Met You

If you asked him over a decade ago where he’d be now, Joel Miller would not have placed himself as a single father to a tenacious pre-teen desperately trying to keep things afloat. He spent too many hours in the week working to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. He would be lost without the help of his brother and the few friends he had. He had no social life to speak of and could not for the life of him remember the last time he went on an actual date.

No, back then, Joel thought he’d be living the good life in ten years’ time – traveling, going out with the boys, maybe have a girlfriend or wife. Basically, just getting to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Don’t get him wrong, though. He was still living a good life; it just was a different sort of good than what he hoped for back in the day.

He loved his daughter with every fiber of his being. Sarah was the best damn thing that ever happened to him, his entire world, and he wouldn’t change the past ten years for anything. He bent over backwards doing whatever it took to make his little girl feel cared for, happy, and loved. He just wished there was a little energy left for something for himself at the end of the day.

Joel Miller was drained. Mentally, physically, and emotionally.

He awoke with a groan as the bright sunlight broke through the gap in his curtains. It was Saturday – his birthday – and he hoped to sleep in, at least a little. Between the brightness of the morning and the stifled sounds of clanging pans and voices carrying up the stairs from his kitchen, sleeping in was not happening.

He hauled himself out of bed with a groan worthy of a man twenty years his senior and stretched out his limbs to ease the achiness in his bare back and chest from too much manual labor. Throwing on a pair of well-worn sleep pants and a faded tee shirt, Joel slipped from his bedroom and down the stairs. He moved rather quietly for a man of his size, stealing a moment to lean against the entryway into the kitchen and watch as Sarah and Tommy worked together making breakfast.

The counters were a mess of spilled pancake mix, eggshells, and… was that coffee dripping over the edge and onto the floor? It was a toss-up on who made the bigger mess, his ten-year-old daughter, or his grown ass brother. Still, Joel could not stop the smile spreading across his face as he watched them laughing and teasing each other. That, right there, was the reason he worked so hard, why the loneliness was worth it.

When Tommy flipped the stovetop off, Sarah turned to find her dad smiling goofily at them. “Happy Birthday, Dad!” she exclaimed, launching herself at his chest. Her lanky arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug.

“Thanks, baby girl,” Joel replied, pressing his lips to her forehead in a quick kiss before he settled her feet on the ground.

“We made you breakfast!” Sarah declared, gesturing toward the disaster zone formerly known as his kitchen.

“I see that,” he chuckled, voice still slightly rough with sleep.

Tommy turned with a smirk, hands grasping two plates filled with bacon, eggs, and pancakes. “Take a seat, brother. Let us take care of you on your birthday.” Placing the food on the small dining table, Tommy roughly patted his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry ‘bout the mess, I’m on cleanup duty after we eat.”

“We expectin’ company? That’s a helluva lot of food,” Joel grumbled. He needed coffee, stat.

“Yeah, JB is comin’ over to see ya before heading to the airport. His daughter finished grad school over the summer and is moving back home.” Tommy set more food and a full mug of dark roast coffee in front of his brother. The scent alone made Joel perk up a little.

The Millers hadn’t met you yet, having only become friends with your dad through work after you’d already left for college on the east coast. Your dad had a good decade on Joel, but he and the Miller brothers got on like a forest fire from what he told you. With visits home always short and rushed, busy catching up with family and your own friends, there was never time for your dad to introduce you all. Now you were coming home for good and would have plentiful opportunities for spending time with your dad and his friends.

“Speak of the devil,” Tommy muttered as the doorbell rang. Sarah bounded to the door to greet your dad with a hug. In many ways, the girl reminded him of you when you were young, and it always brought a smile to his face.

“There he is! The man of the hour. Happy Birthday, buddy!” Your dad, John, or JB as the Millers called him, ruffled Joel’s already mussed hair, leaving a few locks standing straight up in further disarray. Pulling a 12-pack of beer from behind his back, your dad set it on the table in front of Joel, topped with a little red bow. “I gotcha a lil’ something to celebrate.”

“Good man,” Joel replied with a chuckle. “Have a seat and help me eat all this. Tommy just told me your lil’ girl is coming home, finally.”

Your dad’s face lit up even more at the mention of you coming home. “She’s not so little anymore, but I sure am glad she’s moving back here. Said she had enough of the east coast, but I think she just missed her ol’ man.” After wolfing down some food, he added, “Think we could host a small barbecue here this coming weekend to celebrate? Your backyard is way nicer than mine and you got the pool and all.”

“Not to mention that fancy ass grill,” Tommy chimed in.

Swallowing a long sip of his morning go juice, Joel nodded. “Of course. Invite whoever you want. I’m looking forward to finally meeting your daughter.”

“Me too!” Sarah added. She heard a lot about you from your dad and hoped you were as cool in person as he made you out to be.

Joel’s mind started spinning upon hearing his daughter’s excitement. With her school hours being so different from his typical work hours, he was spending a small fortune on after school care for Sarah. She was still too young for him to leave home alone, especially on those days where he’s stuck late at a job. He was barely scraping by as it was and couldn’t really afford the cost of after school programs. Perhaps…

“JB, ya think your daughter would mind watching Sarah during the week while she’s home. Drop off and pick up from school and keeping her company ‘til I get home from work? I could pay her – it wouldn’t be much, but better than nothin’, I imagine.” He watched Sarah’s eyes light up at the suggestion and knew it was a good choice.

“I’m sure she’d love to. She wasn’t planning on finding a real job until after the holidays, so I know she’ll be free during the day,” your dad replied. “I’ll talk to her about it on the ride back from the airport and let you know.”

Three suitcases and a carry-on bag. That’s all you had left from six and a half years of pursuing higher education in North Carolina. You sold or gave away anything that did not fit into your luggage or hold sentimental value of your time away. Now, you were moving back home to save some money before you had to start chipping away at the mountain of student loan debt you accrued.

You loved learning, always have, but you were relieved to be done with school. Equipped with a bachelor’s degree in earth sciences and a master’s in education, you felt like a real adult ready to take the world of middle school by storm… well, starting after the new year, maybe. For now, you needed several months of limited to no responsibility to recoup your mental and physical energy. That last couple years of school really burned you out. Not to mention the last-minute rejection of a teaching position you thought was in the bag…

Anyway, you were better off leaving North Carolina behind and returning to Austin. You missed your dad something fierce and his particular brand of caring for you was exactly what your weary soul needed. It was you and him against the world, just like when you were a kid.

You flight was smooth and uneventful, yet you were relieved to deboard the plane. Something about being stuck in a tin can at the mercy of someone else’s ability to keep the thing from plummeting to the ground really aggravated your anxiety. Flying was something you would never enjoy; it was merely a means to an end when you wanted to travel long distances.

The journey to baggage claim was a slog with the crowd of passengers all heading to the same place. You were wondering how you’d wrangle three large suitcases by yourself when you caught sight of your dad. His broad smile took over his face when he spotted you, rushing over to sweep you up in a big bear hug.

“Hey Spud, how was the flight?” he asked as you waited for the baggage carousel to begin moving. “Looks like it was a full plane.”

“It was, but the flight was good. I’m really glad to be home.”

“Me, too, kid.”

You settled into a comfortable silence, watching various pieces of luggage pass by on the carousel. Your bags were scattered, and you had to wait several cycles to get all of them. Your dad lugged the final suitcase over the carousel with a grunt. “Jesus, what you got in this one? Bricks? A body?”

“That one has my gaming system and half a closet full of clothes,” you replied with a laugh.

Before long, everything was loaded into your dad’s truck, and you were heading back towards town. The radio hummed at a low volume as you both chatted about everything and nothing all at once.

“Hey, so I know you said you weren’t looking for full-time work until after the new year, but I have a proposition for you.” Your dad’s eyes stayed focused on the road, and you merely quirked a brow waiting for him to continue. “My buddy Joel – you know the one I told you about? Well, his daughter is ten and he needs some help with the school run and after school care. Our work hours aren’t exactly the same as elementary school, you know?”

You nodded, remembering all the times your dad spoke to you about Joel, as well as his daughter and brother. Despite never meeting them, you felt like you already knew their whole life story. “So, he’s looking for a nanny or something? I could do that. It would keep me from getting lazy while I navigate getting my Texas teaching certificate.”

Your dad grinned, one hand patting your leg. “I was hoping you’d say that. Joel will pay you, of course, but just… don’t expect much. It ain’t easy for him being a single dad trying to keep everything afloat.”

Again, you nodded, a soft smile creasing your lips. You knew all too well how challenging it could be for single parents, having grown up with just you and your dad. Much like what your dad told you about Joel’s experience with the mother of his child, your mom split when you were barely a toddler. Things weren’t always sunshine and roses, but your dad sure did his best to make sure you had a great life. Honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, that life with your dad. You had a feeling it was much the same for Joel and his daughter.

“I’m happy to help, even if he doesn’t pay me. I’m sure his daughter will enjoy having a female influence in her life if nothing else. What’s her name again? Sarah?”

Your dad’s eyes twinkled with pride. “Yup, that’s it. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, Spud.”

A mist of tears prickled your eyes as you mumbled out a “Thanks, dad.” After a beat, you added, “Must you keep up with that nickname?”

“Of course. You’ll always be my little Spud,” he laughed as you rolled your eyes. “Oh, by the way, we’re going to the Millers on Saturday for your welcome home party.”

“What’s all this?” Joel questioned as Tommy and Sarah placed a heavy, wrapped package on the table before him along with a few smaller presents. The remains of a birthday cake sat nearby, having been delightfully devoured by the Millers while celebrating Joel’s birthday.

“Just a little somethin’ from me and Sarah,” Tommy replied, a boyish grin alighting his handsome features.

Joel gazed between them with curiosity. Not big on celebrating his own aging, he rarely got big gifts. “You wanna help me open this, nugget?” Sarah’s eyes lit up, small hands reaching to tear the wrapping paper into shreds. It only took a few moments for the contents to be revealed, leaving Joel confused at the modern contraption sitting in front of him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You play video games on it, dumbass.” Tommy harumphed as he began a diatribe on the features of the gaming system – he had one just like it at his place and it provided hours of entertainment when he didn’t feel like going out. “I figured it would be a good hobby for you since you never want to join me in going out.”

“Huh,” Joel grunted in return, brows furrowed as he read the instructions on how to setup up the machine. His attention was diverted by Sarah shoving the smaller parcels into his lap.

“Here, dad! These go with it.” Together, they tore into the wrapping paper to find several video games, a few of which were family friendly. The final gift was a spare controller for the gaming system so he and Sarah could play together.

Despite still being unsure that the gift was a good fit for him, Joel was grateful to Tommy for the effort. “This is too much, man. You shouldn’t spend this kind of money on me, Tommy.”

His brother waved him off. “I found a great deal and you never get anything for yourself, brother. You deserve something to indulge in. Believe me, you’ll have fun with this.”

The rest of the evening was spent with Tommy setting up the system and showing the father-daughter duo how to play some of the games he picked out. The living room filled with lots of laughter and teasing, and Joel found himself really getting into the fun of the video games.

After tucking Sarah into bed, Tommy showed Joel a game that was too violent for the little girl but entertaining for the men. The game was set in Washington DC which had been ravaged by a brutal pandemic and the main character was part of a group of agents fighting off nefarious gangs trying to take over the city. Joel caught onto the gameplay quickly and the two men found themselves building the loadout for Joel’s character, taking out bad guys, and chatting well into the night.

At two in the morning, the pair looked at each other with bleary, red-rimmed eyes and finally called it a night. Joel directed Tommy to crash in the spare room as he shuffled off to bed upstairs.

It didn’t take you long to get settled into your dad’s house. It wasn’t the home you grew up in and you only visited a few times after he bought it. After years living away on your own, you thought it would be an adjustment being under his roof again, but it wasn’t. He understood the need for personal space and never hovered unless you were hurt or sick. He gave you the downstairs bedroom – it was the largest in the house, with an ensuite bath and huge walk-in closet.

“Dad, no! Why in the world is this not your room?” you questioned when he placed your bags on the brand-new, king size bed he had delivered the week prior.

“Hell no, Spud. What do I need all this space for? I like the upstairs rooms better – the light is all wrong in this one anyway.”

You looked around, holding in a giggle. The room faced south, giving you just the right amount of natural light all day. That’s what your dad didn’t like. He preferred to live like a bat in a cave with blackout curtains and limited lighting.

“Alright, well, I love it. The natural light is perfect for me. I can actually put some plants on the windowsills. Thank you!” You kissed his cheek as he left you to get settled.

You spent the week rearranging the bedroom how you wanted it, setting up your gaming system, and putting all your clothes into the walk-in closet. Your dad hadn’t done much with the room other than furnish it, so you made a few trips to the store to get a bathroom set, floor lamps, and wall décor to make the room your own.

Before you knew it, Saturday morning dawned bright and warm. The day of your welcome home gathering arrived, and you would finally get to meet the Millers. An excited energy had you moving about your space in a flurry, tidying up and getting ready early. You’d seen some photos of the Millers that your dad sent you – Sarah was adorable with her dark, springy curls, and Joel… Joel was handsome, in a broody, overworked kind of way, with dark, riotous curls and big, warm chocolate eyes. Kind eyes, you called them.

“Hey Spud, you ready?” your dad called from the kitchen as you put the finishing touches on your hair. It was pinned up, leaving the smooth skin of your neck bare. The sundress you picked hugged your curves in just the right way, falling just at your knees in a flow of lightweight material. In early October, Austin was still hot, and you hoped the Millers’ yard was shaded.

“Bring a swimsuit! They have a pool!” he yelled as you grabbed the last of your things. Turning back to your closet, you grabbed a dark green one-piece suitable for family-friendly swimming and tucked it into your bag.

“I’m ready!”

Your dad smiled at the sight of you. “Let’s go then. We’re heading over early so you can officially meet the Millers and we’ll help them setup before everyone else arrives.”

“Sounds good. Who all’s coming anyway?” Your eyes widened as your dad rattled off a list of people he invited, including his work buddies and some of his and Joel’s neighbors. He would have invited some of your old friends from high school, but you all lost touch over the years. The party was turning out bigger than you thought. Your heart swelled with how happy your dad was to have you home for good.

The Millers lived in the same neighborhood, only a few blocks away, so close you could have walked if not for the scorching sun. The drive took only a few minutes before your dad pulled into the driveway of a two-story home similar to your dad’s, with simple landscaping and two wooden rocking chairs on the wide porch. Lovely and quaint, the house made you more curious about the people who lived there.

“Dayum! Get a load a JB’s daughter, Joel,” Tommy called from the living room, leaning over the couch to look out the front window. “She’s smokin’ hot!”

“Dammit, Tommy. Stop spying on ‘em,” Joel growled, sneaking a peek over his brother’s shoulder to do a little hypocritical spying of his own. Breath caught in his throat at the sight of you and he couldn’t break his gaze away, even as JB led you toward the front door.

“What was that about spyin’, brother?” Tommy teased, practically dragging Joel away from the window as a knock sounded against the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

Tommy opened the heavy wooden door revealing the pair of you standing there, matching bright eyes and wide grins greeting him. “Well, hello there, beautiful. I’m Tommy.” Reaching a hand toward you, Tommy completely ignored JB, who just scowled at him.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” you replied, offering him your hand and name in return. Joel’s scowl matched your dad’s expression as Tommy held your hand for several beats too long.

“Back off, Tommy,” your dad grunted, swatting at the younger Miller brother. “This here is Tommy’s brother, Joel. The one who actually owns this house and the better Miller, if you ask me.”

“Ain’t no one askin’ you, old man,” Tommy’s smart mouth shot back at your dad.

Joel ignored both men, eyes like dark pools as he gazed at you, awed at how small and delicate your hand felt in his. “Howdy, darlin’,” his voice rumbled from his chest. “Come on in. There’s someone else lookin’ forward to meeting you.”

Leading the way through the kitchen into the backyard, Joel felt the heat of your gaze burning his back. Were you checking him out? There was no way. You were beautiful and likely in your early twenties. He felt ancient, though he was only in his early thirties, the hard labor of construction work having taken its toll on him.

“Hi Dad!” a young, sweet voice called from a small swing set where a precious little girl entertained herself. “Who’s this?”

Joel introduced you to his daughter, leaving the two of you to get acquainted as your dad called him away.

“You were away at college?” Sarah questioned, motioning for you to take a seat on the swing next to hers.

“I was,” you replied. “But I’m back for good now.”

“That’s good. What grade did you get to? I’m in fourth grade.”

You thought about it a moment. “I guess it would be 18th grade. But you stop counting grade numbers after 12th and start using different words to describe what year you’re in during college.”

Sarah listened raptly while you explained the different terms, what you studied in school, and what kind of job you were hoping to get.

“You want to be a teacher?” she asked, awed.

“I do! I want to teach middle grade science.”

“I love science! Maybe you could be my teacher when I get to sixth grade!”

Joel returned with your dad and Tommy in tow to find you and Sarah having a blast. The little girl sat in your lap as you kicked your feet out, swinging as high as you could, singing some camp song you remembered from your youth.

“See? Told ya she’d love to spend time with Sarah,” your dad said to Joel. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, staring at the two of you with a glazed look in his dark eyes.

Shaking himself off, Joel turned to your dad. “Guess I better work out some details with her.” He stepped over to the swing set, taking a seat on the empty swing and hoping to the heavens above that it held his weight. He struggled internally on how to start the conversation and was just about to blurt something out when his amazing daughter saved the day.

“Dad! She wants to be a teacher! A science teacher! Isn’t that cool? Did you ask her about watching me yet? I think she’d love to.” Sarah rambled on excitedly, amusing you and Joel. Turning to you before Joel could chime in, Sarah turned to you with baby cow eyes, adding, “You would love to, right?”

How could you ever resist that look? No one could. Both you and Joel were powerless as you nodded, and the offer became official. Cell numbers were exchanged and before you knew it, you had a job starting Monday.

Hours later, slightly drunk on spiked fruit punch and buzzing with energy, you thanked Joel for hosting the barbecue and giving you a job. You kissed his stubbled cheek, forcing thoughts of how attractive he was as far down as they could go. You could not develop a crush on your boss. “I’ll see you Monday morning, bright and early!” you declared before following your dad through the front door.

TBC

[silent-stories]

Random Noah thought that I can't title

It started so subtly that Noah hadn’t even registered it as a thing at first.

The first time, it was nothing—just a passing touch. You had walked behind him while he was hunched over his desk, completely absorbed in whatever song or thought he was working through. Your hands landed lightly on his shoulders, barely more than a brush, before your thumbs pressed in, slow and deliberate, kneading at the tension he didn’t even realize had built up.

Then, just as quickly, you were gone.

He barely reacted. Maybe a quiet sigh, a slight roll of his shoulders. If he had thought about it at all, he would’ve assumed it was absentminded on your part. Just a moment of contact as you passed by.

But then you did it again.

And again.

And again.

It was never intrusive, never demanding. Just a soft, familiar presence whenever you walked past him—whether he was sitting at his desk, scribbling lyrics, scrolling through his phone on the couch, or leaning against the kitchen counter, staring off in thought. You would slow for just a second, press your hands to his shoulders, rub them for a moment, not even a minute, and knead at the knots with practiced ease. A silent, wordless act of affection.

Somewhere along the way, it became a habit, one neither of you ever spoke about, but both of you acknowledged in your own quiet way.

And after a while, Noah started noticing it.

Expecting it, even.

Like now.

He was sitting at the dining table, fingers idly tapping against the wood as he scrolled through his phone. His brow was slightly furrowed, his lips pressed together in that way they always were when he was focused but also a little frustrated, his mind somewhere else.

He heard you before he saw you, your footsteps light as you passed behind him. And right on cue, your hands found his shoulders.

Warmth.

Your fingers pressed in just the right way, your thumbs kneading at the tight muscles near the base of his neck. You barely had to try because, somehow, you always knew exactly where to touch, exactly how much pressure to use. Like you had mapped him out through every little moment you had done this before.

His head tipped forward slightly, a quiet breath slipping through his nose.

“That good?” you teased, your voice gentle but amused.

His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, the corners of his lips twitching ever so slightly. “Mhm.”

You lingered longer than usual this time. Your hands moved in slow circles, working out the stiffness little by little. You didn’t rush, didn’t pull away immediately.

Noah figured this was just one of the quiet ways you took care of him. You never told him to stop working, never pointed out how long he’d been sitting there, hunched over his computer with the same tired expression, you knew he wouldn't listen to you because when he had a work to finish he couldn't think of anything else.

Instead, you let your hands do the talking—pressing into his shoulders, easing the tension he hadn’t even realized was there. It was your way of reminding him to breathe, to pause, even if just for a second. And somehow, that small, simple gesture always made everything feel a little easier.

Then, like always, you let go.

And, like always, you kept walking.

Noah blinked, rolling his shoulders slightly. The tension was gone now, replaced with a lingering warmth where your fingers had been. A ghost of your touch still resting against his skin, even if your hands had been on his hoodie.

He swallowed, tapping his fingers against the table again, but slower this time. More thoughtful.

Yeah. He had definitely noticed it now.

And if he was being honest… he never wanted you to stop.

[emchante]

Hiiiii!!! I’m sending a request for the now playing fic in your 1000 follower special!! Could you write with she’s thunderstorms by Arctic Monkeys, fluff & smut w/ Franco Colapinto??? If you do I’ll actually love you forever 💋💋

he's thunderstorms | f. colapinto

hello, nonnie! thank you so much for submitting. this is a song i had never heard before, so i had a look into the lyrics and general idea— so i hope this suffices! also, title is intentionally he, i promise it's not a typo<3

franco colapinto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ content, pretty suggestive, making out mainly, teasing, biting, sexual tension.

you could feel it before he even touched you. the tension in the air, building and swirling, charging the space between you and franco with every passing second. it was like you were a storm about to break, the heat of his gaze igniting the atmosphere around you.

you’d both been dancing around each other for weeks—flirty smiles, lingering touches, but always holding back just enough to keep it from spilling over. but tonight was different. tonight, the storm was inevitable, it wasn’t going to just pass like usual.

“stop playing,” franco murmured, his voice low as he caught your wrist, pulling you into him with a force that made your breath hitch, “i can see right through you.”

your lips twitched into a grin, fluttering your lashes at him to add to your teasing. “can you?”

“yes,” he leaned down, his mouth brushing against your ear, “you want me, just as badly as i want you.”

you bit your lip, trying to fight off the heat flooding your body. "maybe," you teased in a sing-song voice, letting your fingers trace the line of his jaw.

franco's eyes darkened, his grip tightening as his lips crashed onto yours. it wasn’t soft, not the way it had been before. this kiss was raw, filled with hunger and urgency, like he had been waiting for this moment. just like you had. his hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, pulling you closer, as if trying to feel every inch of you at once.

you moaned softly against his mouth, your body reacting to him with a need that was almost desperate. “franco…” you whispered against his lips before kissing him again, hands moving to tug at his shirt.

but he pulled away just enough to look at you, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. “patience, ah?” he teased, the storm in his eyes intensifying. “i’m not done with you yet, princesa.”

you couldn’t help the frustrated groan that slipped from your lips, “god you’re insufferable, you know that?” you huffed, eyes not leaving his stupidly handsome face.

“you love it,” he teased, his hand running up your side, fingers brushing against your soft skin, sending shivers through you. his smirk only grew at the visible reaction, fingers repeating their journey up and down.

his lips met your neck then, biting gently, teasingly, and you gasped, arching into him, your hands gripping his shoulders. you were quick to notice his erection pressing against your core, setting your body on fire all over again. “fuck– franco…”

he lifted his head, meeting your eyes with a mixture of dominance and tenderness. “i told you, cariño,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours again. “you’re mine tonight, hm?”

you let out a soft laugh as you attempted to hold yourself together, the sound breathless and caught between desire and amusement, “is that so?”

his hands moved lower, his fingers tracing the hem of your dress. “absolutely,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. his fingers continued to move even lower, moving to cup your ass as he groped it, your hips instinctively bucking against his own at the squeeze.

you didn’t waste a moment. without warning, you pushed him back onto the bed, your body on top of his, your lips capturing his in a searing kiss that was everything—fierce, passionate, and undeniable.

and when you finally pulled back, your breaths heavy and ragged with swollen lips to go along with it, you could feel it—like the calm after the storm. the electricity in the room, the intensity, the rawness of everything that had just happened.

franco’s chest rose and fell beneath you, his hand threading through your hair as he pulled you close. “you think you can handle my storms?” he asked, voice low, his lips brushing against your ear.

you smiled, fingers tracing the lines of his chest, “i’m not scared of a little thunder, you should go the full way next time,” you murmured, leaving a plethora of soft kisses over his face.

[yumeaoka-chan]

Accusations! False accusations!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Reader/ Spider Punk x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: fluff, confused Hobie, offended Hobie, loser! Hobie, lovesick hobie, confused Miles, confused R (everyone's confused, but it's okay), title from that Rick Ross meme, R is AFAB, no physical description of R, cursing, sparse use of y/n (just once)

Summary: Hobie learns he has a whole reputation that he doesn't even recall gaining. 

A/N: A little drabble based off the ask that 😅 anon sent to @the-kr8tor . Loser! Hobie is my new religion😇💕💕

Furrowing his eyebrows and moving his cup from his lips, Hobie gazes at the younger Spider with growing concern. He scratches behind his ear, fingers fiddling with his piercings. He'd heard that wrong, right? Surely he had, because there was no way Miles had really come over for advice on girls. When the younger had asked to come over to his dimension yesterday, he'd thought that he just wanted to hang out. Maybe jam to some music while they ordered a pizza or something. Not… this.

“Stop looking at me like I'm crazy”, Miles huffs as he leans back against his chair, frowning at the confused look on the elder's face. ”I came to you for advice because you're the only one of us who's been around.”

“Wha’ are you talkin’ ‘bout? Been ‘round where?” The younger chuckles and shakes his head, as if Hobie has just told him some funny joke.

“Bro, stop playin’. I already know everything.” Hobie blinks at him, eyebrow raised in question. Or confusion. Definitely confusion. Miles narrows his eyes and waves his hand in the air.

“Come on, man. You know what I mean.” Hobie just stares at him, clearly waiting for an explanation. He has not the faintest idea about what the younger Spider is talking about.

“You know! How you've messed around with every type of girl before you settled down with Y/N! You've been around, man, so you must know how to get a girl's attention.”

“...HUH?!” Hobie's jaw drops open in shock of Miles' words, eyebrows raised so high that they practically reach his hairline. Because, why would the younger think that of him? Hobie just gapes at him in astonishment, little noises of disbelief leaving his lips as he tries to come to terms with the conception of him that Miles has in his head.

“Um… You alright, man? Hello…?”, Miles mumbles as he waves a hand across the punk's stunned face. Shaking his head, Hobie places his hands on his chest as though he'd been offended.

“W-Why would you think that?! Who told you that”, he questions, voice cracking and growing a bit higher in pitch with how flabbergasted he was. Miles blinks at the man before letting out an awkward chuckle, raising up a hand in a placating manner.

“What's with the surprised look? Everyone at the Society says you used to be a player.”

“I was not! ‘M very much a mess! I have no game!” And it's the truth. Hobie has always been unsuccessful in romance ever since he first discovered that he could have romantic feelings for others, way back in secondary school when he was a year eight. Any time he did harbor feelings for someone, he'd always become a stuttering mess who could only talk to his crush in the form of song lyrics. Not even good songs, at that. It's safe to say that he was the weird kid that absolutely nobody wanted to have him have a crush on them. As if him having a crush meant he was giving them cooties. Kids could be so mean.

“If you have no game, then how did you bag your girlfriend?” Miles asks curiously, munching on his fries while he watches Hobie nervously fiddle with the ring on his finger. It matched the one that you wore, silver glinting in the light. Hobie scoffs and shakes his head.

“Beats me. ‘M just a sad sod who told her fun facts about her favorite singer when we first met. I guess she liked how I was sweatin’ bullets or somethin’, cause ‘ere I am.” That makes the younger of the two pause, eyebrows twisting up and eyes squinting slightly like he can't believe what he just heard. Which Hobie finds odd because it's nothing but the truth.

The day you two met, Hobie had bumped into you on the street. It wasn't his first time seeing you walk down this particular street, but it had been his first time ever accidently making you fall on your ass with your Walkman clattering onto the pavement. The cassette tape had fell out and when Hobie went to help you up and pick up your stuff, he'd seen the artist you were listening to. And, of course, with him being the music loving nerd he was, he couldn't help the facts from spilling from his trembling lips. Sweat beading at his forehead and warmth rushing to the tips of his ears at the sweet smile you'd bestowed him with. And when you slipped your number into his clammy palm, he'd swore his knees went weak. He had very much been and still was a goner when it came to you.

“So… What you're telling me is that you have absolutely zero advice for getting a girl's attention?”

“None whatsoever. Can't believe some bloke actually thought I get girls… Lovie's the only one f'me.”

The sound of the door to the houseboat opening makes him whip his head over, heart beating wildly in his chest at the sight of you. With a sigh, you place your grocery bags down on the counter before letting out a small yelp at suddenly being pulled into a tight embrace. A chuckle leaves your lips as you pat Hobie's back, warmth blossoming in your chest as he rains kisses on your face.

“I was only gone for a little bit, Hobes. Are you that happy to see me?” You hum as you lean back to peer up at him, melting at the adoration shining in his pretty brown eyes. He gives you that dopey, lopsided grin that you love so much before brushing his lips against yours in a featherlight kiss.

“Course I am. ‘M always happy to see you, lovie”, he mumbles softly against your lips, ears flushing just a bit. Always so whipped for you and only you. You smile as you lean in to kiss him again, only to break away at the sound of Miles chuckling. You raise an eyebrow at him as you peer over Hobie's shoulder, not expecting the young Spider to be here.

“Hey, Miles. How have you been?” You greet him as you pull away from your boyfriend's embrace, the punk pouting at the lack of attention. He wraps his arms around you from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“I've been doing good. Just came over to talk a bit with Hobie”, the younger says as he gets up from his chair, a hint of mirth in his eyes as he looks on at how Hobie clings to you. “The rumors really were wrong, then.”

“Rumors? What rumors?” You turn your head to look at Hobie for an explanation, but he just shakes his head.

“Stupid stuff, sweetheart. Don't worry ‘bout it.” Clicking your tongue at his words, you look over to Miles. The kid shrugs and stuffs his hands in his hoodie, claiming that he has to go back home to finish up some homework. After seeing Miles off, you turn to face Hobie, his arms still wrapped around you. His eyes sparkle as he gazes down at you, like you hung the very stars or was the cause of a sunny day. Placing another sweet kiss on his lips, you smile at the feeling of him practically turning to mush against you. It wasn't like you couldn't get the full story about the rumors from your boyfriend later. For now, you were content to give him all the smooches he deserved.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: "Whispers in the Studio"

Chapter 1: The Quiet Heart

Warnings: None, just fluff and romance. Mutual pining, and idiots in love

For years, you had worked as Eminem’s assistant. You’d seen him at his highest highs and his lowest lows, witnessed the whirlwind of fame and the intensity of his lyrics, but despite your proximity to him, you had remained mostly invisible—silent in the background. Your role was simple: keep the schedule, manage the chaos, and stay out of the spotlight. You knew Eminem better than anyone, but he had no idea how deeply her heart had come to know him.

You had always been shy, the type to keep your feelings hidden behind quiet smiles and brief glances. So, you had admired him from afar, respecting his brilliance, his art, and the pain he poured into every verse. He was raw, unapologetic, but you also knew the man behind the fame—the one who cracked jokes in private, who had moments of vulnerability that no one else saw.

It was late in the evening when you'd found yourself once again in the studio, organizing papers and quietly watching him work. The hum of the machines and the occasional beat drop were the only sounds that filled the room, aside from the soft tapping of her pen as you jotted down notes.

"You're still here?" His voice cut through the silence, a little softer than usual.

Y/N froze, your heart skipping a beat as you looked up. Marshall—Eminem—was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a slight smirk on his face. His blue eyes twinkled in the dim light, but there was something more vulnerable in his expression tonight. Something different.

"I—yeah, I was just finishing up some things," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I'll be done in a few minutes."

He stepped inside, his presence larger than life, but there was a certain gentleness in his movements tonight, like he was trying to create space for her to breathe. "You know, you don't have to stay so late. You’ve been working your ass off."

Y/N felt a warmth flush her cheeks. "It’s fine," you muttered, busying herself with another stack of papers. You didn’t dare look at him directly.

He watched you cautiously for a moment, then casually leaned over the desk, placing a hand on the edge. His fingers were so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating from them, and it made your pulse quicken.

"Are you alright?" His voice was quieter now, more sincere. "You seem... distant lately."

Your heart clenched. Of course he noticed. He always noticed everything. You were careful with your emotions, but the truth was, you’d been struggling with your feelings for him for as long as you could remember. The boundaries you maintained, the professional distance—everything you did to keep yourself composed—was becoming harder to uphold. It had taken years, but you had finally accepted that your feelings for him were real.

"I'm just... tired," you lied, your eyes flicking nervously toward the door, desperate to avoid his gaze. "It's been a long week."

He didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he pushed off the desk and walked over to the couch, dropping onto it casually. "You want to talk about it?"

Y/N’s heart thundered in your chest. You wanted to, but words failed you. You couldn’t talk about your feelings for him—not like this. Instead, you nodded absently, trying to keep your cool. "Maybe another time."

The two sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional scribble of your pen and the faint beat of a song playing in the background. Marshall seemed lost in his thoughts, eyes distant, tapping his fingers on his knee. And though the space between them was small, the emotional distance felt unbearable.

It was then that he spoke again, his voice low and hesitant. "You know, you’ve been with me for years now. I trust you, more than anyone else, really."

Y/N’s breath caught. He trusted her. He always had, and you had always been there—steadfast, loyal, helping him through the ups and downs of his life. But somehow, hearing him say it out loud made you feel like the walls you had built around your heart were finally starting to crack.

"Thanks," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was another long pause, but this time, it wasn’t awkward. It felt like the kind of quiet that filled up the spaces where words weren’t needed. He didn’t speak for a while, but you could sense him watching her—studying her.

You glanced up, and your eyes met his brilliant blue. For a moment, everything around the two of you seemed to fade away. The world outside the studio didn’t exist anymore. Just the two of you, in that small room, sharing a moment that neither of you could explain.

"I’ve noticed you," he said quietly, breaking the silence. "You’re not just some assistant to me, you know."

Your heart raced as his words sank in. Your heart screamed that it wanted to respond, to tell him what was inside of you, but the words were tangled in a web of nerves and fear. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if it ruined everything?

"I..." You swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t go away.

Before you could say anything else, Marshall stood and walked over to you, his eyes never leaving yours. He reached out, gently lifting your chin with his hand, his touch sending a shock of electricity through your.

"You don’t have to say anything, Y/N," he whispered. "I just want you to know that I see you. I’ve always seen you."

And in that moment, all the years of silence, all the moments of longing and unspoken words, collapsed into a single truth. He saw you. He saw you in ways no one else had, and you realized, with a sudden clarity, that he had always been there—just waiting for you to see him too.

The air between them crackled with unspoken emotion as his gaze softened, and before you could stop yourself, you whispered, "I’ve always seen you too, Marshall."

A flicker of something passed through his eyes, something tender, something real. Then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing gently against yours.

It was the beginning of something neither of them had expected, but it was something they both needed. A quiet, unspoken connection, finally giving way to the love they had both been holding back for far too long.

And as they stood there, in the quiet of the studio, it was clear: their story had only just begun.

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

Tagging Bestie, just to share that I'm writing again 💜💜💜: @tumblin-theworldaway

[keepingsecretstokeepyoutk]

This is going to be very long and sound a little crazy at first, and maybe a little mean but please hear me out…

I’m convinced that Taylor sometimes purposefully includes one line or multiple lines of poorly written or clunky lyrics in specific songs to make a point.

We all have seen some version of this with bearding songs like London Boy, a simple bop whose lyrics were immediately detected as sounding disingenuous, even with the general population (the locations she was signing about were the most touristy and too far away from each other to visit on the same day, etc, basically implying that she doesn’t actually have a long term local bf there that she spends a bunch of time with exploring the city with, etc).

But just like everything else on the album, I think she’s doing maybe a more in your face version of that. No holds barred.

So High School is an obvious example of this, with all of the early 2000’s hs imagery, she seems pretty blatantly to be mocking the idea the public has of her “living out every American girl’s high school fantasy” of dating the tall popular football player. With lyrics like “touch me while your friends play grand theft auto” (barf), etc, shes being clear enough that this is not a serious song.

This is the possibly controversial part, but I’m so curious to see what others think about this - I think another iteration of this on this album is the title track, The Tortured Poets Department. Hear me out.

(First, I want to reassure you that there are lines in this song that I really like and think are well written, like: “you’re in self-sabotage mode/throwing spikes down on the road” and “but you awaken with dread/pounding nails in your head/but I’ve read this one/where you come undone/I chose this cyclone with you”. And I fully agree with the idea that these sentiments are from Karlie’s perspective. Basically, when you take out the chunks I’m about to talk about this song makes way more sense and has a beautiful sentiment of undying love behind it - which makes the following parts stick out that much more!)

The first time I listened through the album, and this was the second song, I got terrified because I didn’t understand its place in the whole narrative and when I heard the first clunky line “scratch your head like a tattooed golden retriever” I got the ick. Then the bridge with no structure and no wit and no clever turns of phrase, no metaphor, just “you put my ring on the finger people put wedding rings on” and “that was the closest I’ve ever been to my heart exploding”. So over simplified and cheesy, and doesn’t sound anything like her writing, especially the caliber of her recent lyrics

I know art is largely subjective, but I insist there is no way that the same person who wrote Cowboy Like Me wrote these lines into her title track if she didn’t have a reason and a point to make. To make it clear that this isn’t a matter of genre personal taste, because I know CLM is a very specific sound and a style that music snobs often take more seriously - I love SO many of her candy pop bangers, they are infinitely more clever, articulate, and overall works of art by a true wordsmith than this. Karma, The Very First Night, etc are all a master classes in clever words and tight writing being tucked into an “unserious” pop song.

The lyrics I cited above to me sound like what haters believe her writing sounds like, even fans who make little jokey TikTok’s about her and make up a spoofy something to sing while in character - that’s what these lyrics sound like.

Im worried im being too harsh, but please stay with me because the more I think about the more genius I think it actually is.

In the context of the themes of rest of the album, (her being trapped, miserable, manipulated, ready to burn it all down, screaming to be seen) this theory became clear to me. I think she’s leaning into her public persona (in more ways than one, we’ve already seen it with the stunting), in a way setting a “trap” for her fans and the public, that will essentially call them all out on how they ignored the real her in favor of her pr narrative, making the album about paternity tests, etc, all of which I’m guessing will become very clear in retrospect, possibly after she comes out? (Of course it’s already clear to us now, which is another purpose of the beard songs including clunky writing - to signal to us that these are not serious and that she knows that we know that she knows (like Phoebe on friends lol))

Ultimately, this is (along with So Highschool) a classic beard song. When she writes in this voice, she embodies the most extreme versions of her public persona, not just the one she has cultivated on purpose, but also the one that people have of her that don’t know her (as she did in Blank Space), including those that don’t take her seriously - because her identity as a boy crazy psycho ex girlfriend is directly tied to people dismissing her art as vapid because, they’ve only ever heard her singles, they don’t know the full her.

That voice is the straightest, the most boy crazy, the most one note, and sometimes the most unsophisticated writer version of her that people have in their minds, including her fans - the fans that refuse to see her as a whole person, the real, that believe she is head over heals for big football boy, that believe “he knows how to ball, I know Aristotle” is a romantic line about how opposites attract, the fans that say they don’t “get” some of her most beautiful and well-written songs, the fans that don’t see her and haven’t been seeing her.

They didn’t see giant Taylor on the eras tour, they refuse to see all of her queer signaling, etc, and I think she’s making the bearding songs obvious to underscore the difference between her Taylor(TM) and Taylor(person) personas.

She knows that despite the fact that the lyrics don’t even come close to measuring up to the rest of the album, the public, and many of her fans, will make this song one of the most listened to simply because they are looking for evidence of her relationships from the past year. We’ve all commented on how insane it is that this layered, complex, devastating album is being reduced to the usual paternity tests. This is currently one of the top songs precisely because it is “about Matty”. And of course, So High School is one of the tops songs along with it because it’s “about Travis”.

The juxtaposition of the bearding songs alongside her beautifully written poetry of Prophecy, Peter, Whose Afraid of Little Old Me, Cassandra, How did it end, The Albatross, etc mirrors the juxtaposition of her two selves during the Midnights era.

She has proven the point that if they think she wrote every line of this song completely in earnest, then they see her largely no differently than her haters do, as a subpar writer who writes absurdly cheesy love songs praising trashy to mediocre, problematic men. By eating it up they tell her that’s what she’s good for, for being the subject of tabloids and warring fans who make this entire album about two (purposefully) mediocre songs and the men who “inspired” them.

She has proven her point - that a subset of her fans will be distracted by a lesser song simply because they think it’s about one of the greasy men that’s she been seen holding hands with. That they will ignore once again all of her pleas to be seen, that she’s in pain and caged, and has been driven insane by their willful ignorance. That they don’t appreciate her full potential and talent, that they don’t even see it, and just want to be confirmed in their ideation of her.

This song is essentially the “forget him(her)” pill at the beginning of the fortnight mv, but it’s a sedative for the fans, who are addicted to her straight narrative. Similar to Willow’s 13 chants of “that’s my man” that started off evermore, casting a spell of heteronormativity over everyone who wanted it, so that they could choose to just completely ignore the following 14 gayest songs ever written. Don’t pay no mind to her singing directly about women with zero male perspective - she said “that’s my man!” We’re good! She’s still straight!

Taylor in the fortnight mv had to a take a sedative to be able to go into the next room and write her bearding songs - ie she self medicates to deal with keeping up the straight persona and to get through having to release dumbed down songs to feed the masses. (I also see the pill as something forced on her, I think it represents both layers)

From the first time I watched the music video I thought the writing Taylor looked so miserable and the bearding songs are why.

In this room she’s trapped, churning out the songs that her fans expect of her, the songs that make her team money, the songs that make her money, but that she has to compromise her truth to create.

But when she frees herself she’ll burn the stories that weren’t true, the filler that doesn’t represent her.

I’m curious to hear other’s thoughts on this - have you ever felt like Taylor purposefully inserts off-sounding lyrics that are written in a different voice to make a point?

I want to reiterate that it’s not the entirety of either song that I think is terrible, I genuinely love bopping along to both So High School and TTPD (track). Like I said above, when you remove the clunky lines from ttpd (track), the song has another layer and likely gives voice to some Karlie insight that is beautiful and tragically profound. It’s the red herrings, the pieces specifically meant to tie this song to a bearding narrative, that I’m dissing, and the only reason they are suspicious in the first place is because I know how gifted Taylor is with the written word.

Taylor is such a skilled writer that she can embody the voice of the bad writer that dismissive ignorant idiots believe her to be, just to make a point!

I even wonder if maybe there is a second version of this song locked away in one of those drawers in the fortnight writing room that leaves out the red herrings and is a thousand times better than the bearding version we got.

I hope one day we get to hear it.

[burnthatbridge]

forgive me, father (for i feel no sin)

eddie/father brian (+ kinda buddie) | E | 4k | hot priest hookup Eddie finds religion in a gay bar. Or, rather, he finds a man of religion in a gay bar.

Because Eddie is trying this new thing where he doesn’t blame himself for everything, he would like to blame it all on Buck instead. And, honestly, what happens probably has a whole lot more to do with Buck than he’s ready to acknowledge. But, as much as he wants to say it is, it’s not Buck’s fault. The night out might be for him, but Eddie was the one who suggested it.

Only, when he’d said they should all go out for drinks, as way to cheer Buck up after allowing him a couple of weeks of sulking over the breakup, he’d thought it would be their usual: he and Buck and Hen and Chim and maybe Bobby at a badge and ladder joint, drinking beers and splitting fries and shooting the shit. Casual, relaxed, familiar.

He hadn’t expected to end up at a gay bar.

Bobby isn’t in attendance but in his place are Karen and Maddie and Ravi and his boyfriend, Seb, and — to Eddie’s minor displeasure — Josh. It’s been a lot: the music loud and the lights colorful and the energy around them electric.

It’s been a lot, but it’s also been fun.

They had crammed into a booth together and done shots with outrageous names that Eddie would have blushed to say aloud. Thankfully Chim had been all too happy to order for them and get Maddie a soft drink with a somehow even cruder title. Buck has been well and truly pep-talked by a drunk Karen and a tipsy Ravi and an always shrewd Josh, sober or not.  And they’ve all had a turn on the dance floor: Buck demonstrating that he has two left feet, Maddie proving it’s an affliction that doesn’t run in the family.

Buck’s still out there now, with Hen and Karen, though Eddie’s lost track of them amongst all the other patrons, bumping and grinding to the music, the strobe lighting casting everyone in frozen snapshots. He’s retired back to their booth after fighting his way to the bar for a glass of water, sweat dampening his armpits, the small of his back, from his prior dancing and the hot, humid air of the club.

Maddie and Chimney have gone home — Maddie lamenting that the morning part of morning sickness is a big fat lie — but Seb and Josh are seated in the booth, chatting — or almost yelling, really, to be heard over the blaring pop music. Their glasses are almost empty of the cocktails Josh had left the dance floor to order them about the time Buck was boogieing to Beyoncé and no amount of fruity juice could have tempted Eddie away from the sight. There’s no sign of Ravi and Eddie wonders if he’s off braving the battle to the bar that he’s just been through, trying to win them the victory of another round.

He collapses onto the padded seat of the booth, perched at the end, unfortunately on Josh’s side to leave space for Ravi to sit next to his boyfriend when he returns. Downs his water, maybe a little too desperately — feeling some of it spill from the side of his mouth, track down his jaw — but he’s parched, fluids sorely needed to replace those lost while twirling Karen around, while proving he has better moves than Josh, while shouting along to the NSYNC song he knows all the lyrics to because Sophia was obsessed with them when they were kids (and maybe, secretly, Eddie liked them too — just a little bit).

Ravi appears as he’s setting his empty glass back on the table, but with no cocktails in hand. He looks freshly sweaty enough to have been out on the dance floor but, with the heat in the building, that could simply be the result of a walk to the bathroom. He leans into Seb’s side, says something that Eddie doesn’t even try to hear with how loud the intro to the Katy Perry song that the DJ has selected is playing.

Josh shifts closer to Eddie, conversation interrupted by Ravi’s return. He speaks loud enough and with his mouth close enough to his ear that Eddie hears every word, clear and fully intelligible. “That guy is watching you.”

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[msklassickilla]

Delirious | J. Uso|R. Reigns Ten

Summary: When Titania buys an old typewriter from a closing thrift store, she thinks it’s just a vintage gem—until the words she types start coming true. However, the typewriter doesn’t just bring fantasies to life—it twists them. Giving Titania way more than she bargained for.

Pairing: Titania Marshall (Black OC) x Jey Uso x Roman Reigns

Author’s Note: This story is another AU thing. So, it might align, or it might not. I will try my best to keep it current enough. Nonetheless, it’s mash up of a few things: That one episode of Goosebumps. That one episode of the Twilight Zone. And that movie by the same title, Delirious featuring John Candy. I’ma make it work. Plus, I like mystical spooky shit with a bit of Jerry Springer type mess.

Warning(s): SMUT incoming. Some minor harsh language. A smidge of toxic behavior.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Ten

Titania sat on the couch, staring at the muted television, barely registering the flickering images on the screen. The house was quiet now. Jey had left for the airport that morning, kissing her goodbye with his usual warmth, promising to call her later. It was supposed to be comforting, knowing she had a few days to herself, a chance to clear her mind. Instead, she felt untethered.

There were only two weeks left until the move. Two weeks until she packed up everything and left behind the life she had built before all of this. Before Jey. Before the typewriter. Before everything shifted. She should be excited. She had written this future. She had wanted it.

Then why did she feel like she was walking into something she couldn’t escape?

Titania leaned forward, rubbing her temples. She just needed to shake it off. Find a routine. Get back to the version of herself that existed before she started rewriting everything. Maybe she’d go out today. Get some fresh air. Do something normal.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She glanced down, expecting Jey or Naomi, but the name on the screen made her stomach clench.

Tamya (FaceTime Call)

Titania exhaled sharply, guilt curling tight in her chest. She hadn’t spoken to her sister in weeks. The last time they talked was before she bought the typewriter, before her entire world rearranged itself into something unrecognizable. She had been avoiding her, just like she had been avoiding her parents.

But Tamya wasn’t like their mother and father. Their parents would be disappointed, but Tamya would be mad as this wasn’t like her at all. Titania forced herself to answer. The moment her sister’s face filled the screen, she knew she had been right.

"Girl," Tamya’s voice was sharp, her expression pinched with irritation. "Why am I hearing from Mia that you’re moving to Florida? Is this what we doing now? Keeping secrets?"

Titania’s stomach dropped.

She should have known Mia would say something. Her best friend had always been loose-lipped, but Titania had rewrote things, made her someone who believed in their relationship. It hadn’t occurred to her that Mia hadn’t been rewritten enough to keep secrets.

Titania scrambled for an excuse. "I—I wanted to tell you myself."

Tamya’s eyes narrowed. "And when exactly were you gonna do that? After you moved? What the hell is going on with you? This ain’t like you."

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Titania lied, though she could hear how weak it sounded.

"A surprise?" Tamya’s brows shot up. "Titania, this is your whole damn life! You don’t make decisions like this without telling your family especially me.”

Titania swallowed, feeling the heat of shame spread up her neck.

"You never kept secrets from me, T," Tamya continued, her voice softer now, but no less firm. "Not even from Mom and Dad, but especially not from me. You always told me everything."

Titania’s throat tightened. She knew Tamya was right. Before Jey, before the typewriter, before all of this, she had always confided in her big sister. Tamya was the person she trusted the most, the one who knew her better than anyone.

But what could she even say?

That she had written herself into a different life? That she was losing track of what was real and what wasn’t? That she was terrified of what was to come because things hadn’t really been working out in the way she wanted but she didn’t know how to fix it.

She couldn’t say any of that.

"I just didn’t want to deal with everyone freaking out," Titania said, grasping for anything that might calm her sister down.

Tamya’s expression remained unreadable for a moment before she sighed, shaking her head. "Mama and Daddy are gonna lose it when they find out. And I swear, T, if you think you’re gonna blindside them with this, you got another thing coming."

Titania’s pulse spiked. "You’re not gonna tell them, are you?"

Tamya folded her arms, studying her carefully. "With the way you been moving? I should."

"Tamya, please," Titania whispered. "I’ll tell them soon. Just… not yet. I still got things to get in order."

Her sister exhaled, tapping her nails against her arm before nodding. "Fine. For now. But you need to get your shit together." Her voice softened again, worry replacing the irritation. "This isn’t like you. Not calling, keeping secrets, making huge life changes out of nowhere. Something’s not right with you, T."

Titania’s chest tightened.

Tamya didn’t know how true that was.

"I’m fine," she lied.

Tamya didn’t believe her, but she didn’t press. She just sighed again. "Just… don’t forget who you are, okay?"

Titania forced a small smile. "I won’t."

Tamya gave her one last long look before hanging up. The screen went dark, leaving Titania staring at her own dim reflection. She set the phone down slowly, pressing her fingers against her temples.

Her sister was right.

She wasn’t herself anymore.

Before Jey, before the typewriter, she had been Titania Marshall. Daughter of Teedria and Gary Marshall. Little sister to Tamya and Kenneth Marshall.

So why did she feel like that person was slipping away?

Her gaze flickered toward the spare room, where the typewriter sat packed away in its box. The thought creeped in before she could stop it. Maybe she didn’t have to lose herself. Maybe she could just… adjust a few things.

Titania shoved the thought away, shaking her head. No. She wasn’t doing that again.

She just needed to figure out how to get back to being who she was without losing Jey in the process. Without letting Roman pull her into something she didn’t understand. Without making things worse.

----

Titania tried to fall back into her normal routine, but normal didn’t exist anymore. She went through the motions—waking up, making coffee, checking emails, answering a few messages—but nothing felt the same. Nothing felt like hers.

Her phone was constantly lighting up. Jey sending her videos from the gym, sweaty and grinning like he wasn’t thousands of miles away. Naomi checking in, reminding her how excited she was for Titania to move down. It was all sweet, thoughtful—everything she could’ve wanted.

But the more she saw those messages, the more she realized her old life was slipping away.

She wanted both.

Her old life. Her new life. The independence she had before. The love she had now. But could she even have both?

The thought made her chest feel tight, her stomach twisting with something restless. She needed to get out of her own head. Needed to do something.

Her phone buzzed beside her. A FaceTime call.

Jey.

Titania exhaled, grabbing her phone. She forced a smile as she answered, pushing everything else to the back of her mind.

Jey grinned at her, his background showing a hotel room. He looked relaxed, fresh from a shower, a towel draped around his shoulders. “Damn, you look good. You miss me yet?”

Titania let out a soft laugh, despite the knot in her stomach. “I don’t know. It’s been kinda nice having the house to myself.”

Jey scoffed, shaking his head. “Lies. You probably been walking around in my T-shirts all day, wishing I was there.”

Titania rolled her eyes, warmth blooming in her chest despite everything. This was her normal. Jey. The conversation drifted to his match, his workout, what he had for dinner. He always liked keeping her updated, knowing she was invested in the details of his life.

“How’s everything over there?” he asked, leaning back against the pillows.

Titania hesitated, fingers gripping the phone a little tighter. “Good. Just getting things together for the move. Nothing crazy.”

Jey’s expression softened. “Yeah? You excited?”

Titania nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

And she meant it. She just didn’t know which part of her was excited anymore.

They talked for another fifteen minutes before Jey started dozing off mid-conversation, his exhaustion catching up to him. Titania smiled as he mumbled a soft "Love you," before hanging up.

She set the phone down, staring at the dark screen. Jey was her future. She had written this life, created it. She wasn’t going to let it slip away. But as the quiet settled in around her, the unease crept back in.

She found herself grabbing her laptop, her fingers moving before she could talk herself out of it. Titania started searching for the old thrift store. The place where she had bought the typewriter. The place that no longer existed.

She scoured the internet, looking up the store’s name, the address—anything that might lead her to information about the old man who sold it to her. But there was nothing.

No business listings. No past reviews. No evidence that it had ever been there.

Titania’s fingers stilled over the keyboard, unease settling deep in her stomach. She leaned back against the couch, staring at the screen. Her heart pounded in her ears. This didn’t make sense. There was no way a store could just vanish without a trace.

She was about to close the tab when a search result caught her eye. It wasn’t about the thrift store. But the title made something in her chest tighten.

"Reality Shifting: The Science of Unseen Worlds."

She clicked without thinking.

The page loaded, revealing an old blog. The background was dark, tiny constellations scattered across the top like a map of forgotten stars. The entries spanned years, some dated as far back as a decade ago, the author only posting sporadically, as if they wrote only when they had something urgent to say.

Titania’s pulse quickened as she skimmed through the opening paragraphs. The blog wasn’t just about shifting realities. It was about rewriting them.

Her breath caught in her throat as she read further.

The author spoke of dimensions layered on top of each other, stacked like pages in a book. Most people only ever existed in one version of their story. But sometimes—rarely, dangerously—those pages could be rewritten.

The symptoms of a "rewritten reality" were listed out carefully, methodically, like someone had studied them for years.

Sudden changes in relationships, even with people you’ve known for years.

Objects appearing in your home that you don’t remember buying.

People knowing things about you that never actually happened.

A growing sense of unease, like you’re losing control of your own story.

Titania felt the blood drain from her face. This wasn’t paranoia. This wasn’t stress. This was real.

Her chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, her mind racing. She scrolled further, searching for anything that might help. A passage buried deep within an old post caught her attention.

"A rewritten reality cannot be erased. It can only be reshaped. One cannot go back—only forward. But to move forward, one must first decide: What is the true story?"

Titania’s breath shuddered. The true story. She stared at the words, rereading them over and over. If she couldn’t erase what had happened, maybe she could… blend it.

Maybe she could make both lives—the one she had and the one she had written—exist together.

Maybe she could have everything.

Titania snapped her laptop shut, a decision settling heavy in her chest. She stood, moving toward the spare room, her heartbeat loud in her ears. The typewriter sat on the desk, waiting. Her fingers trembled as she reached for it, hovering over the keys.

This time, she didn’t hesitate.

She started to type.

"Can you blend both of my realities?"

The moment she pressed the last key, the typewriter responded. Words appearing right after hers.

"Is that what you desire?"

Titania swallowed, her throat dry. She exhaled slowly, steadying herself before she typed again.

"Yes. I desire to blend both realities into one."

The machine was silent. Then words appeared in response.

"Good."

She let out a shaky breath, relief flooding her chest. But just as she was about to pull away, another message appeared.

"The past and future have been blended. Her story has changed."

Titania read the words carefully, slowly, letting them settle. The answer wasn’t ominous. It was good news. She had done the right thing.

She could have it all now. Then why did she still feel like something was still amiss?

----

For the first time in weeks, Titania felt normal. She wasn’t questioning what was real. She wasn’t obsessing over the typewriter. She wasn’t being consumed by thoughts she couldn’t control.

Everything felt… balanced. Jey was texting and calling as usual. Naomi was checking in, excited about them growing closer. She had managed to called her parents, her brother, even Mia. Everyone knew now. The haze she had been trapped in for weeks had lifted. She had both worlds now. And it was good.

Titania stood in the spare room, staring at the packed-up typewriter. She had done it. Her old life, her new life—merged. No more rewriting. No more questioning. She had gotten what she wanted. She was happy. Wasn’t she?

She inhaled deeply, pushing the thought away. She had a work meeting soon, and she wasn’t about to let her mind spiral when things were finally going right. This was what she had been fighting for. A life with Jey, a love she had dreamed of, without losing everything she had before.

Her laptop was already open on the desk when she sat down, logging into the virtual meeting. The familiar faces of her colleagues appeared one by one, grounding her in something solid. Despite everything that had changed, she still had this—her job, her career, her independence. She listened, took notes, nodded at the right moments, forcing herself to focus.

Then her phone vibrated.

She glanced at it quickly, expecting Jey or Naomi, but the name on the screen made her stomach clench. Roman.

Titania froze. She hadn’t given him her number. Had she? And she wasn’t supposed to have his. Her throat felt dry as she stared at the screen. The meeting continued, voices droning in the background, but she no longer heard them. The phone vibrated again. Another message. She forced herself to ignore it, her fingers curling into fists. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to entertain this. She had fixed things.

But as soon as the meeting ended, her resolve cracked.

Her hands moved before she could stop them, grabbing the phone, unlocking it. The first message was simple.

"Jey gave me your new number. Why did you change it? Anyway, did you get the bracelet? I thought you would at least tell me you got it."

A slow, creeping unease spread through her.

Jey gave him her number? That wasn’t right. Why would he? And the bracelet—Titania hadn’t even touched it since the day it arrived. It sat in its box, tucked away in her jewelry drawer. But Roman remembered sending it and was expecting confirmation.

Her fingers tightened around the phone. If she ignored this, it wouldn’t continue. If she ignored it, maybe whatever past Roman thought they had would be forgotten.

Another vibration. Incoming call—Roman.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Panic surged through her, and without thinking, she threw the phone across the room. It landed on the carpet with a soft thud, the ringing silenced. She pressed a hand to her chest, her heartbeat erratic. She shouldn’t have reacted like that. But why did it feel like she had been caught? Why did he feel like something she couldn’t outrun?

Minutes passed before she worked up the nerve to retrieve the phone. A voicemail icon waited for her. She should delete it. Pretend it never happened. Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating—then she tapped play.

Roman’s voice came through the speaker, deep and smooth, too familiar.

"We need to talk, sweetheart. Call me back."

Titania’s stomach tensed.

Not Titania. Not Tee. Sweetheart.

She swallowed, but it didn’t ease the tightness in her throat. He had said it like they had always been like this. Like this wasn’t new. Like she already agreed to whatever this was to him. A shiver crawled up her spine, but something else tangled with it, something she refused to name.

----

“Baby, what are you doing down there?”

She turned toward the doorway, still gripping her phone like a lifeline, as Jey dropped his bags and gave her an easy smile.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

She could still hear Roman’s voice in her head, smooth and steady through the voicemail. We need to talk, sweetheart. The heat of it was still clinging to her skin, the weight of something she didn’t want to acknowledge pressing down on her.

She fumbled for an excuse. “I—uh, I was just looking for something.”

Jey cocked his head slightly, his brows drawing together. “Everything okay?”

Titania forced herself to move, to push off the floor and cross the room toward him. She tucked her phone behind her back as she reached him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his chest.

Jey hesitated for a second before his arms circled her, his body warm and solid against hers. “Damn,” he murmured, his voice dropping slightly. “Missed me that much?”

Titania shut her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne, grounding herself. This is what’s real. Not the message. Not the lingering temptation curling around her thoughts like an unwanted guest. Jey was here. Jey was hers.

“I just wasn’t expecting you this early,” she whispered, tightening her hold on him.

Jey smiled against her hair. “Caught an early flight.” His hands slid up and down her back, soothing, possessive. “Told you I’d be home before you knew it.”

Titania swallowed, nodding against his chest. She wouldn’t think about the message. She wouldn’t ask him about giving Roman her number. Not now.

Jey pulled back slightly, tilting her chin up. “Come on, let’s go out.”

Titania blinked. “Go out?”

“Yeah.” His lips quirked. “Movie night. You and me. Remember?”

Titania felt something loosen in her chest. A date night. A normal night. Exactly what she needed.

She nodded, managing a small smile. “Okay. Let me get ready. I had forgot all about our date.”

Jey kissed her forehead before stepping back, grabbing his bags. “I mean I can go to the movies by myself, girl,” he joked, heading toward the bedroom. “I’ll date me if you won’t.”

Titania let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she followed after him. She had to hold onto this.

----

The movie theater was perfect. Dim lighting, plush seats, a full menu that made it feel more like a private dining experience than a typical night at the movies. This was exactly what Titania had always wanted—date nights with Jey, little pockets of time where the outside world didn’t exist. And for the most part, it worked.

Jey was completely relaxed, stretched out beside her with one arm draped over the back of her seat, the other reaching for his food. He made her laugh between bites, whispering jokes and little comments about the film, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against her shoulder.

Titania wanted to get lost in it. She wanted to forget about everything else. But the peace shattered the moment she stepped into the bathroom.

She had only been in there for a minute, washing her hands, when her phone vibrated inside her purse. The sound barely registered at first—until she glanced down at the screen.

Roman.

A chill curled down her spine. Her first instinct was to ignore it. She had done it before. She could do it again. But the buzzing stopped. A message appeared.

Her stomach clenched. Slowly, Titania reached for her phone, swiping to open the text.

“You looked beautiful tonight. Shame you’re wasting it.”

The breath left her lungs. Her head snapped up, eyes darting around the bathroom as if he could be standing right there. But she was alone. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be. Then she remembered. The Instagram story. It had been so small, so insignificant. Just a simple mirror selfie of her outfit before they left, posted without thinking. And then later, a quick boomerang of the drinks at the theater, Jey’s arm barely in frame. That was it. That was all.

She gripped the edge of the sink, her pulse hammering.

This was too much. He knew too much. How did he know her Instagram handle? She hadn’t even thought that was possible. But somehow, he had been watching.

Titania inhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus. She couldn’t let this get to her. She had made her choice. She was with Jey.

She needed to prove it.

Steadying herself, she turned off the faucet, squared her shoulders, and stepped out of the bathroom. Jey was waiting for her in the lobby, his back to her as he scrolled through his phone.

Titania forced a smile as she reached him, slipping her arms around his waist. Jey grinned, tucking his phone away and kissing the side of her head. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice even.

She wouldn’t think about the message. She wouldn’t think about Roman. The drive home was quiet at first, Jey humming along to the music while Titania stared out the halfway down window, trying to sort through the storm in her head. But the more she tried to push the thoughts away, the more restless she became.

She needed to replace them.

She needed to fill the space with Jey.

Titania shifted in her seat, rubbing her palms against her thighs, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. She turned toward Jey, her gaze flickering over him. He was focused on the road, his jaw sharp in the dim glow of the dashboard, his hands loose on the wheel.

She reached over, sliding a hand over his thigh.

Jey’s brows lifted slightly. “What you doin’ over there?”

Titania bit her lip. “Pull over.”

Jey glanced at her, amused. “What?”

“Just… pull over,” she repeated, nodding toward a small, wooded area off the side of the road.

Jey hesitated but eventually obliged, steering the car onto the dirt path and parking under the cover of the trees. The engine cut, leaving them in silence.

“Tee, what’s—”

Before he could finish, Titania was climbing over the console, her dress riding up as she settled herself in his lap. Jey’s eyes widened, his hands instinctively gripping her hips.

“Tee—”

She silenced him with a kiss, fierce and desperate. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. She needed this. Needed him.

Jey groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding up her thighs, and she could feel the moment he stopped questioning her. He kissed her back with equal intensity, his grip tightening as she ground against him.

“Jey,” she whispered against his lips, her voice breathless. “I need you. I need it.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands found the hem of her dress, pulling it up and over her head. She was left in nothing but her bra and panties, the cool night air brushing against her skin. Jey’s eyes darkened as he took her in, his hands roaming over her curves.

“Damn, Tee,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “What’s got into you?”

The words sent a wave of heat through her, and she reached for his belt, fumbling slightly in her haste. Jey chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made her ache.

“Easy,” he said, but his own hands weren’t exactly steady as he helped her free him from his jeans.

When they were finally skin to skin, Titania let out a shaky breath. She could feel the hardness of him pressing against her, and it only fueled her desperation.

“Tell me what you want,” Jey murmured, his lips trailing down her neck.

“You,” she gasped, her hips rocking against him. “I just want you.”

Jey’s hands gripped her hips, guiding her as she sank down onto him. The stretch was exquisite, and she threw her head back with a moan. Jey’s groan matched hers, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he adjusted to the feel of her.

They moved together; the rhythm slow at first but quickly building. Titania’s hands braced against his chest, her nails digging into his skin as she rode him. Jey’s hands were everywhere—on her hips, her ass, her waist—pulling her closer, deeper.

“Jey,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growled, his grip tightening as he thrust up into her.

The sensation was overwhelming, and Titania felt herself spiraling closer to the edge. Her breath came in short, jagged gasps, her body trembling with the force of her pleasure.

“Fuck, Tee,” Jey groaned, his hands gripping her ass as he spanked her, the sharp sound echoing in the small space of the car.

The sting only heightened her arousal, and she cried out, her body clenching around him. Jey cursed, his hips stuttering as he followed her over the edge. They stayed like that for a moment, both of them breathless and shaking. Titania’s forehead rested against Jey’s, her heart still racing.

She should have felt satisfied. She should have felt grounded. But she didn’t. Jey’s arms tightened around her, his lips pressing against her forehead, completely lost in her.

“Tee,” he murmured, voice still wrecked, still clinging to the moment. “You ain’t never been like that before. I like that shit.”

Titania swallowed, pressing closer, burying her face in his neck.

Maybe I needed it.

Jey’s fingers skimmed her back, slow, lazy. “What’s mine is mine, right?”

Titania exhaled shakily, nodding. “Right.”

Jey hummed in satisfaction, his grip on her just a little tighter. She closed her eyes. She needed to hold onto this. She needed to believe it.

----

Titania was exhausted, but Jey wasn’t done with her yet.

They barely made it inside before he was pulling her back into his arms, his lips trailing over her skin, his hands gripping her like he was trying to burn himself into her. His passion had always been fierce, but tonight? Tonight, it was insatiable.

Titania let him take what he wanted, let herself give in, let him remind her that she belonged to him. Only him.

She needed this.

Needed to drown out the whisper of Roman’s voice. Needed to erase the way her body had tensed at his text, at the message she never sent.

Jey tangled his fingers in her hair, tilting her head back, murmuring against her lips. “Say it.”

Titania shivered, her breath hitching. “I’m yours.”

Jey groaned, satisfied. “Damn right you are.”

And he made sure she knew it.

----

The house was quiet.

Titania lay in Jey’s arms, his warmth pressed against her, his breathing deep and even. She should have been asleep. She should have felt safe, at peace.

But something wasn’t right.

She swore she had heard it—faint, just on the edge of her consciousness. A sound that didn’t belong.

Click. Click. Click.

Her body tensed. She held her breath, listening. The room was still, the faint hum of the AC the only thing breaking the silence. Jey didn’t stir. He was deep in sleep, completely unaware. But then she heard it again.

Click. Click. Click.

Titania’s stomach twisted. That wasn’t possible. She packed the typewriter away. Didn’t she?

Carefully, she slid out of Jey’s embrace, barely breathing as she pulled herself from the bed. The hardwood was cool against her bare feet as she crept toward the door, her pulse a steady, suffocating drum in her ears.

The hallway stretched before her, dark and unmoving. But the sound was coming from the spare room.

Titania hesitated.

She should turn around. Climb back into bed. Pretend she heard nothing. But her feet carried her forward anyway. The door to the spare room was cracked open. A sliver of light stretched across the floor. Titania pressed a shaking hand against the wood, pushing it open further, her breath lodged in her throat.

Her knees nearly gave out.

The typewriter sat on the desk. It wasn’t in the box. It was back in its place. Waiting.

And a new message had been typed. Titania’s chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths as she stepped forward, her legs barely supporting her weight.

The words on the page made her skin crawl.

"Blending your worlds did not change the fate that awaits you."

Titania covered her mouth, a strangled sound escaping her throat.

No. This couldn’t be. She had fixed things. She had said what she wanted and didn’t want.

But the typewriter— the typewriter was always one step ahead.

----

The next morning, Jey kissed her lazily before heading to the gym, leaving Titania in bed with a lingering ache in her body and a storm in her mind.

She needed air.

She needed clarity.

But what she got instead was Roman.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. FaceTime. Titania’s heart stopped. She knew who it was before she even looked.

Roman.

She shouldn’t answer. She should ignore him. But she didn’t. With trembling fingers, she slid her thumb over the screen.

Roman’s face filled the display, his expression easy, familiar, like nothing about this was strange.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Titania swallowed. “Roman…”

His eyes flickered over her face, reading her like an open book. “Been ignoring me.”

Titania forced a breath. “I’ve been busy.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “That right?”

Titania didn’t know how to respond. There was something too steady, too knowing in his expression, like he was waiting for her to slip.

She straightened. “Why did you send me that bracelet?”

Roman’s brows lifted slightly. “You don’t remember?”

Titania stiffened. He wasn’t playing with her. He wasn’t teasing. He was genuinely confused why she didn’t remember why.

Titania’s breath grew unsteady. “Roman… I don’t know what you think we had, but—”

Something shifted in his expression.

For the first time, he looked hurt.

“How could you forget?” His voice was quiet, edged with something Titania couldn’t name. “I don’t—I don’t understand. We were—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply, shaking his head like he was trying to steady something inside himself.

Titania opened her mouth, ready to demand answers, ready to piece together what reality he thought they had.

But before she could speak, the front door opened.

Jey.

Titania’s body snapped to attention. Panic surged through her, her heart hammering as she quickly hung up.

The room felt too small, too charged.

Jey’s voice carried through the house. “Tee?”

Titania fumbled to put the phone down, trying to shake the weight of the conversation. “Yeah, I’m in here!”

Jey appeared in the doorway, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, his expression easy—until he really looked at her.

Something shifted.

His eyes flickered over her, reading the tension in her shoulders, the way she was holding herself too still.

His jaw tensed. “Who was that?”

Titania’s breath hitched.

Jey’s gaze dropped to the phone on the bed. He exhaled, running a hand down his face. “It was Hakeem, wasn’t it?”

Titania’s stomach dropped. She blinked. “What?”

Jey scoffed, shaking his head. “I fucking knew it. Knew I ain’t like that dude. And now you sneakin’ around—”

“Jey—”

“Don’t,” he snapped. His face darkened, something raw flashing behind his eyes. Something possessive. “Just tell me the truth. You fucking him, Titania?”

Titania stared at him, her pulse erratic. He didn’t suspect Roman. He had no idea. And somehow, that made this worse.

Before she could speak, her phone vibrated again. Jey glanced at it, his anger already simmering. Titania barely had time to react before he grabbed it off the bed and hurled it across the room. The sharp crack of it shattering against the wall made Titania flinch.

Her heart was pounding, her entire body locked in place. “Jey—”

“I’m out,” Jey muttered, shaking his head, his breathing ragged. “I’m done with this shit.”

Titania’s throat was dry. “It’s not what you think—”

Jey’s jaw clenched. “Don’t.”

He turned, storming out.

Titania barely registered the sound of the front door slamming shut.

Then—

The typewriter.

Titania heard it before she saw it. That familiar clacking of keys. Her stomach twisted violently.

She turned, her feet moving on their own, her breath shallow as she stepped into the spare room. The typewriter sat on the desk, waiting.

The paper was fresh.

A new message.

"He's always been this way. But for her, he'll only get worse."

Titania’s knees buckled and she crashed to the floor.

No.

No, this wasn’t what she asked for.

This wasn’t what she meant. But it was too late. The story was shaping into something she didn’t like. And she knew deep down she couldn’t stop it.

----

Read Chapter 11... (click here)

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[supernovafics]

making a mixtape for boyfriend!eddie

wc: 730

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i don’t know if i should trust this since you titled it “awesome mix volume one.””

“shh, don’t make fun, or you’ll never get a volume two.” 

eddie nodded and smiled at you before overdramatically making a show of “zipping his lips shut,” which only made you laugh and roll your eyes.

over the past few months of you two dating, you fell into an almost weekly pattern where eddie would play new albums for you and always make you mixtapes as ways to introduce you to his favorite bands and artists; which made sense because he loved music. and maybe you didn’t like every single song he showed you, but you loved the happy smile he’d get on his face as he played you something that you hadn’t heard of and talked about a specific instrumental part or lyric of the song.  

you were a little different, you had other things that you’d drone on and on about— things that if it was anyone else eddie wouldn’t have necessarily found interesting, but just hearing you talk about it made it interesting to him. he could listen to you talk about your favorite book or some old movie you watched for forever. 

these little differences between you two were probably one of your favorite parts about your dynamic. 

things slightly changed last week— eddie wanted you to make him a mixtape. it was a request that slightly surprised you, but you of course did it anyway. 

“okay, so there’s not, like, one genre or whatever on this, it’s kinda a little bit of everything. just some songs i’ve liked for a while and more recently, and some remind me of you and us. i think i did, like, twelve songs. i can’t fully remember now–”

eddie stopped you mid-ramble with a kiss on the cheek. “just play it, sweetheart.”

you grabbed the tape from him and got up from his bed, placing it in the tape deck of his stereo and pressing play before settling back and sitting across from him. 

seconds later, the opening beats of sos by abba started playing and eddie smiled amusingly at you. “abba?”

“no questions or judgements until the end,” you told him seriously; well, as serious as you could with your boyfriend smiling at you. “just enjoy the music, munson.”

he nodded, a smile still on his face, as one of his hands started absentmindedly stroking your knee. you were wearing his hellfire t-shirt and a dark pair of his boxers; you always liked being in his clothes when you were spending the night at his place, and seeing you wear anything of his always made him fold. he would’ve been on you in an instant, kissing your lips and then finding that certain spot on your neck that always made you giggle, like he did most nights, if you two weren’t already doing this. 

when the song went from abba to sweet dreams by eurythmics, eddie wanted to say something teasing but he didn’t because he knew that he would only receive a playful scolding or eye roll from you in response.

he ended up liking the queen and tears for fears songs you put on the tape, but what he enjoyed the most was admiring you, watching as you bopped your head along to the beat or mumbled some of the lyrics. in all honesty, he barely paid attention to most of the songs playing, it was too hard. you looked too adorable and that was all he really wanted to focus on. 

he wanted to commit this entire moment to memory. 

the last song that played was another one by abba, gimme! gimme! gimme!, which felt like a full circle kind of moment, and you didn’t make any move to grab the tape once it stopped. 

“so, should i start working on volume two?” you asked playfully as you scooched closer to your boyfriend, letting your knees bump his and reaching out to grab one of his hands. 

he only leaned in and kissed you in response. it was slow and sweet and he practically pulled you into his lap in the process.

you smiled at him when you pulled back a bit to catch your breath. his hand was still cupping your cheek and your lips ghosted over his as you spoke. “i’ll just take that as a yes.” 

[niallerspayno]

Spaces Between Us - Chapter One

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Author’s note: light smut

…

You’re Louis Tomlinson’s little sister—that’s how everyone knows you. It’s the title you’ve carried since you were old enough to realize your older brother was larger than life, a force of nature who swept up everyone in his path. But you’re more than that. You’ve carved your own place in the world, walking a similar road but forging it differently. While Louis thrives in the chaos of the spotlight, you stay behind the scenes, pouring your heart into the music as a songwriter.

It wasn’t hard to find your footing. Being Louis’s sister opened doors most people could only dream of, and soon enough, you were working with One Direction, crafting lyrics and melodies that shaped their sound. It’s your passion, but it’s also complicated—especially when it comes to Liam Payne.

Liam is everything you’re not used to: calm, steady, endlessly polite. Where Louis is a whirlwind, Liam is an anchor, and you’ve always been drawn to that quiet strength. You’ve spent years watching him, noticing the way his brow furrows in concentration when he works on a track, how his smile lights up a room without demanding attention. You’ve kept your feelings to yourself, though. It’s easier that way. Safer. Because no matter how much you might want him, there’s Louis to think about—and the unspoken rule that lines like that shouldn’t be crossed.

So, you bury it. You keep things professional, write songs that Liam sings without ever knowing they’re about him, and tell yourself that it’s enough. But it’s not, and deep down, you know it never will be.

Tonight is no different.

The bar is buzzing, alive with the kind of energy that only a Friday night in the middle of tour can bring. You sit at a corner table with the boys, the laughter and banter blending into the hum of music and conversation. It’s one of those rare nights where the whole group—including their entourage—can relax, no cameras, no fans, just them. And you.

You swirl your drink absentmindedly, eyes scanning the room, but you know exactly where they’ll land. Liam is across the bar, leaning casually against the counter, chatting with a blonde woman you don’t recognise. She’s smiling, leaning closer, her hand brushing his arm. He doesn’t pull away.

You tear your gaze away, heat rising to your face. It’s not the first time you’ve watched him flirt—it comes with the territory—but tonight it feels sharper, more personal. Maybe it’s the way you can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of his soft smile, or maybe it’s the way he seems so at ease, completely unaware of the ache sitting heavy in your chest.

Louis is beside you, mid-story, his hands flying in exaggerated gestures as Harry and Niall double over with laughter. You smile faintly, but the usual warmth you feel around your brother and his antics doesn’t reach you tonight.

“Alright there, love?” a familiar voice asks. You look up to see Zayn sliding into the chair beside you, his dark eyes scanning your face. He’s always been good at reading you, better than you’d like sometimes.

“I’m fine,” you lie, taking a sip of your drink.

He doesn’t buy it, of course. He never does. “Sure you are,” he says softly, his tone gentle but pointed. “You’ve been quiet all night. What’s going on?”

You hesitate, glancing at Louis to make sure he’s still preoccupied, then back at Zayn. “It’s nothing,” you murmur. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. Instead, he leans back, his presence steady and grounding in a way you’ve come to rely on. “Well,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “if you change your mind, I’m here. Always.”

You nod, grateful but still feeling the weight pressing down on you. Across the bar, Liam laughs at something the blonde says, his hand brushing hers as he gestures animatedly. It’s a casual, fleeting touch, but it feels like a dagger.

You look down at your drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. Maybe another one will dull the ache. Maybe not. But either way, you take a long sip and try to pretend that you’re fine.

...

The drinks keep coming. At first, it’s just an attempt to take the edge off, but before long, it’s more about distraction than anything else. You and Zayn sit side by side, the rest of the group fading into the background as the alcohol loosens your tongues and dulls the ache in your chests.

Zayn is nursing a whiskey, the amber liquid half gone, his fingers trailing absently around the rim of the glass. “You know,” he says, his voice low and quiet, “sometimes I think I’m not cut out for all this.”

You glance at him, his words pulling you from your thoughts. “For what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely around the bar, but you know he doesn’t mean the venue. He means everything. The fame, the pressure, the constant scrutiny. “You lose pieces of yourself along the way, don’t you? And when you do find something real, something that feels like yours…” He trails off, taking a deep sip of his drink instead of finishing the sentence.

You don’t have to ask what he means. You know about his breakup—it’s been written all over him for weeks, in the way he avoids certain questions, in the quiet sadness behind his eyes.

You swirl your drink, staring into the half-melted ice. “I get it,” you say softly. “Sometimes it feels like no matter what you do, you’re always on the outside looking in.”

Zayn gives you a sharp look, his brow furrowing. “That about me or you?”

You shrug, your lips tugging into a wry smile. “Maybe both.”

He hums in response, tipping his glass toward you before taking another drink. “Alright, then. Your turn. What’s eating at you?”

You hesitate, the truth hovering just on the edge of your lips. Across the bar, Liam is still deep in conversation with the blonde, her laugh echoing faintly even from this distance. It’s the kind of sound you wish you could pull from him, the kind of closeness you’ve dreamed about but never had the courage to chase.

“It’s nothing,” you lie again, the words hollow even to your own ears.

Zayn snorts softly, shaking his head. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

You sigh, downing the rest of your drink in one go. The burn feels good, grounding. “It’s Liam,” you admit finally, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “It’s always been Liam.”

Zayn doesn’t look surprised. Instead, he follows your gaze, his eyes landing on Liam and the girl. “And tonight’s just a reminder you’re not the one he’s looking at?”

You nod, the knot in your chest tightening. “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

Zayn shakes his head, his expression softening. “Nah. Just human.”

The words settle over you, warm and oddly comforting, and for a moment, the two of you sit in silence. Another round of drinks appears, and you reach for yours without hesitation, letting the alcohol blur the edges of your sadness.

“Here’s to us,” Zayn says suddenly, raising his glass. His smile is crooked, tinged with the kind of sadness that mirrors your own. “The ones on the outside.”

You clink your glass against his, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “To us.”

The drinks keep flowing, the night slipping further and further out of focus. Zayn leans closer as you both let your guards down, your shared sorrow turning into quiet laughter, then something softer, more vulnerable. You don’t know how it happens—if it’s the alcohol or the aching loneliness, or maybe just the fact that you’ve always felt safe with him—but when his hand brushes against yours, you don’t pull away.

The noise of the bar fades into the background as you and Zayn slip out unnoticed. Liam is still at the counter, his hand resting on the blonde’s arm as she leans in closer, her laughter cutting through the low hum of music. Your chest tightens, but you shake it off, focusing instead on Zayn’s hand lightly brushing your back as he leads you toward the exit.

The rest of the group doesn’t notice. Louis is in the middle of one of his stories, his voice animated, drawing laughter from Niall and Harry. Even if someone did look up, they wouldn’t question it. You and Zayn disappearing for a quiet moment isn’t unusual.

The cool night air bites at your skin as you step outside, the lingering warmth of the alcohol in your veins doing little to stave off the chill. The quiet outside feels jarring after the noise of the bar, and for a moment, you hesitate. But Zayn is there, his presence grounding. His jacket settles over your shoulders, heavy and warm, carrying the scent of him—earthy cologne with a hint of cigarettes and something distinctly Zayn.

“Thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the distant hum of city life.

He doesn’t respond, just gives you a slight nod as his hand brushes the small of your back, guiding you down the street. His touch lingers, steady and unhurried, and you find yourself leaning into it, letting him lead.

The walk to the hotel is quiet except for the muffled sound of your footsteps against the pavement. The air is crisp, almost sharp, and you feel it in every breath, the cold biting at your cheeks. Zayn’s shoulder occasionally bumps against yours, his arm close enough that you feel the heat radiating off him.

Inside the hotel lobby, the warmth hits you instantly, wrapping around you like a blanket. The subtle scent of polished wood and fresh linen fills the space, and the muted sounds of the concierge’s soft conversation and the occasional ding of the elevator create a strange kind of stillness.

Zayn presses the elevator button, his hands now shoved deep into his pockets. The quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, charged with something unspoken. When the elevator doors slide open, the two of you step inside, and the silence deepens.

You watch the numbers tick up as the elevator hums softly, the polished walls reflecting fragments of light. Your stomach tightens with every floor, your pulse quickening. You steal a glance at Zayn. His jaw is set, his profile sharp against the dim light.

When the elevator dings, your breath catches. Zayn leads the way, his footsteps quiet against the plush carpet of the hallway. He stops at his door, the faint sound of the key card beeping as he unlocks it. The click of the door shutting behind you feels deafening, sealing you in this moment.

Zayn turns to you, his dark eyes searching yours. His voice is low, almost a whisper, as he asks, “Are you sure?”

You nod, though your throat feels tight. “I’m sure,” you say softly, the words barely more than a breath.

He closes the distance between you in a single step, his hands warm as they cradle your face. His lips meet yours, soft but insistent, and a jolt of heat courses through you. His kiss tastes faintly of whiskey, smoky and rich, and you can feel the roughness of his stubble against your skin.

The room feels warmer, the faint hum of the air conditioning fading into the background as the weight of Zayn’s body presses against yours. His hands roam your skin, strong yet careful, as though he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. His lips leave a trail of heat along your jawline, down the curve of your neck, and you gasp softly, your fingers tangling in his hair.

The alcohol hums in your veins, blurring the edges of hesitation and amplifying every touch, every sound. When Zayn pulls back for a moment, his dark eyes searching yours as if to ask one last time, you answer by pulling him closer, capturing his lips with yours in a kiss that’s desperate, unrelenting.

Clothes disappear in a tangle, each layer shed without thought, until there’s nothing left between you. His skin is warm against yours, and every movement feels deliberate, unhurried yet urgent. You feel the rough drag of his hands on your hips, the soft pressure of his lips tracing your collarbone, the steady rhythm of his breathing in your ear.

When it happens, it’s not rushed, but it’s not tender either—it’s raw and needy, a release of everything you’ve both been holding back. His name escapes your lips in a whisper, and you feel the way his grip tightens, his breath hitching in response. The world outside the room ceases to exist, every sound drowned out by the beat of your racing hearts and the quiet gasps you exchange.

You lose track of time, the night folding in on itself as the lines between comfort and mistake blur beyond recognition. When it’s over, the stillness settles over you both, heavy and quiet. Zayn lies beside you, his chest rising and falling steadily as he stares up at the ceiling. You’re on your back too, staring at the faint shadows playing on the walls, the weight of what just happened sinking in slowly.

You know this changes nothing. It’s not love, and it’s not meant to be. It was a moment—just a moment to forget the pain, to feel something real in the middle of all the chaos. But as you lie there, the warmth of Zayn’s presence beside you, the reality of what you’ve done begins to take shape.

...

The sunlight streams through a crack in the curtains, too bright and entirely unwelcome. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut as the pounding in your head intensifies. Your mouth is dry, your body heavy, and it takes a moment for the events of the previous night to resurface.

The first thing you feel is the warmth beside you, the steady rise and fall of someone else’s breathing. Your eyes snap open, and your stomach drops as you turn your head to find Zayn lying there, his arm draped loosely over his eyes, his expression tense even in sleep.

You sit up slowly, the sheets pooling around your waist, your heart thudding against your ribs. Zayn stirs at the movement, a groggy groan escaping his lips as he shifts to look at you. His dark eyes are bloodshot, his hair mussed, and the second he sees your face, you know he remembers everything too.

“Shit,” he mutters, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Shit.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of the previous night hanging heavy in the air. The sound of the city waking up filters through the window, muted but relentless, and you wish the earth would just swallow you whole.

Finally, Zayn breaks the silence. “Look,” he says, his voice hoarse, probably from the drinking and the smoking, “last night… it was—”

“A mistake,” you finish for him, your voice quieter but firm. “It was a mistake, Zayn. We were drunk and upset and… it just happened.”

He nods, his shoulders sagging as he exhales. “Yeah. Exactly. It didn’t mean anything. Just—” He pauses, searching for the right words. “Just two people trying to forget for a while.”

You glance at him, his features softened by exhaustion and regret, and despite the awkwardness of the moment, you feel a flicker of gratitude. “I don’t regret that it was you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I needed someone last night, and you were there. Thank you for that.”

He looks at you then, his expression softening. “Same. And we’re good, yeah? Friends?”

“Friends,” you agree, giving him a small smile that feels like it might crack your face.

With that settled, you both get up, the silence broken only by the rustling of clothes as you dress in last night’s wrinkled outfits. Your hangover screams louder with every movement, and you wonder how you’re going to make it through the rest of the day.

By the time you both make it downstairs to the hotel dining area, the rest of the group is already there. The dining area hums with quiet conversations and the clinking of silverware. The smell of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon is overwhelming in your current state, turning your stomach. You slump into the chair between Louis and Niall, muttering a groggy, “Morning,” as you shield your eyes from the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“You look like death,” Louis says immediately, his grin wide and unrepentant. “How much did you drink last night?”

“Too much,” you mumble, your head in your hands.

Louis leans closer, his voice full of mock concern. “What’s the verdict, then? Whisky? Tequila? Or did Niall convince you to do shots of that god-awful green stuff again?”

“I’m right here,” Niall chimes in, his mouth full of eggs. “And for the record, the green stuff’s brilliant. You’re just too weak for it.”

Louis waves him off, still focused on you. “Go on, spill. Who dragged you under the table last night?”

You groan, pressing your palms harder against your forehead. “No one dragged me under anything. Can you not?”

“Oh, come on. You know it’s my duty to torment you. Big brother privileges and all that.” Louis nudges you with his elbow, a laugh bubbling in his throat. “Honestly, I’m impressed you’re even upright.”

You force yourself to look up, your bleary eyes scanning the table. Niall is focused on his breakfast, already working on a second plate. Harry smirks at you from across the table, his curls falling messily into his face, clearly amused by your suffering.

But it’s Liam, sitting just a few seats down, who catches your attention. He’s quiet, sipping his coffee, his face unreadable. He glances at you briefly, and the knot in your chest tightens. His expression is softer than you expected—no teasing, no judgment—but you quickly look away, not ready to deal with the pang of hurt that rises every time you think about last night.

You’re not sure if it’s your hangover or the way your heart still stings from watching him with that girl, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze again.

It’s Harry who breaks the moment, his grin playful as he leans back in his chair. “Speaking of last night,” he starts, “where did you and Zayn disappear to?”

The table quiets slightly at his question, and your heart skips a beat.

Zayn, sitting at the far end of the table, doesn’t even flinch. He takes a slow sip of his coffee before shrugging casually. “She needed air,” he says, his voice calm, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Went outside for a bit to sober up.”

“Yeah,” you chime in quickly, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “I wasn’t feeling great. Zayn was just making sure I didn’t pass out somewhere.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but Louis cuts in before the conversation can go any further. “Well, aren’t you the gentleman, Malik?” he says with a grin. “Though I’d expect nothing less. Can’t have her ending up on a tabloid cover, can we?”

The table bursts into laughter, and the tension in your chest eases as the spotlight shifts away from you and Zayn. You glance at him briefly, catching the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips, and you’re grateful—both for his quick thinking and for the ease with which he covered for you.

The conversation moves on, Louis launching into another story about some ridiculous encounter he had last week, and the table erupts into laughter once again. But you stay quiet, pushing your food around your plate.

Liam, however, is still watching you. You can feel his gaze, even when you don’t look directly at him. It’s not accusing or judgmental, just… searching. Like he’s trying to piece together what’s going on in your head.

You refuse to meet his eyes. Not now. Not when your heart is still too raw, and the weight of the previous night sits heavy in your chest.

Instead, you focus on Louis’s voice, on Niall’s carefree laughter, on Harry’s smirk as he tosses a grape at Louis and narrowly misses. It’s easier to fade into the background, to let their banter wash over you, to pretend, just for a little while, that everything is normal.

...

You retreat to your room after breakfast, your head still pounding from the hangover and your mind a mess of emotions. You need some time alone, away from everyone. You sit down at the small desk by the window, a guitar lying next to you, and try to channel all your chaos into something productive. The quiet hum of the city outside is a reminder that life goes on, even if your own feels like it’s stuck in limbo.

The words don’t come easily, though. No melody is flowing. Instead, you’re caught up in the same thoughts that have been swirling in your head all morning.

Just when you think you might break, there's a knock at the door, followed by Harry’s cheerful voice.

“Hey, mind if we come in?”

You don’t bother to reply. The door swings open, and Harry and Niall step inside, a small tray of tea and crackers in Niall’s hands. Harry’s gaze sweeps over you, immediately taking in the slight frown on your face, the tension in your shoulders.

“You look like someone’s been running over your heart with a truck,” Niall says, his tone light, though there’s concern underneath it.

Harry raises an eyebrow, a knowing look in his eyes. “You’ve been acting a bit off all morning,” he notes gently, his eyes flicking to your outfit—still the same one you wore last night. “You wearing the same thing from last night?”

You can’t meet his gaze, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. The last thing you want is to explain what happened. But as they both sit down on the bed, the tea resting in front of you, you can tell they’re not going to let you off easy. They’ve always been able to read you, even when you don’t say a word.

Niall gives you a small, reassuring smile. “You know, we’re not here to judge. But something’s clearly eating you up.”

You sigh, letting your shoulders slump as you finally give in, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I... I saw Liam last night. Flirting with some girl at the bar. It... it hurt, more than I thought it would. I know we’ve never really talked about it, but it just... it’s always been there, the feelings. And last night, seeing him with her, I felt like a fool.”

Harry and Niall exchange a quick look, both of them already knowing the depth of your feelings for Liam. You’d never been able to keep that a secret, even if you tried.

You continue, your voice barely above a whisper. “And then there was Zayn. He’s been... he’s been hurting over his breakup. He’s always been there for me, you know? He just... understood. We both were feeling low, and... I don’t know. We ended up drinking too much. One thing led to another, and we...” You can’t finish the sentence, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Niall looks surprised but says nothing, just nodding. Harry, though, watches you closely, his expression soft. “So, you and Zayn...?”

You nod, feeling a lump in your throat. “Yeah. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. I don’t even know what happened. We just... needed comfort, I guess. But now I feel like everything’s ruined. Zayn and I are fine. But... Liam. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to even tell him.”

Niall lets out a long breath, leaning back against the wall, his tone calm but serious. “You’ve been carrying this around for a while now, haven’t you?”

You bite your lip, nodding. "It’s been there for so long, and I just... I’ve never told him. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t want to ruin everything between us, especially with Louis already being protective of me.”

Harry's gaze softens. He knows you too well. “Look, I don’t think Liam’s the type to let this kind of thing come between you two. You’ve both been walking around with all these feelings for ages, and now you’ve finally taken a step. Maybe... maybe you just need to be honest with him. You can’t keep hiding it forever, love.”

Your head drops into your hands, and you exhale shakily. “I don’t even know where to start. I’ve made such a mess of everything.”

Niall places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Hey, you’ve always been the one who figured things out. You’ll find a way to make it work. Maybe... maybe this is just the beginning of figuring things out for good. But you have to tell him, don’t let this fester.”

You nod again, appreciating the support. It’s comforting to know that, despite everything, they’re both here for you. “Thanks, guys. I... I guess I just needed to say it out loud. I’m scared, but... you’re right. I need to face it.”

The room feels quieter now, like a weight has been lifted. Not entirely, but enough to take a deep breath. Niall stands up, grabbing the tea, and hands it to you with a playful wink.

“Get some rest, yeah? You’ve got a lot to figure out, but you don’t have to do it all at once.”

Harry follows Niall to the door, his expression thoughtful. “You’re going to be alright. You always are.”

You watch them leave, feeling a little lighter, but the gnawing anxiety still lingers in the pit of your stomach. You’ve taken the first step by telling them. But the real work is ahead—talking to Liam, being honest with him, and figuring out what happens next.

And maybe—just maybe—you’ll finally get the courage to do it.

...

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[villain-connoisseur]

title: daylight (her version) pairing: karasu tabito x oc (canon x oc) fandom: blue lock synopsis: erina wakes up early to a still sleeping karasu beside her.

a/n: i wrote this and his version when the song "daylight" by maroon 5 came up on shuffle...and while actively avoiding writing the actual main story, sidelines (i swear...it's being written and coming along nicely. when it's posted... :'D). while i originally thought this was a cute song (because i simply let it play on repeat on the background while typing away), i didn't realize it was a break up song until i finally read the lyrics, but alas, the deed had already been done. no worries...i wrote a break up version and broke my best friend haha.

The soft warmth of morning sunlight began to filter through the sheer curtains, casting gentle patterns across the room. Erina stirred first, her eyelashes fluttering as she slowly blinked awake. The world felt quiet and still, the kind of peacefulness only the early morning could offer. She shifted slightly under the covers, her body naturally curling toward the warmth beside her.

Her gaze fell on Karasu, still fast asleep, his features softened in the glow of the daylight. His sharp eyes, always so piercing and calculating, were hidden behind long, dark lashes. His usually confident smirk was gone, replaced by the serene stillness of sleep. The golden light kissed his skin, highlighting the faint definition of his cheekbones and the curve of his jawline. His hair was slightly messy, strands falling lazily against his forehead, and Erina couldn’t help but think how impossibly perfect he looked.

Carefully, so as not to disturb him, she propped herself up on one elbow, her head resting lightly on her hand as she studied him. Her eyes roamed over his face, memorizing the way the sunlight traced his features, the way his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. It was rare to see him like this-completely unguarded, completely at ease. In these moments, he wasn’t the sharp-tongued, quick-witted strategist she had come to know; he was simply Karasu Tabito, hers to hold in this quiet space they shared.

Her fingers itched to touch him, to brush back the strands of hair that had fallen into his face, but she hesitated, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. Instead, she allowed herself to bask in the feeling of his presence, of his warmth beside her, of the way the morning light seemed to wrap around them like a protective cocoon.

Finally, unable to resist, she let her hand move. Her fingers hovered just above his skin, as if she were memorizing the space between them, before she gently brushed the stray strands of hair from his forehead. The motion was slow, tender, almost reverent. She let her fingertips trail lightly down the side of his face, barely grazing his skin, and her heart swelled at the way he instinctively leaned into her touch, even in sleep.

Erina settled back against the pillow, her hand resting lightly on his chest now, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to simply feel the rise and fall of his breath, the warmth of his skin against hers. The sunlight continued to shift, bathing them both in its soft glow, as if the world itself had paused to grant them this moment.

As she opened her eyes again, her gaze softened, and a small, barely-there smile tugged at her lips. She marveled at how the morning light made everything seem softer, brighter, more beautiful. Or maybe it wasn’t the light-maybe it was simply him. The thought made her chest tighten, a quiet warmth blooming there as she leaned closer, pressing a featherlight kiss to his temple.

When she pulled back, Karasu stirred slightly, his face tilting toward her in instinctive response. She smiled again, her heart swelling at the thought that even in sleep, he sought her out. She stayed like that, curled against him, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest as the world slowly came to life outside the room.

In the quiet embrace of the morning, Erina felt something deep and unspoken settle within her. No words were needed-just the warmth of the sunlight, the soft cadence of his breathing, and the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of her heart. She didn’t need anything else, not in this moment. It was perfect, and she silently wished for mornings like this to last forever.

[youngtomhardy]

MM2 Tracklist as of today 4/20/2024

track 1: huge 2000s JT pop, in the zone meets justified

track 2: britney in the zone sensual beat + a flow. minimal melodies, it’s more of a sexy vibe. this is the title track.

track 3: insane mood change, heavy heavy synths and vocal processing. corpse type chorus but like majooor poppers anthem — maybe even more than pornstar.

track 4: released song ☆

track 5: house, very gay poolside but also like, 90s dance. lotttts of singing, classic MM sexy hook, this is my personal favorite right now <3 exclusively written with the gays too, cherry on top 🍒

track 6: euphoric europop, a true sister to kiss kiss bang bang. i looove the lyrics on this one.

track 7: released song 💋

track 8: this is a cover but we’ve made it soooo unique it sounds like an entirely new song. the beat is so good i almost changed it from being a cover, but it’s essential to the story

track 9: released song 🔪

track 10: it’s being written, but i have a pretty clear vision on what i want. it’s like a letting go of everything that’s happened to u vibe. leaning europop again but more nostalgic.

i’ll probably release an extended version after too, there’s a few collabs i’m trying to make happen before i make that decision. but yall im just so excited. i love this project. and i love u.

- MM <3

[angeliqueiguess]

Hidden Notes (mk.l)

008. Vulnerability

The sky over Centennial Park was painted in a vibrant blend of orange and pink, the kind of sunset you’d expect to see on a Pinterest board titled Aesthetic Moments. The low sun stretched shadows across the winding paths, bathing the park in a warm, golden hue. Mark leaned back on the bench, his guitar resting on his lap as he strummed soft, aimless chords. The gentle notes mixed with the rustling leaves, distant conversations, and the occasional birdcall as the day slowly gave way to evening.

Y/n sat beside him, her backpack containing the lyrics she'd found earlier that week. The papers were tucked away, but her thoughts lingered on the words, the emotions they carried, and how they felt oddly familiar.

“So,” Mark said, breaking the comfortable silence between them, “You probably know more about me now than most people do—definitely more than they should. But I know nothing about you.”

Y/n smiled faintly, her eyes tracing the streaks of color in the sky as the wind played with her hair. “There’s not much to tell.”

“I doubt that,” Mark replied, his voice gentle but certain. “You don’t strike me as someone who just stumbles across some old song lyrics and, weeks later, tracks down the writer for fun.”

She let out a quiet laugh through her nose, but there was an unmistakable trace of introspection in her expression. “Fair point.”

Mark didn’t push. He waited, leaving enough space for her to decide if she wanted to say more. After a moment, she took a deep breath and turned to look at him.

“The truth is,” she began, her voice soft but carrying a hint of vulnerability, “I feel a little lost.”

Mark tilted his head slightly, his expression open and curious, but without judgment.

“I moved here a few months ago, hoping for a fresh start,” she continued. “I thought it would be exciting, like hitting reset on my life. But… it’s been harder than I expected. A new job, a new city, no friends at first… It’s like I’m trying to piece my life together again, but I don’t even know what it was supposed to look like before.”

Mark nodded slowly, his expression softening as he absorbed her words. “Sounds familiar” he said quietly.

She let out a short laugh, but her eyes revealed the weight behind her admission. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the stack of notes—the ones she had tried to set aside but couldn’t quite let go of.

“When I found these,” she said, holding the pages up, “I was in the middle of redecorating my apartment, trying to make it feel more like home. But honestly? I wasn’t redecorating. I was distracting myself—avoiding the fact that starting over felt like failing. Again.” Her voice caught on the last word, and she quickly looked away, blinking at the horizon to keep the emotion from spilling over.

Mark studied her for a moment, his gaze steady and kind. “I don’t think starting over makes you a failure,” he said eventually, his tone deliberate and warm. “What you did—that’s courage. A lot of people don’t even try.”

She turned back to him, a small, grateful smile forming on her lips. “It doesn’t feel like courage,” she admitted. “It feels... messy. Uncertain. Like I’m second-guessing myself all the time.”

Mark nodded again, his fingers instinctively plucking at the strings of his guitar, creating a soft melody. “I get that. When I first moved here, I thought I had it all figured out. I was so sure of who I was and what I wanted. Turns out, I didn’t know anything. But… sometimes, the mess is where the best things happen.”

Y/n tilted her head, studying his face. “Is that what your lyrics are about? Finding meaning in the chaos?”

“Partly,” Mark admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “A lot of them came from pain—heartbreak, self-doubt. But I think they also came from holding onto hope, even when everything felt like it was falling apart.”

She looked down at the notes in her hands again, her perspective on them shifting. “Maybe that’s why they resonated with me,” she murmured. “Reading them… it felt like someone had put my feelings into words. Like I wasn’t alone in what I was going through.”

Mark’s gaze softened even more, his voice low but firm when he spoke. “You’re not alone. No one is, even if it feels that way sometimes.”

She felt a lump rise in her throat, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. For the first time in months, she didn’t feel entirely isolated.

“What about you?” she asked after a moment, her curiosity bubbling to the surface. “Do you still feel like you’re in the middle of the mess?”

Mark considered the question, his fingers pausing on the strings. “Not as much as I used to,” he admitted. “Performing helps. It reminds me why I started writing in the first place. But… yeah, there are moments—like when you showed me these notes. I hadn’t realized how much I’d left behind until I saw them again.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. Instead, it felt like a quiet understanding settling between them, as if they’d shared a weight they no longer had to carry alone.

“Thank you,” Y/n said softly, breaking the stillness.

“For what?”

“For sharing all of this with me,” she replied, sincerity lacing her words. “It's not easy opening up to a stranger”

He gave her a small, melancholic smile, his eyes glinting with gratitude and vulnerability. “It���s easier when you’re talking to someone who gets it.”

The silence returned, but this time, it carried a sense of connection rather than distance. For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/n felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be. And judging by the way Mark looked at her, she had a feeling he felt the same. As they finally got up and went their separate ways, Y/n tucked the notes back into her bag. They no longer felt like relics of someone else’s pain but rather symbols of something shared. They weren’t just two strangers brought together by coincidence anymore.

They were two people learning to navigate the chaos of life and finding a little hope along the way.

previous // next masterlist

angie's note: phew, a lot of things happened today (also, my wifi was acting like a lil bitch so i'm kinda upset)

taglist open: @thegracerammy @kittydollzz @nmlee @haluenx

[yunogf]

lmao i asked bc, as you said in your tags, there was a certain way that it comes across as with how you’re talking about it, so i genuinely wondered bc i was gonna listen to it as well. i’ve been reading plenty of comments about it as well that mostly just lean on “aoty” “soty” “best album ever” and i get that these are (hopefully) exaggerated claims by stans, but i was seriously yet to see a decent comment about its musicality. it’s either about his face in the mv or his voice or the aesthetic of the mv. nothing on the lyricism or the instrumentations or its creativity or depth, so i was hesitant. i get liking it, but i doubt its being “the best”, so when i saw that your comments were the same, i began to wonder if this is another case of exaggerated praises and it’s just... meh at best. nothing new and all that. i am still gonna listen to it on my own ofc but, i guess, since i’m not really his fan, i’m not all excited. amazing debuts usually create tractions of their own, and i don’t hear much for this, but i ain’t judging based on that ofc. anyway, no need to feel attacked. as i said, i was genuinely curious so i asked. i’m well aware that i have ears. i was just genuinely curious about what you actually thought about it, what with your unhinged tags and whatnot. that’s all.

hard to gain traction when ur company announces ur album 2 weeks before it drops!

i was thrown by your wording and i still kind of am but i don't listen to music i don't enjoy and that's across the board for any artist bc....why would i do that lol and maybe ur not in the right circle being a casual fan/non-fan bc I've seen most ppl talk abt the musicality along with everything else 🤔

ik u said u were genuinely asking and i appreciate the explanation but im picking up on an overall unimpressed tone ("hopefully exaggerated" "doubt it being the best" ?) and it feels like u've made up ur mind about jaehyun and his music and ur asking me to give u a reason to change ur mind/care/be impressed but that's not my job ur free to make ur own opinion to me it seems ur going in with a half formed one already but it's music so like it or leave it either way is okay! ur under no obligation!

I'm sorry if being a kpop stan (im assuming...?) has made u feel disillusioned by solo releases tho i understand bc ppl are often overhyped by fans but jaehyun is a music enjoyer who did his homework and worked with artists he himself is a fan of and the payoff is really good music

overall ur ask is very uninformed which if ur not a fan is understandable but as a native english speaker myself listening to an album that is almost entirely in english from a nonnative speaker i have to say the lyrics are very well done they make sense create good metaphor and aren't superficially about balling or making a lot of money (i loathe to hear this often in eng versions of kpop songs lol) and jaehyun is credited as a lyricist on almost every song afaik

the production value is solid "can't get you" has an entire band accompaniment (the trumpet >>>>>) he wrote/worked on "flamin hot lemon" with emotional oranges (one of my fave artists actually <3) so that one is Excellent in every regard esp for a song inspired by cheetos lmao I've said numerous times that none of the songs sound like they were created with the intent of 30 secs going viral on tiktok (a very important differentiation for me) and one of my favorites parts about the title track "smoke" is the outro it's soooo good there's an unexpected bit of piano that he adlibs along with >>>> and the ballad "completely" has a Gorgeous piano backing to it (the lyrics on this one are also so beautiful)

my excitement about the release may have overwhelmed me so i might not have broken down each song beat by beat but rest assured i'm not wasting time on music i don't enjoy

in summation the album is good and on a separate unrelated note he just happens to be really hot ❤️