#thank goodness they’re using warm toned lighting

[indycarnocontext]

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter one ♡

Summary: Joel Miller has been your best friend for four years, and your trust in him is as solid as ever. However, things go awry one night after a heated argument, and you find yourself in a position you never thought you'd be in: naked, underneath him, with his eyes devouring you like there's no tomorrow. And when you wake up the next morning, you know it right away, reality piercing your chest; things will never be the same again.

Word count: 9.4K

A/N: Okay, I was planning for the first chapter to be 4K words MAX, but my imagination went crazy with this lol I really hope you like it. I really enjoyed writing this <3 warning: ANGST! don't forget to leave feedback, tell me what you think!

If you want to be on the tag list, let me know too.

You met him on the night of your twenty-second birthday, at the small party Cassie had put together for you in her dimly lit apartment. You hadn’t wanted much of a celebration, nothing bigger than a few close friends, and certainly not a group of strangers. But when Brianna swept in, holding hands with a man you didn’t know, and introduced him as her boyfriend, you felt a vague flicker of annoyance, the kind that accompanies unmet expectations.

"I thought it was just going to be us," you mumbled to Cassie, catching her in the kitchen as she poured herself another glass of wine.

She looked at you, her cheeks already flushed, eyes bright. "They're a few of my friends, too; they’re nice—you’ll like them if you give it a chance." She smiled, urging you to relax, as though she could tease you out of your mood. "It’s your birthday; don’t be so sullen."

"I didn’t know Brianna was bringing her boyfriend," you said quietly, as Cassie started back to the living room.

She paused, giving you a half-smile over her shoulder. "Neither did I, actually," she admitted, lowering her voice. "Apparently, they've been together for about a month. She’s really into him."

And she was. Brianna clung to him all night, her laughter spilling out freely, unrestrained and buoyant from the wine. It wasn’t long before someone suggested karaoke, and as voices rang out in the next room, you slipped quietly back into the kitchen, craving a moment of solitude. You were surprised to find Brianna’s boyfriend there, leaning against the counter, scrolling absently through his phone with a glass of water in hand.

He looked up, straightened, and offered you a tentative smile. “Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice warm but reserved. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier…”

“No worries,” you replied, your tone reassuring. “Thanks.”

He hesitated, as though weighing what to say next. “Are you having a good time?”

You gave a slight shrug. “It’s…” but before you could finish, he cut in with a knowing smile.

“It’s okay. I don’t love my birthday either.” His eyes glinted in the soft kitchen light, and you felt a small smile tugging at your own lips.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, allowing yourself the indulgence. “I didn’t want to admit it,” you said, feeling the faintest hint of heat rising to your cheeks. “What was your name again?”

“Joel,” he answered, his gaze drifting briefly back to his phone. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge tonight. Left my daughter with a new babysitter. I think she’s having a rough time.”

Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; you hadn’t pegged him as a dad. You moved closer, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice and asked, “How old is she?”

“Four. Her name’s Sarah.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you could tell he was tense. “It’s only the second time she’s been with this sitter, and apparently, she’s been crying all evening.”

“Oh, poor thing,” you murmured sympathetically. “She’s little. Changes like that must be hard on her.”

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the side as he typed something quickly on his phone. “I should probably get going. Brianna won’t love that idea; we’d planned to stay out…” He paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, worry etched across his face. “You think she’ll be too mad?”

“No,” you assured him, though you knew Brianna wouldn’t be pleased. “Go be with your daughter. She’s little; she needs you. Brianna will understand.”

A grateful smile spread across Joel’s face, and for the first time, you noticed the faint dimple on his cheek. For a fleeting second, you wanted to reach out, trace it with your thumb.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt unintentional, yet steady. “I hope your night gets better once karaoke is over,” he added with a quiet laugh. "Wish me luck."

You chuckled, meeting his gaze. “Good luck, Joel.”

He left with that same soft smile, and you watched him go, his warm brown eyes leaving an odd impression, like an unclaimed memory. And, as expected, Brianna didn’t understand. She spent the rest of the night sulking, casting sharp words at Joel through her bitterness.

“You knew he had a daughter when you got with him, this was bound to happen at some point,” Cassie told her, fed up with the other's complaints.

You didn't hear the answer, as you were distracted by watching the colorful pictures someone had put on the television.

You heard nothing more from Joel for a couple of weeks, until Cassie blurted out the gossip one morning while you were having lunch at her house.

“He broke up with her,” she began to tell you. “He told her she wasn't being empathetic and that he couldn't drop everything to party with her as if they had no responsibilities.”

It was no surprise. Brianna was a woman who lived at night; she was twenty-three years old and enjoyed it with the freedom that was rightfully hers. You couldn't blame her for wanting to have fun with her boyfriend. But Joel lived a very different reality than she did; at twenty-eight, he had a daughter to take care of, routines to follow, and a lot of work to do.

Although you thought it would take her longer to get over him, it wasn't long before she met a guy at her gym and got into it with him, outgrowing Joel in a matter of days. But for some reason, Joel’s warm, steady gaze stayed with you, like a whisper that hadn’t fully faded.

Years passed quietly, slipping through your fingers like sand until, suddenly, it was your twenty-sixth birthday. This time, the scene was different: you’d moved into your own place just two days earlier, and there was little thought of celebrating. Instead, the weekend found you alone, arranging your things and attempting to bring order to the chaos of a new home.

It was a crisp Saturday morning, and you stood in your front yard with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in hand, humming along to some eighties tune drifting in from the living room. The song—one of those upbeat ones that made even housework feel light—had lifted your spirits, and you moved rhythmically as you pushed plastic flowers into the dirt along the front path, sending little puffs of air to make the petals flutter.

You were lost in your task when you heard soft footsteps behind you, instinctively making you turn.

“Oh, hello,” you said, quickly masking the slight surprise the girl’s sudden appearance had given you.

She looked at you with wide, curious eyes, seemingly unfazed by her solo adventure.

“Hi. What’s your name? Do you live here?” she asked, her gaze shifting from your face to the flowers in your hands.

Glancing around for any sign of her parents, you noted her relaxed stance, like she’d been coming here all her life. Smiling, you nodded and gave her your name. “Yep, I just moved in.”

She looked unimpressed. “This house was empty for a while. I didn’t like the kid who lived here before. He was a pain in the ass—”

“Sarah!” came a sharp voice from behind, making you jump slightly. Heavy footsteps approached, and you squinted against the sun to see a figure striding toward you, his features obscured by the bright morning light.

When he stepped closer, his face came into focus, and your breath caught. You knew him.

“Sarah, you can’t just leave the house like that,” he said sternly, a furrow in his brow, his tone more parental than reproachful.

He turned to you, and the scowl softened as recognition dawned.

“Joel,” you murmured, the name slipping out before you even meant to say it aloud.

His expression shifted into a surprised smile, and that was all it took to break the ice between you. You explained that you’d just moved in and were still settling. Joel offered to help with anything you needed, including taking a look around the house to ensure everything was in order. He formally introduced you to Sarah, now eight years old, who had nearly scared him to death by sneaking out. She had his same lively spark in her eyes, a brightness that seemed familiar.

That evening, Sarah invited you to dinner with them, leaving Joel with little choice but to agree. And one dinner became many, as evenings blurred into weekends, and you found Joel’s presence in your life weaving into something inseparable from your routine. He started popping by to help with small projects, fixing kitchen cabinets or adjusting the wobbly front steps, visits stretching into movie marathons or lazy conversations with cold beer in hand. Days flowed into evenings of chatting over the meals you cooked to share with Sarah, and sometimes her uncle Tommy. Though Joel claimed he was no cook, his barbecues were legendary, and you couldn’t deny you looked forward to them most of all. And soon enough, he was there for everything, from driving you to doctor’s appointments to accompanying you on those grocery runs he pretended to hate. He even started showing up early on days he knew you’d need a ride. Over time, he became the best friend you’d ever had, a safe place, someone who felt like family. With everyone else scattered—Cassie overseas, old friends moved away—Joel became your rock.

It wasn’t something you dared to admit to yourself often, but you couldn’t imagine your life without him. And maybe that’s why you never allowed yourself to voice those little fleeting thoughts, the ones that flitted through your mind every now and then: how safe you felt whenever he threw his arm around your shoulders, or how good he looked reclining on his couch after a long day. Or how perfect it felt when the three of you—Sarah dozing on his lap, you leaning into his shoulder—sat together in the warm silence of a Sunday afternoon. There was an ache, too, a quiet pang whenever he mentioned another woman. Thankfully, that was rare; Joel once told you, with a shrug, that he “wasn’t really looking for that sort of thing.”

Sometimes, you watched him carefully as you talked about your own dates, hoping to catch a glimmer of jealousy in his gaze, some subtle cue that maybe he felt the same way. But there was never anything you wanted to see, and you always felt silly for looking. So, you buried it all. The risk of ruining things with Joel wasn’t worth the confession.

One afternoon, however, your emotions almost escaped your eyes when, while preparing Joel's birthday cake, Sarah dropped a piece of news that caught you off guard. She told you, with her usual nonchalance, that Joel had gone out the night before with someone new.

“Yeah, it’s like… the third time they’ve gone out,” Sarah mentioned while spreading cream on the sponge cake. “I don’t know her name or anything, just that he met her in line at the bank,” a laugh choked in her throat, amused at imagining her father flirting with some woman in a public space.

You forced a smile, laughing along like it was funny.

"And who stayed with you last night?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Not that Sarah was necessarily a baby; she was already twelve and extremely independent. But Joel never left her alone if he went out for the night, he knew how much she loved spending time with you watching movies and eating junk food. Then, when he arrived, you would pester him with gossipy questions and he would pretend to get angry and then answer every one of them.

“Uncle Tommy," she said, eyeing her work with satisfaction. “We had fun, but I kinda wished you’d come too. Hey, what do you think?” she fingered the cream neatly arranged with the angled knife.

“It's perfect,” you smiled at her, not waiting too long to ask the question you wanted so badly. “Why didn't you call me then?”

Sarah started sprinkling colorful sprinkles on top of the cream and looked at you for a second when she noticed the tone in your voice at the last word. She didn't seem to think much of it.

“You were busy, weren't you? Dad said you had something to do.”

Her answer hit you like a small weight to the chest. Joel had purposefully left you out. He’d even made an excuse for Sarah’s benefit. So, there had been three dates—three times he’d kept this woman a secret. A small knot formed in your stomach as you forced yourself to smile, still watching Sarah as she concentrated on the last of the sprinkles.

In the kitchen, you were running your hand through the steam from the beef stew on the stove—Joel’s favorite—when the door opened. His footsteps grew louder, approaching, and you nervously adjusted the dress you’d chosen, one you knew he liked, though he’d never said it. It was your favorite too, a cream-colored sundress with delicate shoulder ties.

Sarah sprang forward, covering his eyes. “Don’t look, the table’s not ready.”

You hurried to set the glasses in their places, your hands a little shaky as you moved, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“I don’t need to see it—I can smell it, and it smells incredible,” Joel grinned beneath Sarah’s tiny hands, which she’d plastered over his eyes, half to keep him from sneaking a glance, half just because she could.

“Too bad you don’t smell incredible,” Sarah retorted with a smirk, wrinkling her nose. "Go take a shower!"

You laughed, catching Joel’s raised brow at her.

“You’ve got five minutes,” you said, placing the lid on the simmering pot.

Joel snorted, brushing Sarah’s hands away from his face.

“That’s the smell of a hardworking man,” he replied, feigning offense as he turned for the stairs. “Y’all oughtta know.”

*

Later, the three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

The clarification was like a line drawn in the sand, a boundary etched by his voice alone.

You smiled weakly and inwardly thankful when Sarah spoke, telling you about something that had happened at her school that week and distracting you from the question that was spellbinding your tongue. You were dying to ask it, to look him in the eye and ask: who did you go out with last night? Why didn't you tell me? Is it someone I know? Is that it?... But you didn't, you stayed quiet and participated in the pleasant conversation, celebrating his birthday as he deserved. After all, no matter how much it angered you that he kept things from you, it was still his special day.

After dinner, Sarah forced Joel to sit in front of his cake, two lit number candles glowing in front of him. You turned out the lights, watching as the light from the flames reflected beautifully in your best friend's dark pupils.

Joel was wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans, his hair was still barely damp from the shower he'd taken before, and his sun-kissed tan face looked smooth, decorated by the beard and mustache you loved so much. Behind him, his shadow vibrated and spread across the wall with grandeur.

“Make a wish!” Sarah cheered, bouncing with excitement as she placed her small hands on his shoulders.

Joel smiled, closed his eyes, and blew out the candles. In the dimness, you leaned in and kissed his cheek softly.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you whispered, your hand resting gently on his neck.

He reached for your hand, pressing a warm, lingering kiss into your palm. “I’m not that old,” he muttered with a mock frown.

Sarah giggled, holding a knife to cut the cake and licking a dab of frosting from her thumb. “You’ll be forty in four years,” she teased, catching your amused expression.

Joel scoffed, scratching his stomach as he stood back up, turning to you with a smile that made you forget, just for a moment, all the questions you were holding back. There was only Joel, his rumbling laugh, Sarah’s delighted giggles. It felt like home.

Sarah gave him his gift first: a copy of Curtis and Viper 2 with the deleted scenes and a mystery box. When he opened it, a smile formed on his lips.

He pulled out a weathered wristwatch, broken for months, now polished and repaired.

“I took it in to be fixed. Do you like it?” Sarah asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

Joel nodded, eyes softening as he extended his wrist for her to put it on. “It’s perfect, baby.”

“Let's watch the movie later,” Sarah said. “You can't fall asleep.”

“Let's see which one of us falls asleep first,” you joked, and you were right. Joel had been working all afternoon and Sarah had been yawning for hours.

You turned and picked up the box resting beside your feet, handing it to him. When he opened it, Joel pulled out a black cloth garment and a paper envelope. He tugged at the cloth, revealing a thick, soft jacket. He read the label and a smile appeared on his lips.

“I saw it and thought of you,” you said, mimicking his gesture.

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Don't worry about it, it had to be yours,” you noted as you stood up and took it from his hand. “Here, stand up. Let's see how it fits you.”

“And what if it doesn't fit? Do we have to travel to Rome to exchange it?”

You laughed, then helped him slide it over his shoulders, a comfortable, familiar movement.

“I know you by heart, I couldn't be wrong.”

“So?” he asked, smiling coquettishly. Your stomach tingled and you decided to ignore it.

“Lookin’ good, Dad,” Sarah chimed in, her innocent smile lighting up the moment. “Bet someone special will love it, too.”

Joel smiled weakly, as if he was trying to tell her something with his eyes, and for a second you hated the thought of your��gift being enjoyed by someone else. You imagined him getting ready to go out with her -whoever she was-, running his hand through his hair and perfuming his neck as he did from time to time whenever he went out with someone. You knew that perfume perfectly, you'd recognize it anywhere, though you were sure it wouldn't smell the same on anyone else. Joel added his own scent to it, and you loved it.

“Okay, now, open the envelope,” you urged, your voice unintentionally sharper than you meant.

Joel sat back down and opened the blue paper envelope. He read the note carefully and when he looked up, you and Sarah were looking at him excitedly.

“Sunshine, did you pay for this?” he asked you, a soft disbelief in his tone.

Inside were three plane tickets. Sarah had helped you pick the destination—somewhere none of you had been but would love.

When you nodded, he let out a soft sigh. “Let me cover part of it.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “It’s my birthday gift to you, Joel. It’s all settled. You need a vacation, and we certainly do too, don't we?”

“That's right,” Sarah confirmed, smiling complicitly.

He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re too good to me.”

But he smiled, tucking the tickets back into the envelope.

Time with Joel and Sarah was easy. When you were with them, hours slipped away, and the heaviness of everything else seemed to dissolve. You felt at home, and sometimes it left you wondering about Sarah’s mother, about how anyone could have left them. Didn’t she see how extraordinary they were? Didn’t she realize what she’d lost?

You thought about this as you relaxed on the couch beside Joel, Sarah curled up with her head on your shoulder. Her breathing had slowed, and you smiled, realizing she’d fallen asleep. Three glasses sat on the coffee table: the wine Joel had opened just before dinner—a bottle you’d brought back from your last trip to Italy—and Sarah’s lemon soda. Joel snorted softly, glancing at his daughter with a smirk, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Fallen soldier,” he whispered, smiling.

You laughed, brushing a hand over Sarah’s hair. “She’s tired. She was up all afternoon making your cake, you know? Tried the cream three times before she got it right.”

Joel sighed, an apologetic note in his voice. “I know, sorry I was late. I know she wanted me here sooner.”

Curtis and Viper 2 was halfway through on the TV, forgotten in the background. Joel straightened, signaling he’d take Sarah to bed, and you shifted to make room as he lifted her, carrying her toward the stairs. You watched him disappear down the hallway, and as the house fell into a quiet lull, that familiar disappointment stirred in your chest. Now, without Sarah’s chatter, you’d have to keep pretending that nothing was wrong.

You took a long sip of your wine, finishing off the glass just as Joel returned. He sat down heavily beside you, causing the cushions to sink as he let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes before giving you a grateful look.

“Thanks for today, I had a great time. Sarah was very happy,” he said quietly, a warm smile appearing on his lips.

“I'm glad, hun. Although the credit goes to her, I just made dinner.”

“Doesn’t matter. You helped her, and I’m grateful. I mean that. For today, and for… all these years.” His voice softened, almost reverent.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you whispered, feeling your pulse pick up as he leaned closer, his brown eyes unreadable but soft. “You’re my family, both of you. Really, I’m the one who owes you thanks.”

He shook his head and leaned back, taking another sip of his wine.

“Not at all,” he replied, leaning back again.

You watched him for a moment, turning the weight of your question over in your mind. If you said something, he’d make an excuse. If you kept silent, the doubt would eat at you. You tried to fix your gaze on the TV, on anything other than his profile in the dim room. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“So, what did you do last night?”

He tensed beside you, so subtly that only you could’ve noticed. “What?”

You tried to keep your tone even, hoping you didn’t sound like you’d spent all day thinking about it. “I just… didn’t see your truck out there, thought maybe you were gone or something.” It was a lie; you had fallen asleep on your couch last night, you hadn't even noticed Joel was gone.

Joel seemed to measure his words carefully. “Oh. Yeah… I just went out for a beer with Tommy,” he answered, his tone a little too casual.

Heat crept up your face, disbelief taking root. He really was holding out on you for some reason, wasn't he? The man was lying to you, and not very cleverly. Tommy had been with Sarah, what if you had seen him, hadn't he thought of that? Apparently not. 

It took a moment before you could bring yourself to say anything, watching as he glanced at you with an uneasy smile, waiting for you to believe him.

“Joel,” you murmured, not quite able to keep the accusation out of your voice. “You’re lying to me.”

He gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, but you didn’t let him off so easily. Before he could say anything, you spoke again.

“Tommy was with Sarah last night, here,” you pointed out, your voice firmer this time. His silence told you everything, his face drawn and uncertain as he realized you’d caught him.

After a long pause, he looked down, his voice unusually flat. “Alright, yeah. I know.”

The admission was so casual it took you by surprise, but you shook your head, feeling the ache of frustration and betrayal creep in.

“Why would you lie to me?” you pressed. “We’re friends. Why wouldn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone?”

Joel sighed, avoiding your gaze, his eyes instead locked somewhere in the distance. “It’s… it’s nothing serious,” he mumbled. “Just getting to know her. Don't make such a fuss out of it.”

“What? what you're saying doesn't make sense. You’ve kept it hidden, avoided every chance to be honest about it. Why?” you asked, trying not to let the hurt seep into your voice.

“It’s not like that,” he insisted, but his voice sounded unsure.

“So if I call Tommy right now, he’ll tell me the truth? Or did you ask him to keep this from me too?”

Finally, he met your gaze, his eyes scanning your face, reading the frustration and hurt you’d tried to keep buried. You could see it in his eyes, that familiar tug of defiance, a flash of something deeper than guilt or secrecy.

“What if I did?” His voice was almost philosophical, his gaze intense and challenging. “This is my private life. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, not even you. Do I?”

You drew in a sharp breath. His words struck like a slap, but you steadied yourself. “You’re right, Joel. You don’t owe me explanations. But you don’t have to lie to me, either.” You looked down, feeling your voice start to waver. “You’ve never hidden your relationships from me before.”

He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and slumping back against the couch.

After a few seconds, he finally looked at you, a look of exasperation crossing his face.

“Because of this.” He gestured between you, his tone gentle but firm. “This reaction, right here, is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

What Joel was saying didn’t make sense. Your frustration wasn’t over him seeing someone else; it was something else entirely, something more fundamental.

“Oh, just stop,” you snapped, voice sharp. “I’m not mad because you’re dating someone, Joel. I’m mad that you lied to me. They’re two completely different things.”

He took a breath, settling back on the couch, and turned to face you, a guarded expression crossing his face. “No, it’s always the same thing. Remember the last time I was seeing someone?”

And you did, briefly. A year ago, one of his friends had introduced him to his cousin—a woman who had just moved to town. She was polite enough, but her smiles had a brittle quality to them, and when she met Sarah, her warmth never extended beyond a single, dismissive greeting. The indifference was obvious, at least to you, and maybe you’d let that show a little too openly. Joel had caught on quickly, and after that, things with her fizzled out.

“That was different,” you argued, exasperated. “She wasn’t nice, Joel. She had zero interest in Sarah.”

He gave a bitter, half-smile. “Maybe, but it wasn’t your job to manage that. I can handle my own relationships. But you always—” he paused, thumping his chest with a finger, “you always step in. Always get defensive.”

“That’s not true!” Your voice rose as anger crept in, heating your face. “You’re just making excuses. Date whoever you want, Joel, I don’t care. But don’t lie to me, don’t insult me with these flimsy excuses. Or if you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.”

He clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening, something fierce sparking in his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice low and measured, the words hanging between you like a dare.

“Sure about what?” Your brow creased in confusion, the pulse in your chest picking up, a flurry of anger and… something else you couldn’t place, mingling with the haze of the wine.

His eyes narrowed, holding yours, unflinching. “That you don’t care. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Because I know you, i know you to well to know you’re just jealous.”

Jealous. He thought you were jealous.

He had missed the point completely. Your feelings for him were complex, that much was true. But you had learned, or thought you had learned, to carry them quietly. Your friendship with him had come to feel like a sturdy house you could live inside without having to ask too much of it. Having him in your life was enough.

But now, you felt that house shift, cracks spreading through the walls. His inability to trust you hurt more deeply than you’d expected. The openness you’d once trusted was fracturing. You felt the sting of tears prick at your eyes, the words he’d thrown out so casually cutting to the quick.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, standing abruptly, storming to the door and slamming it shut behind you. You barely heard him call your name as you left, fury driving you down the front steps, the cool night air biting at your cheeks.

Honestly, he could go fuck himself.

Just as your hand reached your front door, his footsteps closed in behind you, his strides fast enough to catch up. You tried to close the door before he could reach you, but his hand caught it just in time, his voice heavy with irritation.

“Just go away, Joel,” you said, barely glancing at him. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” His voice was calm, almost pleading.

You stepped back, reluctantly letting him into the foyer. He’d have come in anyway.

“I mean it, God. Go home,” you insisted, your voice wavering, betraying the anger mixed with something else.

He shook his head, taking a few steps closer, his jaw tight. “Can we just talk?”

“Talk?” you repeated incredulously. “Talk about what? About how wrong you are?”

He didn’t flinch, but his eyes darkened. “Don’t act like what I said was crazy,” he said, voice steady but a little sharper now.

You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Oh, so now I’m jealous, is that it? Then, by your logic, you must’ve been jealous too, right? Like last month, when Travis asked me out. Because if that’s the case, then we’re having the same conversation, aren’t we?”

Joel clicked his tongue, tilting his head with an exaggerated sigh. “No, Travis is just a jerk. And I don’t like him, plain and simple.”

Travis Dunn, your neighbor, had moved in a few months after you did. Handsome, tall, and friendly, everyone on the street adored him—everyone except Joel. He couldn’t seem to stand him, though Travis was always polite to him.

Last month, when Travis had asked you out, Joel had practically laughed in your face when you told him about it, muttering something dismissive as if the very idea was absurd. You’d told Travis you were busy, though deep down you knew the real reason you hadn’t accepted was because of Joel’s disapproval.

You shook your head, exasperated. “Travis isn’t a jerk, Joel, you just don’t like him. He’s nice, honestly, much nicer than some people, if we’re being honest here. Everyone loves him; you’re the only one who has a problem with him.”

“Then everyone’s as much of an idiot as he is, sunshine.”

“Oh, really? Or maybe… you’re jealous of him?” Your tone was teasing, but you felt the shift as soon as you said it.

Joel’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He ran his tongue over his lips, shaking his head slowly, twice.

“Don’t turn this on me,” he said. “This isn’t about Travis or me.”

“No?” you shot back, voice edged with challenge. “So if I go tomorrow and say yes to him, that wouldn’t bother you at all, right?”

He stepped closer to you, his eyes dark with something you’d never seen in him before. The air seemed to thicken, his presence so intense it felt as though it wrapped around you. He leaned in, his face close enough that his words brushed your skin.

“You can do whatever you want, baby. It’s your fucking life.”

“And you can do whatever you want too, Joel. That’s the fucking point!” you nearly shouted, hands pushing against his shoulders, shoving him away. “I don’t care what you do! It’s already clear you don’t get it, you don’t get anything, ANYTHING!”

Joel staggered back for a split second, but it wasn’t long before he closed the distance again, though he didn’t get as close this time.

His voice was lower, a thread of something hard in his tone. “If you’re so insulted by the idea of being jealous, maybe that’s something for you to think about. Ever thought of doing a little introspection?”

“Are you drunk, Joel?” you asked, eyes narrowed, softening your voice a fraction. The argument was exhausting you, and the anger left you feeling hollow.

He laughed, an odd, choked sound. “Oh, c'mon, you know one bottle of wine ain't enough to get me drunk.”

“Yeah, but you’re tired, and you’re not exactly young, Joel,” you said, brushing past him, his gaze glued to you the entire time. “Alcohol hits you differently now. Just go home, leave me alone.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

You watched as his gaze flickered between your eyes, uncertainty warring with something darker. Suddenly, with an unexpected strength, Joel tightened his grip on your wrist and pushed you back hard against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your back hit the unforgiving surface.

His expression had transformed, those deep, dark eyes piercing you like arrows. His breath quickened, crashing against your face, and you could feel your lower lip tremble as he pressed even closer, pinning you against the wall.

“You don’t know how to lie,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing against your cheek.

The sensation was unbearable; his body pressed against yours, heat radiating off him and melting you inside. You could feel the edge of something primal, something that could tip either way. But suddenly, clarity surged through you. With a burst of strength, you pushed him away, breaking free from his grasp, forcing him to pull back just enough for you to gasp for air.

But the distance felt worse. In his eyes, you recognized something you’d never seen before—desire, raw and unfiltered. It clawed at you, igniting an inexplicable need. A sigh escaped your lips, and like a match struck in a dark room, it was enough to set off an explosion. In an instant, Joel lunged at you, and you found yourself wrapped around him, mouths colliding in a desperate kiss filled with moans and the urgency of your racing hearts.

With a loud thud, Joel kicked the front door shut, his hands moving feverishly down your body, fingers skimming your thighs, slipping beneath your dress. He caressed your skin before squeezing your ass hard, drawing a moan from your lips that echoed in the small space between you. You clung to him tighter, his hands fitting around you as if they were made for this very moment.

He pulled back for a breath, the sound wet and chaotic against the walls of your home, and then his lips descended down your neck, unraveling what little sanity you had left. A moan rumbled in his throat as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, giving him better access to the tender spot just below your ear, your blood pulsing beneath his hungry mouth.

Joel seemed to want to devour you whole; his hands roamed erratically, trembling as his mouth kissed and bit your jaw, pressing your bodies together in a way that felt impossibly intimate. When you lifted your right leg and wrapped it around his side, he was quick to respond, hands securing your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto his hips, burying his face against your chest.

Another moan escaped you, and he pulled you down just enough to find your lips again. “Joel,” you whispered, breathless as you parted from him, pressing your forehead against his, eyes searching his.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he said, his voice low, almost broken, each word laced with a vulnerability you’d never heard from him before. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you replied in a small, desperate cry, feeling the heat radiating from him, the thin fabric of your underwear igniting a fire deep within you.

You were dying of thirst, and he had just asked you if you would refuse a sip of water. Was he mad? You wanted to drink it all. 

No sooner had you answered than Joel pulled you off the wall, striding toward the stairs with a confident grace. You lowered your legs cautiously, meeting his lips again in a frantic, wet kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with urgency.

You walked to your room with the agility of one who knows where to step, and once inside, you grabbed the shirt you had angrily grabbed earlier and lifted it up his body in a desperate attempt to rip it off. Joel raised his arms, letting the fabric pass over both of you and then fall to the floor, and as quickly as your hands returned to his chest, he kissed your neck again, desperate, pressing his fingers into the tender flesh of your waist, seeking a physically impossible closeness. 

His hands found your thighs once more, fingers gripping and kneading with a measured intensity that sent electric shivers through you. As he moved lower, his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your underwear, inching closer to where you ached for him, squeezing you tighter as if to draw you in.

In a single, decisive motion, he grasped the hem of your dress and pulled it upward, the fabric sliding along your skin as he lifted it away, tossing it aside with a casual disregard that only heightened the tension in the air. He took a step back, his gaze roaming over you, from the soft curve of your face down to the tips of your toes, a look of hunger that felt almost consuming.

You weren't wearing a bra (your dress didn't require it) and your breasts fell beautifully in front of him, hard nipples and soft skin. Your chest flushed with warmth, a rosy hue creeping into your cheeks as you swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated when he stepped closer.

“I’ve always loved that dress,” he said, his voice trembling with an emotion that was both reverent and raw.

“I know,” you replied, a smile curling at the corners of your lips, the moment igniting an intimacy that made your heart race.

His eyes swept down your body again, glittering with an unmistakable lust, and when he closed the distance, standing right before you, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands slid around your waist, firm yet tender, pulling you into him with a deftness that sent a thrill coursing through you. In one seamless motion, he lifted you off the ground, your feet barely grazing the floor as you instinctively stood on your tiptoes, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Joel’s eyes darkened with a hunger that left you breathless, and he leaned in, his lips finding one of your breasts with a soft kiss that felt both electrifying and reverent. The warmth of his mouth sent a rush of heat through your body, and before you could gather your thoughts, he nipped your nipple gently, a teasing bite that sent chills racing across your skin.

His teeth grazed you just enough to elicit a gasp, a shuddering reaction that echoed in the space between you. But he didn’t linger on the sharpness of that moment; he quickly replaced the sensation with the soothing warmth of his lips, enveloping you entirely.

He sank to one knee, lowering himself until his lips brushed your stomach, the warm sensation sending ripples of desire coursing through you. His face lingered dangerously close to where you needed him most.

Joel placed his hands on your hips, fingers gripping the elastic of your underwear, his gaze locking onto yours for a moment that stretched into eternity before he slowly began to lower it, the fabric sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet. You felt his breath hitch at the sight of your now bare center, the anticipation thickening the air between you as he inched closer, finally brushing his lips against your mons pubis.

“Precious,” he murmured, and the warmth of his breath washed over you like a caress, drawing a small, needy moan from your lips. His hands parted your legs slightly, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

You cupped his face gently, as if afraid you might break him, and then, without warning, Joel licked his lips and plunged forward, his mouth connecting with you in a surprise that made your eyes flutter shut. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer as he devoured you, his tongue working its magic as he sucked and kissed you whole, with an urgency that left you breathless.

He growled into you, the sound reverberating through your body, and you felt weakness seep into your legs, trembling under the weight of his relentless attention. Joel was eating you like a hungry man, tasting you and soaking in your juices with a fervor that felt primal, kissing you as if his life depended on it.

“Fuck,” you gasped, feeling every muscle in your body tighten as a building pressure coiled inside you.

He pulled away for just a moment, his eyes darkened with lust, a playful smile creeping onto his lips before he returned to you, closing his mouth around your clit, sucking and licking with a skill that made your head spin.

“Ah—Joel, I’m going to—I’m going to—” You struggled to articulate the intensity of what was building within you, your words stumbling over the tide of pleasure washing over you.

His voice vibrated through you, trailing off into a soft, “Mhm.”

You pulled at his hair, tugging harder as a wrenching moan escaped your throat. The world around you faded as his movements grew more frantic, his tongue flicking at you with a desperate fervor. One of his hands released your thigh, and a low groan escaped his lips as his finger found your entrance, sliding inside with an ease that made you gasp.

“Fuck me, you’re so wet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment to take in the sight of you—your cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with lust. A satisfied smile broke across his face, and you thought he had never looked so gorgeous.

From your point of view, he looked beautiful. His bright eyes worshipped you intently, his mouth and mustache glistened bathed in you, his hair tossed by your hands mingled in all directions. Joel Miller had never looked so good.

Another finger joined the first, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation as he curled them just right, hitting that sweet spot that made you gasp for air. You gripped his hair again, pulling him closer, and he let out a throaty laugh, clearly reveling in the sight of you completely undone.

You felt his mouth on you again, the warmth of his lips kissing and sucking with an insatiable hunger that left you breathless. The sound of it was utterly obscene, echoing around the room like a carnal symphony, and it drove you to the brink of madness, your mind spinning in a dizzying haze of pleasure.

His movements grew more intense, a rhythm building that sent waves of ecstasy rippling through your body. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your hips moving in desperate undulations, surrendering to the climax that Joel savored with unrelenting focus. Your fingers clenched around him, digging in perhaps a bit too hard, but he welcomed it, desperate to drink in every last drop of what you were offering, to savor you whole.

With a low grunt, he squeezed your hips before pulling away, the wet sound of his departure from you hanging heavy in the air. You barely registered his rise from the floor, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure, your eyes still closed as the vibrations coursed through you. It wasn’t until his hands gripped your waist that you finally blinked awake, lifting your eyelids to find him gazing down at you, his face mere inches from yours.

He leaned in, capturing your mouth again, a kiss that was both desperate and tender, igniting a fire deep within you. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. As the intensity built, you let your fingers drift down his chest, trailing lightly until they found the leather of his belt, the sensation sending shivers through you as you tugged him closer.

Joel vibrated against you, a low growl escaping as he nipped at your lower lip while you fumbled with his steel buckle, the sound of it being released becoming your new favorite melody. You unzipped his pants, your heart racing as you slipped your hand inside, finally touching him for the first time.

Your pulse quickened as you wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the heat radiating from his velvet soft skin; big, hot and throbbing in your palm. A rush of desire flooded you, and you pulled away from his lips, dropping to your knees before him, your eyes wide as you took in his form. 

There he stood, beautiful and swollen with need, and your mouth watered at the sight. You cupped him gently, drawing him closer to your lips, placing a soft kiss on the tip. Joel closed his eyes at the sensation, surrendering to the moment completely, and you traced your tongue over him, tasting the salty sweetness of his pre cum that made your insides tighten with longing.

With a hint of effort, you attempted to take him fully into your mouth, but he was too large, stretching you in ways you hadn’t expected. Joel lowered his gaze to you, his fingers caressing your jaw as you struggled to adjust.

“Slow, baby,” he urged, his voice silky yet strained, and it sent another rush of need through you. "I know you can do it."

You matched your hand to your mouth, stroking him where you couldn’t quite reach, while your other hand gently caressed his balls, moving in a synchronized rhythm. Joel tensed beneath your touch, his fingers shifting from your face to tangle in your hair, guiding you as he reveled in the pleasure you were giving him.

The sounds in the room became a symphony of pleasure, every moan and gasp echoing off the walls, and you watched as Joel's pleasure climbed. The image was enough to drive him over the edge; your pink, swollen lips covered him and his cock glistened with your saliva, dripping from your chin with every move you made. Your teary eyes looked up at him desirously, and he could take no more; his gaze was filled with a primal hunger that threatened to unravel him. He finally withdrew from your mouth with great reluctance when he felt his stomach tighten, a low complaint escaping your throat in protest.

His breathing was heavy, and a flush colored his cheeks as he lifted you effortlessly, holding you at the waist, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. In one swift motion, he laid you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he moved closer; Joel kneeling and settling between your legs which you instinctively opened for him. 

You needed him, you needed him to fill you whole. You had never needed anything as much as you needed him at that moment. And as if he was reading your thoughts - or maybe he needed you as much as you needed him - he leaned in, taking your mouth with his once more, his moans blending with yours as he lost himself in you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, the taste of him igniting a fire in your veins. You felt him positioning himself at your entrance, his heat pulsing against you, and an intense sigh shot through your chest as Joel entered you in one thrust, burning and stretching you around him. 

“Oh God,” he groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His right hand traveled to your left leg, lifting it and resting it high on his shoulder, while without hesitation, his other hand mirrored the movement with your right leg, bringing you into a position that felt both intimate and vulnerable. You were completely folded under him.

A cry escaped your lips as Joel began to move on top of you, his face hovering just inches above yours, the heat between you palpable. No one had ever penetrated you so deeply; it felt as though he was everywhere, filling you completely, every inch of you alive with sensation.

Joel's right hand gently squeezed your neck, seeking your mouth for a kiss as his movements took on a more urgent pace. The rhythmic collision of his hips against your buttocks created a beautiful sound that echoed off the walls, each thrust punctuated by the soft, desperate gasps that slipped from his mouth. Your own cries mingled with his as your body tightened again, your hands moving frantically up and down his back, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving little marks that he would surely wear like badges of pleasure. 

A broken sound escaped from Joel, raw and primal, as he sank his face into the crook of your neck once more, increasing his thrusts with a fervor that felt animalistic, as if the world outside had fallen away and this moment was all that mattered. He fucked you into the mattress with an intensity that left you breathless, as though he were trying to ground you both in this fleeting reality, where nothing else existed except for the two of you entwined together.

You melted around him, your juices mixing with his as you enveloped him completely, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he lifted his head, your forehead resting against yours, his wide eyes locking into yours. You had never seen them so dark, so filled with intensity and strength.

And then it hit you: It was Joel, your Joel, the one who had been your best friend for four years, and here he was, fucking the life out of you like no one ever had before. What could possibly come after an experience like this?

“I thought you didn't like me,” he said, his voice choppy, strained with effort. A smirk played at the corners of his swollen lips. “Such a bad liar, baby, look at you.”

You growled in response, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him towards you with a mix of force and anger. Your lips found his in a kiss that was anything but patient, igniting a spark between you. You felt him tense above you, one of his hands quickly moving to your center, exerting immense pressure as he leaned his weight on his other arm, holding you captive beneath him.

His fingers found your clit, tracing gentle circles that made your back arch involuntarily, another wave of pleasure building inside you. Your mouth was still on his, consuming him completely, when your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You felt your insides tighten around him, squeezing him with a ferocity that pulled him closer to his own climax.

Joel gasped into your mouth, and the intensity of it sent your vision spiraling into darkness for a brief moment, the sensation so strong it felt as if the world had collapsed around you. When your breathing finally steadied, you found his hot body pressed against yours, moving in tiny tremors, quickened breaths brushing against your jaw.

He stayed inside you for a few moments longer, savoring the closeness, your hands continuing to caress his back, each touch a silent promise. Then, slowly, he pulled out of you, leaving you feeling achingly empty, his cum trickling from your entrance.

He fell limply beside you, his body slick with sweat, and pulled you close to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His breaths, still heaving, crashed against your damp skin, wrapping you in warmth. Unable to muster the energy to move, you let your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to a deep, exhausted sleep that you would not remember when you woke up...

No, you didn't remember any dream, Because when you opened your eyes the next morning, you stirred in place and your muscles ached pleasantly, reminding you of the night before. And as you stretched your arms across the bed, your fingers grazed the sheets, feeling an emptiness beside you.

When you looked to your sides, the realization hit you hard.

Joel was gone.

taglist: @orcasoul

[rafecameronssl4t]

Like her mama || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: inspired by this TikTok sound

Warnings: none!! just fluff :)

Word count: 1,416

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

As you turn from the sink, water dripping from the freshly washed fruit in your strainer, Topper’s voice interrupts your thoughts. "Need some help with that?" he asks, his tone friendly and familiar. You glance over your shoulder, offering him a warm smile.

"I'm all good, thanks, Top," you reply, your eyes twinkling with gratitude. He nods and takes a seat on the nearby stool, settling in comfortably. Your attention shifts to the pool outside, where Rafe, Mabel, and Kelce are enjoying the morning sun.

"Everything alright out there?" you ask, your curiosity genuine as you look to Topper for reassurance. He glances outside, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, they’re all good. The water’s really nice," he says with a chuckle.

You turn back toward the pool just in time to see Rafe holding Mabel in his arms, her tiny pink bucket hat slightly askew, too big for her small head. You wave, a soft giggle escaping your lips when Rafe lifts Mabel’s hand to mimic your wave, though you’re certain she can’t actually see you.

Topper can’t help but chuckle along with you. "Can’t believe she’ll be seven months next week," he remarks, his tone tinged with amazement. You let out a small sigh as you begin slicing the oranges, arranging them neatly on a platter. "Don’t remind me," you reply with a soft laugh. "She’s growing up so fast."

The two of you continue chatting, the conversation flowing easily until Rafe strolls into the kitchen. His hair is damp, the blonde strands clinging to his forehead, and tiny droplets of water trail down his chest and stomach, glistening in the soft light.

"Hi, baby," he greets you, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your cheek. "Hi," you respond, your smile widening at his touch. Rafe’s eyes drift down to the platter you’re preparing. "That looks amazing," he comments, quickly snatching a strawberry and popping it into his mouth before you can protest. You shake your head playfully, amused by his antics.

"Is Mabel all right?" you ask, glancing at him as he leans casually against the counter. "Mmhmm," he hums in affirmation, then suggests with a grin, "You should come in the water after this." You chuckle softly. "I will, I will," you promise, as he leans in for another quick kiss before heading back outside.

Topper watches him go, shaking his head with a smirk. "Rafe’s a complete softie now, huh?" he comments, clearly amused by the transformation in his friend. You snort, unable to hold back your laughter. "Maybe for us. But he still loves arguing with his sisters," you say with a fond smile, recalling the endless bickering between Rafe and his siblings.

Topper’s expression brightens with sudden recollection. "Did I end up tell you what happened this morning at the shops?" he asks, piquing your curiosity. "No? What happened?" you ask, looking up at him, eager to hear the story.

~

Flashback….

“Is she awake?” Rafe asks as he pulls his G-Wagon into a parking spot in front of the store. The engine’s hum fades as he shifts into park, and Kelce leans over to peer into the baby carrier. Mabel, with her big doe eyes, stares back at him, her tiny mouth busy with her pacifier.

“Wide awake,” Kelce reports with a chuckle, meeting her gaze with a grin. The three of them exit the car; Rafe decides against the stroller, opting to scoop Mabel into his arms instead. After all, they were only planning a quick stop. Mabel clings to him, her small hands gripping his shirt as she takes in her surroundings.

As they approach the store, Topper slips his oversized sunglasses onto Mabel’s little face. The glasses are comically large, sliding down her tiny nose, and the sight of it makes both Topper and Kelce snicker. They quickly pull out their phones, snapping a photo of the moment.

Rafe, oblivious to their antics at first, glances over his shoulder when he hears their muffled laughter. “You guys are idiots,” he says, shaking his head, though he can’t suppress the smile that tugs at his lips when he sees Topper’s sunglasses barely hanging on Mabel’s face. As her uncles continue to laugh, Mabel lets out a delighted giggle, her tiny hands reaching up to grasp at the sunglasses.

As they step into the shop, all three boys lift their sunglasses from their noses and perch them on top of their heads. The cool air inside the store is a welcome contrast to the warmth outside. “What are we getting again?” Kelce asks, glancing around as they enter.

Rafe pulls out his phone, scrolling through the list you had sent him. “Y/n gave me a little list,” he replies, quickly scanning the items before reading them aloud. Kelce nods and heads off towards the fruit section, while Rafe, Topper, and Mabel make their way down another aisle to gather the remaining items.

As they pass by the toy section, Rafe can’t resist stopping, his eyes drawn to the colourful display. Mabel’s attention is instantly caught by the toys on the shelves, her small hands reaching out eagerly. “You want that one? What about this too—” Rafe starts, picking up a soft toy, but he’s interrupted by a voice from behind them.

“Hey,” the voice says, drawing their attention. Rafe turns to find a girl, probably around their age or a bit younger, standing a few steps away. Her smile is bright, but there’s something in her eyes that makes Topper instantly wary. He notices the way her gaze lingers on Rafe before shifting to Mabel.

“Oh my goodness, what a cute baby you have!” she exclaims, her voice overly sweet, dripping with an eagerness that Rafe recognises all too well. It’s the tone of someone trying just a bit too hard to make an impression.

Without missing a beat, Rafe shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, my wife and I make pretty cute babies, huh?” he responds, his tone cool and dismissive, the question hanging in the air as more rhetorical than anything. He turns his attention back to Mabel, who is now clutching the toy he had picked up, her little fingers wrapped tightly around it. He places it in the shopping cart without sparing the girl another glance.

Topper stifles a grin, barely containing his amusement as they walk away, leaving the girl standing there, her plan clearly foiled. As they continue down the aisle, Rafe mutters under his breath, “The audacity,” his voice laced with mild annoyance, though a small smile still plays on his lips.

Topper bursts into laughter. “You handled that very well, didn’t he, Mabel?” he says, leaning over to tickle Mabel’s tummy. She giggles in response, her tiny hands gripping Rafe’s shirt as she hides her face, her laughter a sweet, infectious sound that makes both men smile even wider.

Rafe glances down at his daughter, his expression softening as he leans in to press a series of tender kisses on the side of her forehead. “Yeah, we don’t need any of that nonsense, do we, baby girl?” he murmurs, his voice overflowing with affection. Mabel giggles softly, her tiny hand reaching up to touch his face, and Rafe smiles, the warmth in his eyes evident as they continue with their shopping.

~

End of flashback...

A smile tugs at your lips as Topper finishes his story, the amusement clear in your eyes. His recount of Rafe's quick wit and protective nature at the store had you both chuckling. The memory lingers, bringing a soft warmth to your heart as you place the final pieces of fruit on the platter.

Topper grabs the colourful tray, balancing it with ease as he heads outside to join the others by the pool. Outside, Mabel is floating happily in a small inflatable ring, her tiny hands splashing the water as Rafe gently moves her around. His smile is wide, the pure joy on his face unmistakable as he watches her delight.

Your hands reach up to start unbuttoning Rafe's oversized button-up shirt that you had used as cover up over your bikini. You step into the pool, feeling the cool water contrast with the warmth of the day, and tie your hair up into a bun.

Rafe glances up at you, a playful glint in his eyes as you wade towards them. "Look, Mabel, Mumma's here," he says with a grin, his voice soft and affectionate. Hearing his words, Mabel turns her head, her big eyes lighting up at the sight of you. A gummy smile spreads across her face, and you can’t help but giggle at her reaction.

You move closer, lifting her gently from the floatie and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You having fun, Bels?" you coo softly, spinning her lightly in the water. She babbles in response, her excitement clear as her little legs kick with glee. Rafe watches with a smile tugging at his lips, his gaze shifting between you and Mabel.

"I just realised you two are matching," he comments, noting your pink bikini and Mabel’s pink bucket hat that’s just a little too big for her. A playful grin spreads across your face. "I planned it," you tease, giving him a wink. Rafe chuckles, moving closer to wrap an arm around your waist and pulling both you and Mabel into a warm embrace.

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before leaning down to tickle Mabel’s tummy. Her infectious giggles echo around the pool, her little hands splashing the water playfully. You and Rafe laugh along with her, the happiness of the moment filling the air.

As you hold Mabel close, feeling the warmth of her tiny body against you, you glance up at Rafe, a soft smile playing on your lips. "We made a pretty cute baby, huh?" you say, your voice filled with pride and affection, echoing the words he had casually tossed out at the shops earlier.

Rafe’s eyes light up with recognition, a smirk forming as he remembers the moment. "Yeah, we sure did. The cutest baby" he agrees, leaning in to kiss you tenderly.

[luveline]

could you write bombshell!reader getting a tattoo of spencer’s name or something that reminds her of him and his reaction please?

“Why are you kissing me?” you mumble, your voice hoarse with sleep. 

They’re light kisses. “I’m going now,” Spencer says, matching your quiet tone. 

“No.” 

You wrap your arm behind his neck and feel his hair against your wrist. His nose and lips warm your jaw. 

“Yes.” He kisses your jaw. “I have to go, but I didn’t wanna leave without a kiss.” 

That’s really sweet, he’s so sweet, you’re so tired. “Please don’t go, Spencer.” 

“I have to go.” He readjusts your hugging to hum against your temple, distinctly content despite your pleading. “I’ll be back by six for dinner, promise.” 

“Promise,” you say.

You get to keep him for a few minutes, regardless. His neck must sing bent as he is over you but he doesn’t relent, doesn’t move until you encourage his face back to kiss just under his bottom lip. “Sorry, I’m making you late,” you whisper. 

“No, no, I accounted for this. You’re on my agenda.” 

“How much time did you allot?” you ask through a smile. 

“Seventeen minutes. That’s how long we usually hug in the morning.” 

“Gotta get that time down,” you say. 

“Or up.” He holds your face. You turn your head into his touch and keep him for just another half a minute. 

“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes flutter closed again, “you can leave, I’m gonna go back to sleep.” 

“Good idea.” He kisses you, and he says goodbye. You’re sleeping again before he’s even left your room

When you wake properly, you still feel loved, like a sunburn but with less stinging. There’s something very special about your boy; something permanent about the way he loves. You can’t imagine he’ll ever stop loving you like this, he’s embedded you so deeply into his life and his routines (and you’d beg him to keep you if he ever changed his mind). That in itself is crazy. You can’t have imagined begging a guy to let you stay, but for Spencer, you would.  

When he comes home that night, half an hour before six, you have no regrets. 

You hadn’t noticed how he was dressed when he left, but he looks lovely in just a simple t-shirt and jeans. Remarkably casual for him, you used to think he only wore t-shirts to bed, but the older he gets the better propensity he has for comfort. What makes it for you is the cardigan. 

“You look nice,” you praise, more than satisfied when the first thing he does after he takes off his shoes is lean down to hug you where you’re sitting on his couch. 

“Thank you.” He pats your back and pulls away. “You’re beautiful,” he says with ease, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Good day?” 

Your lips pucker into a twist. 

“What?” he asks. 

Unfortunately, he sounds deeply worried. 

“No, it’s nothing, I just hurt my arm. Can you have a look?” 

Spencer takes your arm. “What did you do?” he asks, pulling the sleeve of your shirt carefully up to your elbow. The Saran wrap confuses him, until it doesn’t, and he grins at your skin, before frowning again. His flickering emotions worry you, until he says, “Is that mine?” 

You hold your arm in the light. “Of course it’s yours?” 

It’s just a few words from a note he wrote you, perhaps too soon into your relationship for sweetness, and yet one you kept anyways. He told you the story of the I Love You lighthouse, or rather, the Minot Ledge lighthouse, and how the man who lived there had to live on a different island to his family while tending the lighthouse, so he would flash the light once, then four times, and then three times, one flash for every letter of each corresponding word: I love you. The note was left on your dresser. You’d slept together the night before, but he had to leave early. Nowadays he wakes you up, but  back then he’d been too shy. 

I want to be able to do that for you but I can’t find a lighthouse in D.C. that will let me in to try. I’ll keep looking. 

“I’ll keep looking,” Spencer reads. His thumb heistates just under your small font.

“It’s from that note you left me.”

“I know, I remember.” He does his awful frowny face where his eyelids lower and you're sure he’ll never smile again, he looks that upset. “You know this is permanent?”

“They do tend to be,” you say with a lovelorn sigh. 

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should kiss you, or hug you, or… I don’t know why you’d do this.”

“But it’s okay?” you ask. It could make for a very awkward conversation if he doesn't like it.

“It’s perfect.” He holds your gaze. “You’re perfect.”

He acts like your tattoo is a gaping wound as he moves in to hug you, careful of your new ink, but relentless in the tightness of his arms behind your back. You laugh, then squeal at his insistence, a giggly girly thing that nobody else should ever hear but him. He doesn’t make fun of you, just squeezes you to him, his face pressed so hard to yours you can feel his cheekbones. 

“Now I just have to say something romantic for you to get tattooed and we’ll be equal again.’

“So we aren’t equal?”

“Um, no way.” Your laugh is self-satisfied and breathless. You turn your lips to his cheek. “I love you. I’m gonna build you a lighthouse.”

“Can’t believe you kept that note.”

“I have a whole shoebox of them. I love that you write them.”

He stops holding himself up, half on the couch and half in your lap as he hugs you with every bit of strength in his arms.

[matchamiko]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Daydreams about Yuuji

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: Oral (m -> receiving): sloppy, messy oral; masturbation: dirty talk; AFAB reader (use of girl, girlfriend,); established new relationship; mentions of oral (f -> receiving).

Daydreaming about giving Yuuji his first blowjob. Being his cute, soft, bundle-of-fun girlfriend for a few months before asking him if he wants to fuck your mouth, a little crudely in your tone but quietly, a whisper from your quivering lips. Quivering only in anticipation and the mere thought of him spread out, spilling down your throat. You’re painting your nails on a book on the floor, polish bottles positioned carefully so they don’t tip. A glass of iced yuzu tea sits next to Yuuji’s on the side table, forgotten in your concentration and forgotten in your distraction.

Your nails are long dry now, a pretty pearl that glimmers in the light. They’re fisted on your folded thighs, clenching and cracking when Yuuji shifts uncomfortably under the heat of your gaze.

“You wanna - what?” Golden thighs fog any semblance of sobriety you have left, craving the warm supple skin before you like a wolf to prey. He’s reclined on the foldaway couch he’d thrifted from the side of the road, gym shorts pulled tight over the very tops of his thighs and over his crotch. Staring down at you with sweat beading his hairline and his lower lip dropped open at your sultry admission,

“Please? Should I have said please first?” You shuffle towards him, not touching but so desperately obvious in your lust that Yuuji struggles on where to look, “please can I suck your cock? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

You two hadn’t had sex yet, not that it hadn’t come close. Something had always interrupted, whether it was a noisy neighbour or an irritating friend or mentor, or even the cat that roams your apartment as if it was his own. Kissing him was a dream, touching him made you too hot for your own skin and only he had made you come so far, fingers deep and a little clumsy but deft and strong in their wringing of your orgasm(s) on steamy summer’s afternoons tangled up on the couch.

So asking him for favours wasn’t really out of the question. Yuuji adored it when you politely asked for a kiss, positively beams at you before swallowing your radiating embarrassment with his lips. He’s not beaming now, not in the same way.

He’s - sweating. Squirming as he nods with a dry throat, swallowing and grinding his mouth shut. You’re picture perfect between his thighs, pearly nails digging welts into his muscle and humming at the give of the blonde hairs there. He’s afraid of what might happen if he opens his mouth, some kind of animalistic whimper or a loud sob? He feels rather pathetic before you, but gloriously so, bent to your will and your pretty painted nails.

“Bet you taste so good Yuuji,” you simper, lips picking out the moles and freckles leading up to his groin, “might give me some kinda oral fixation,”

Yuuji moans then, out-loud and deep from his chest. You grin wolfishly, fingers deft as they slip over the sweat resistant material of his shorts and up under his t-shirt. It’s tight, a little musty from drying in the bathroom and it gives way for the trail over his belly,

“Hold this f’me Yuuji,” broad hands hover over the edge of his shirt and then over you, biting his lip and then biting the fabric, “Mhm, thank you for letting me do this, been wanting to taste your cock for ages,”

“Yea-sh,” his voice is crackled and muffled by his shirt, spittle damping it but you’re pulling down the band of his shorts and suddenly it’s a little too real, hands raising to pause you, “Baby wait - I -,”

Anything he was going to say dies in a guttural grunt as you envelope the top of his weepy cock in your mouth. Hands that were intended to push you away grab you closer, cradling your throat and squeezing your shoulder.

“Mmmm,” you hum, one hand squeezing the base and the other squeezing his thigh, eyes rolling into the back of your head with the salty, bitter taste of him. Little sucks and kisses have Yuuji barely containing his groans and choked whines, hips flexing beneath you. The shirt has fallen to just below his pecs, belly tightening and flexing with every kick of his cock against your soft palate, but you don’t mind because he’s still trying to keep it out of your sloppy, drooly way, fisting the fabric and giving you a peak of a soft brown nipple, hard and aching.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please please please,” he babbles, the hand on your neck moving to the back of your head, shaking as he follows your bobbing movements. His dick is thick, long and warm in the cavern of your mouth, the mushroom tip pink and slimy with pre, and you swallow every drop a little over enthusiastically. Humming and moaning and whimpering, you’re practically dripping through your underwear, positive you’ve wet through to the carpet.

And when you breathe in through your nose and take him as far as you can, the tip of your nose just shy of his pubes; the two of you practically lose your minds. Yuuji trembles above you, hunched over and incoherent; and you shimmy your thighs together in a squeeze of relief, drool coating the base of his cock and tears skimming your lashes.

“Y-you’re so hot baby look at ya’,” he can see the way you’re wiggling your hips, craning over you with sleepy eyes and heavy pants, “why - why don’t you play with your pretty pussy? Seein’ as you’re practically milking me dry,” Yuuji’s words come out slurred and muffled, as if his mouth were socked with cotton. A large hand comes down on the back of your neck, sweetly holding you and a stark contrast to the way his cock jerks in the tunnel of your throat as you deftly skim your fingers into your shorts. 

The angle is all wrong and you can barely feel the hard bud of your clit but you can feel the pearly arousal that sloshes around your underwear, loud but not loud enough over the slurps and kisses over his cock. You make it work, squirming and widening your knees a little but it still isn’t really enough, not that it mattered because he’s enough, Yuuji is always enough to get you off whether he’s touching you or not. And the heavy head of his cock popping from the seal of your lips is just that right kind of salacious that has your mind fuzzy and dizzy with lust. 

“Ah - fuck!” Yuuji chokes on his spit, throwing himself back against the folded futon that serves as the padding of the couch, one arm slumped over his eyes as you focus your attention on the root of his cock, looking up at him through your lashes and fluttering them when your index finger catches on your clit. His breathing comes out in heaving huffs, chest expanding gloriously above you and abs flexing with every clench of his belly. It’s heaven to you, a vision you always knew would be one to keep locked away in the deepest caverns of your mind, something precious and treasured and so disgustingly debauched. You slow your ministrations for a moment, content with just watching the reactions your boyfriend has when you twist your hand, squeeze a little harder, suckle at the vein on the side of his dick. Yuuji seems to appreciate the little break, catching his breath and adjusting his hips, jutting his length into your cheek and it’s amusing that such a kind boy doesn’t even apologise for it. 

“D’you want me to make you cum? Or - do you wanna fuck my mouth?” a long, drawn out groan answers you and you return it with a long lick right up the thickening root of him, 

“I - get to choose?” Yuuji’s voice is hoarse, cracked and strained from his addictive noises, deep with lust and something a little darker, “Really?” 

At your nod, you delve back into the leaking warmth of him. Yuuji gives a strangled grunt and gives his hips a little experimental thrust, pulsing upwards into the deeper depths of your throat. He seems torn between letting you do as you pleased, and giving in to his most debauched fantasies. He’d been given oral before, blowies or whatever his friends called them but they were nothing like you, none of them paid attention to his every reaction and noise, none of them gave him any choice or option on what he wanted to do. So to have you licking him deep and soft and all things sweet, eyes open and questioning with little bias; he’s all a fluster. 

“You - you can do it, I want you to make me cum baby,” the words were supposed to be gentle, coaxing, all the things Yuuji wished he was to you but his jaw is set and his voice is more of a growl, especially when he spots your tongue lathing over the base, leaving a trail and a string of drool. He tips his head back, bottom lip tugged into his mouth and his thighs drop open further, 

“But make sure you don’t stop playing with that pretty pussy, want you to feel just as good as me,” a whimper answers him and Yuuji isn’t sure if he’ll actually last as long as he thought he would, as he conveyed through his words. And he definitely isn’t sure because you abandon his cock in favour of his balls for a moment, and he’s suddenly all tight in his belly. You’re still squeezing and jerking and flexing your fingers around him, but your wet little tongue is skimming over the soft skin of his sac and drawing them into your mouth with the most wanton moan he think he’s ever heard. You’re visibly more aroused than before, wrist working diligently in your underwear, stretched tight and a much darker colour than earlier, but Yuuji can’t focus on your pleasure right now, for once, for the first time in your relationship. All he can think about is himself and how good it feels to have his pretty girl absolutely worshipping his cock, and he doesn’t care that you’re getting sloppy in your clouded lust; you’re back to sucking him feverently and whining around the thick of him. 

“Gonna - baby you’re gonna make me c -,” His admission has you shuffling even closer, abandoning your poor, suffering cunt and slapping a gooey, sticky hand on his thigh to brace yourself. 

And it's the wet little smear you leave behind, webbing between your fingers and joining the pre dripping down his cock as you hold him with both hands that has him positively howling your name. Hips pulse into your face, forcing his cock deeper as it swells down your throat and shoots hot, wet and salty into your belly. A hand comes down to his hip, the other fisting the shirt over his chest and catching on his nipple with a startled yelp. You’re strong in your restraint, letting him thrash and writhe beneath you, keeping yourself rooted in his lap and swallowing everything you can, shivering at the taste and the feeling of his cock kicking and twitching with every pulse of his orgasm. 

“I gotta - you gotta get off baby,” you don’t realise that he’s come down, don’t realise that he’s still twitching but with overstimulation and softening against the limp muscle of your tongue, “I can’t, I can’t do another yet, m’sorry but -,” Yuuji, through the jelly-like jitter of his limbs, heaves you off the floor and into his lap with a grunt, “That was the best head anyone’s ever given me,”

You’re shy all of a sudden, as if you’re not still swallowing the remains of his spend and sporting the slickest arousal you’ve ever experienced. Yuuji kisses your nose with an appreciative smile, 

“Really? I just wanted to do it y’know? You make me wanna suck your cock all the time, s’just something about you,” you tuck your chin into your chest, almost giving in to the little kisses he pecks all over your face, stopping at your temple and deflating with a sigh at your admission, 

“You’re cute baby,” his cock twitches from where it’s nestled between his stomach and your cotton covered crotch, “But a meanie, I swear you’ll be the death of me, thought I was gonna black out at one point,” 

“Yeah, yeah,” your fingers twist into the fine hairs at the back of his neck, sagging into him and kissing him with a deflated breath. Yuuji licks into your mouth lazily, hands squeezing up the length of your waist and back down again, urging your hips into a soft grind. You’re still sat up on your knees, so all you can feel is the syrupy chafe of your underwear over your cunt and you huff, 

“S’okay pretty girl, I got you,” Yuuji smiles at your apparent distress, “You want me to return the favour huh? Let you fuck my mouth instead? That what you want?” his long, thick fingers trickle into your underwear, choking at the slick he finds there, slipping and sliding over the swell of your clit, “Fuck - you got so fuckin’ worked up, bet you won’t last long, not as long as me,”

“Just, I don’t know - Yuuji, please,” a little circle of your hips puts his fingers where you need them most, “Do something or I’m gonna cry,” he shushes you, kissing you again with a loud smack, 

“I got you baby, gonna make this pretty pussy feel better, I promise,” Yuuji physically flinches when he pulls his hand from between your thighs, covered nearly to the wrist with your arousal and he inhales deep, dark, nostrils flaring at your scent. His tongue drops between his fingers, slurping up to the knuckles and down to the callouses on his palms, eyes fluttering and reopening to stare at you, “You taste insane - fuck - ‘m gonna eat you so fucking good, you’re not gonna know what hit you,”

all rights reserved © matchamiko. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[avocado-writing]

pairing: logan howlett x afab!reader. 18+, minors dni. fluff; smut (p in v unprotected sex; heavy breeding kink; creampie; oral - reader receiving). canonically bisexual reader. dp+w movie spoilers.

synopsis: you and logan have a pretty happy life… but there’s still something you want.

words: 10k.

notes: part 2 of say you’ll remember me. you don’t have to read it for this part but it is referenced. thank you @eupheme for being my beta, and for the use of the dividers!

Logan wakes to the twinned warmth of the sunrise and you curled around him like a cat. 

You’ve always been attracted to the way he runs hot, a creature of habit in any timeline. A magnet seeking him out even when asleep; you are pretty much a permanent fixture by his side when the weather is a little too chilly. Not that he’s complaining - he loves to sling an arm around you and feel you snuggle into him. Loves to keep you close. 

It’s nice, honestly; Logan has more good days than bad ones now. He never thought he’d get to see that again. Sometimes things get rough, sure, recovery is not a straight line - but you’re there with him on every step of that journey and he’s more thankful for that than he can ever express. You’re a grounding rod keeping the storm of his life in check. 

You intuit that he’s awake, something between you innately connected, and you begin to stir, body brushing up against his. He sleeps naked, usually running too hot to bother with any kind of pyjamas, and you’ve started sleeping shirtless too. Maybe it’s because he makes the bed too warm to stomach wearing one, or maybe it’s just because you like to feel his naked chest up against yours - either way he isn’t complaining. 

You stretch, arching yourself into his flank, blink open your eyes slowly. Smile when you find him looking down at you with soft, hazy, early-morning features. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies, voice rocky. You reach up to kiss him, as is the way you usually like to start your day. It doesn’t take long for the chaste peck to become something more: the gentle parting of lips, slipping out the pink tip of your tongue to meet his. His body stirs. He can practically smell the way your blood pumps faster, pooling at the apex of your legs. 

“It’s so early,” you faux-harrumph when you run your hand towards his cock and find it hardening. How can you blame him when you’re so fucking sexy? Logan hums, manoeuvring you both so that he can look down at your sweet face as you lie surrounded in cotton sheets. 

“Then stay right there, baby.”

He kisses a sleepy, loving trail down your clavicle; luxuriating along the plain of your chest, nipping at your soft stomach in a way which beckons a breathy chuckle from you, steeped in the gravelly tones of morning. 

“Mmm, Mr Howlett, you are an incorrigible fiend.”

“Incorrigible, huh? Big word for someone who says they’re so sleepy…” he mutters, smirk ticking up the side of his mouth as his calloused fingers dip under the waistband of your pyjama shorts. 

“Incorrigible. Insatiable, even.”

He drags them down your legs, slowly, taking in the sight of you bathed in the dawn’s roseate light. You move your hips to let him. 

“Hmm. You complaining?”

“Oh, never.”

He grins and gets to work.

Logan loves the tang of you on his tongue. You’re still a little sticky from last night, where he pushed you chest-down into the mattress and fucked you so hard he was slightly worried he’d break the bed frame. He didn’t - but he’s perfectly happy to try again. 

You let out a fluttery little breath, butterfly light, as he starts his work properly. Burying his face in your cunt, letting every sense be drowned in you. He drags his tongue along your needy folds and you groan above him, hooking a leg over his shoulder and sinking your heel into the thick muscles of his back. He could listen to the noises you make for hours, a little symphony just for him. 

“Fuck, Logan,” you sigh, blissful and light-headed. He lets his mouth focus on your clit as he presses a couple of fingers inside. It’s an easy intrusion, your pussy offering up no resistance, a mix of spit and slick aiding him. He starts to crook them in a beckon and the mewl you let out will stay with him for the rest of the day; he smiles against your cunt. 

“That’s it, baby,” you groan. Fuck. He loves your voice when he’s making you come. Would do whatever you tell him to, just point him in a direction and he’ll follow. He is so utterly at your beck and call, a dog at your feet, so happy to obey. Anything for you, anything. 

He speeds up his pace, hand fucking you in a simulation of his cock last night, tongue pressing hard and flat against your folds. You come in a flood all over his mouth, soaking his beard and dripping off his chin. His favourite fucking flavour. All the furniture in the room jolts as you send out a telekinetic wave of force, knocking over a lamp onto the carpet with a dull thud. 

“That damn lamp, we need to move it…” you grumble. Logan kisses your thigh gently. 

“Baby, if the fuckin’ lamp doesn’t fall over, I’m not doing my job right.”

You laugh. There’s a pearlescent sheen of sweat that’s broken out over your body but you’re giddy and joyful. An arm slung over your eyes does nothing to hide the smile on your face, so wide it must hurt your cheeks. Yeah. He’s done good. 

“Let’s go shower,” you say, in a way which he’d never dream of arguing with. You walk naked into the bathroom and pull him under the hot stream of water with you. The room slowly fills up with steam and Logan presses you up against the tiled wall, burying his face in the warm space between your neck and your shoulder as he sheathes himself inside. You drag your nails down his back and he growls in your ear, slowly pumping his hips to bring you over the edge again. 

Ever since that first morning that the two of you were intimate, you’ve been wild for each other; unable to go a day without keeping your hands away. Like teenagers who haven’t understood the concept of pacing themselves. He wants to be drunk on you all the time, always wants your gasps filling his ears, his name dripping from your lips as he makes you come. 

He knows he’s the only man for you… but hey, nothing wrong with proving it too. 

You spend a leisurely forty minutes in the shower with your back against the wall and your legs around his waist, then eventually do what you meant to and clean up. He loves to watch you wash, smell the perfumes of all the soaps you use. You look adorable with suds in your hair. Plus when you ask him to get your back with the loofah it’s just another excuse to touch you and god knows he loves doing that. 

He’s a man content when you finally return to the bedroom. 

Logan watches you pad about and do your morning routine, one he knows like the back of his hand by now. Once again: you’re a creature of habit. Pointing to the radio you use your powers to turn it onto the only channel the two of you ever listen to: an ‘oldies’ station which never plays a song made post ‘89– 

—he remembers a few weeks ago when you were both visiting Wade, chatting about how bad songs are nowadays, and your friend had challenged you: ��okay you two geriatric lovebirds, no conferring - when was the last good decade for music?” Without missing a beat you’d both answered “the eighties” and, as Wade groaned at how ‘cringe’ you both were, Logan had fallen in love with you yet again— 

—and you smile and turn it up when Aretha’s I Say A Little Prayer starts playing. Logan watches fondly as you croon out the chorus, using the hairdryer you’re plugging in as a microphone. He loves watching you sing. You don’t always hit all the notes but that’s not really the point - the point is he gets to see you be silly and vulnerable and totally and utterly yourself in these moments, something he knows to hold dear to his heart. 

If you’re singing, you’re happy. 

Fuck, he loves you. 

The two of you get yourselves ready for the day to the music which fills the room, quietly happy in each other’s company. The sound of people getting ready for the day starts up in the hallway; kids coming down for breakfast and squeaking their sneakers on the hardwood, other professors grousing about lesson plans - unfortunately it's time to break the cocoon of solitude the two of you have made for yourselves and face the morning properly. 

“What’re we doing today?”

He squints at the calendar to try and make out your handwriting, attempting to ignore the gaze of the “hot bisexual lumberjack” of the month staring out at him with her barely contained breasts and suggestively placed axe (this had been your birthday present from Wade, and you’d loved it). You tut at him. 

“Logan Howlett, we need to get you some glasses,” you say, pulling on your own and pressing your finger to today’s date, reading out the scribbled ballpoint. “Let’s see… we’re both teaching until five, then looks like there’s a Flames game in the evening you wanna watch. I, however, have been cornered tonight: the girls found out I’ve never seen the Barbie movie so apparently they need to correct that - though I ask you, when I was living in a place literally called the Void, when I would have gotten the damn chance. People weren’t just throwing copies of that thing away. Apparently it’s a great movie.”

‘The girls’. The comfortable nickname you’ve assigned the trio of Laura, Ellie, and Yukio. Logan’s glad Laura has managed to find her people with them - he was secretly worried that, if she took after him too much, she’d be a little too stubborn to make friends at all. Nothing to worry about though. She’s thriving here, and he’s relieved. Happy, even. 

“You’ve not seen Barbie?” Logan asks. You’ve moved to the boudoir now and pause as you apply your face cream, bottle floating in the air centimetres from your neglected skin. 

“Wait, you have seen Barbie?”

He shrugs. Yeah. He doesn’t remember the context, he’d had two full bottles of whiskey by then - but for some reason they’d put it on at the bar he was drowning himself at and he’d sat through the whole thing, leaving a smear of pink on his memory. 

You blink, still gobsmacked. 

“Did you like it?”

Logan considers this for a moment, knowing you’ll call him grumpy if he’s too critical, but also sure you’ll never ever stop teasing him if he praises it. Oh, and god forbid Wade ever finds out…

After a long moment he settles on, “it was alright.”

You shrug, happy with this assessment. 

“Well, good. Guess I’m in for a good evening then.” You stand up with gusto, the indication you’re ready to leave. “Shall we?”

The two of you walk to the door, taking a moment when Logan pulls you into an embrace - your back to his front. You look in the mirror, admiring the couple you see in the reflection, something you do every morning without fail.

“I love you, Logan Howlett,” you say. He drops a kiss to your shoulder. 

“I love you too.”

And with that, the day begins. 

Teaching is a very broad term for what he does. Basically, it’s his job to help the older students with self defence. Every day he goes to get the shit beaten out of him by a load of kids but it’s also the best workout he’s had in over a decade, so he doesn’t mind too much. Keeps him in shape, keeps him sharp. Plus he feels like he’s actually doing something helpful, finally adding to the world rather than just being a burden on it. He spends the first period running battle formations with them, keeping them on their feet and quick to react. Can’t have them getting in danger, not when he’s around.

The class takes a break to get water and he finds himself staring out the window, smiling fondly to himself when he sees you leading a little seminar. After you spent all that time in the wild and then the Void, one of the things they have you teaching is survival skills - you’re a dab hand at getting by just with what you can forage. Looks like you’re going to do some practical exercises as he can see you leading a group of the younger kids towards the forest which surrounds the mansion.

Something happens which makes his heart ache. 

There’s a kid by your side you’re in animated conversation with, probably no more than seven or eight, and they’re looking at you like you hung the stars - just absolutely enchanted with how cool you are. Without thinking they slip their hand into yours for support or guidance or comfort, one of the three anyway, and after a beat you give them a smile. 

In that beat, even from this distance, Logan can see the bittersweet look on your face. The longing. You would wear parenthood well and it’s not fair that you never got a chance to experience it firsthand. It’s a sadness which weaves its way into his guts and stabs him there, an old kind of pain, one he felt for you in his own timeline.

Logan wonders if it’s too late. Are the two of you too old now? Would you both be too hurt if you tried and it didn’t take again? He wants to give you what you want, desperately, but he’ll be damned if he’d ever do anything to upset you; he can’t shake the feeling that’s where that road would lead.

“You okay?”

Laura’s voice makes him jump. She’s a quiet little devil, that’s for certain, definitely not something she got from him - all blades and bluster in his youth. He nods because he doesn’t really want to get into detail about his private life with his pseudo-daughter. 

But unfortunately she’s smart, and his eyes linger, so it's only a matter of her following his gaze to see what’s got him pining. She smiles a small, comforting smile. 

“If there’s a problem you should just talk to them. They’ll listen.”

He harrumphs at the fact a girl less than one-tenth of his age is giving him life advice but also knows that what she says is true. He doesn’t address what she’s said, instead cocking his head at the training mats. 

“C’mon, back to it.”

Laura groans and returns to throwing her classmates across the room.

The thought stays with him for the rest of the day though. After class, when he returns to your shared rooms and starts to get himself set up to watch the game, he finds himself thinking about you with a baby in your arms. A mix of him and you with soft skin and excitement for the world. His eyes, your smile, a perfect combination.

And you’d be so happy. 

Fuck. He’s too old to get broody but here he is, huh.

Logan sits heavily in his recliner, the one nice purchase he’s allowed for himself since getting this job, and opens a root beer. TV remote in his hand he switches on the hockey and settles in for the evening. 

After about twenty minutes his phone goes. He frowns, opening up a text from Laura.

there’s some Pringles in the kitchen can u get them for us please the love of ur life is hungry

Logan sighs and replies, thumbs slow and unfamiliar on a touchscreen. 

all of you have legs. get them yourself

Another message immediately: It’s a picture. You’re busy painting Yukio’s nails bright pink, glasses on the end of your nose and concentration on your face - but half torn between the task at hand and watching the movie you’ve been sequestered for. You look cute. Logan stares for a moment and then saves the photo to his phone. All his albums are just pictures of you at this point. 

Plssssss

is the final text in the chain. Logan definitively puts his phone away. He’s watching the game. He’s not going to get out of this chair to grab a tube of fucking Pringles, he’s not whipped. 

A moment. 

He groans.

Fine.

He gets out of the chair. He’s whipped. 

He heads to the kitchen and gets the requested snack, Hank giving him a knowing and sympathetic smile as they pass in the hallway. He finds you in the lounge, surrounded by girls. Clearly the news of the Barbie watch had gotten out and created a swarm because dozens of eyes look up at him as he lingers in the doorway like a giant awkward dog.

Finally you pull your eyes away from Ryan Gosling’s chest long enough to see why everyone has turned. When you spot him you light up.

“Oh! How did you know I wanted Pringles? Been craving those bad boys recently.”

“Lucky guess,” he replies, stepping carefully between pink dressing gowns and well-thumbed gossip magazines to pass them to you. When he’s within range you drop a kiss on his lips too, prompting an “oooooo” from the gathered crowd. You roll your eyes at them but smile at Logan.

“Thank you baby. What’d I do without you?”

He grumbles something non-committal under his breath and retreats, ignoring the shit-eating grin Laura is flinging his way. Eventually the crowd turns back to the movie. He tries to resist the urge to stand in the doorway with his arms crossed and watch along, the stereotypical father figure who insists he’s not interested, but finds himself lingering for a moment anyway just to see you.

Ellie has her feet slung across your lap, Yukio blows on her freshly-painted nails to dry them. One of the younger girls who’s been delegated to the floor by her older peers rests her head on your knee as she starts to nod off and you play with her hair for a moment - an action which comes readily to you, like it would to a parent.

Logan decides two things. 

One, he’s going to marry you, and he’s certain that every second that he hasn’t been your husband up until now has been wasted. 

And two, he’s going to put a baby in you, like you deserve.

On the way back he passes Hank again, who has an insanely huge sandwich stuffed onto a far-too-small plate - except this time Logan flags him down with a question, one which his colleague has to consider for a moment.

“Oh! Hmm. Yes, I’m pretty sure that it’s in the garage, sometimes the kids like to see if they can get it working again…” when he sees a scowl settle over Logan’s face he’s quick to add, “but none of them have been successful! I think the keys are in the ignition.”

Logan thanks him and heads back to your rooms, a plan forming in his head. 

You get back late. He’s listening to music and reading the paper, the game having finished long ago - the Flames winning of course, there was no other option, go Flames - the weight of the ring he’s swiped from your boudoir burning a hole in his pocket. He hopes you won’t notice - he needs to get your size, after all, and he knows he can’t ask you without rousing suspicion. 

“Hey,” you say, dropping a kiss on his cheek and yourself into his lap. The paper is discarded as his arm automatically comes to perch on your waist, dragged there as if by a magnet. Can’t not touch you for a second.

“Hey. How was the movie?”

“Yeah, pretty good! You know most of those girls hadn’t seen Legally Blonde? We had to remedy that after Barbie, apparently it’s considered a classic now. Fuck, it makes me feel old.” You groan and drop your forehead to his shoulder.

“You’re not that old,” Logan says, and when you come to fix him with a scathing look you find he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Tease,” you sigh, reaching in to kiss him, but stopping when you hear something on the radio. 

“What’s up?”

“Oh. This used to be our song.”

It’s AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long. It feels strange seeing the way your eyes get a bit hazy, a bit distant for a moment. 

“Good choice.”

“Uh-huh. She… you liked it a lot,” you whisper, for a moment lost in a memory he has no way to share with you. It stings you both. But then you’re back in the room with him, smiling as if nothing had happened. 

“We must have had a song, right? In your universe.”

Is this painful? He isn’t sure. But you shared yours with him, so it seems only fair he make it even. 

“Yeah, we sure did.”

You narrow your eyes, purse your lips playfully.

“I betcha I can guess it.”

He hums. 

“Okay. What’s the bet?”

“If I can’t guess I’ll do that thing you like. If I can guess, you do that thing I like.”

Oh, well, when you put it like that…

“Why not?”

You search his face, reading him for any telltale signs. 

“Mmmm, male singer or female? Or both.”

“I didn’t realise you got clues…”

“It’s not a game if I don’t, is it?”

“Fine. A guy.”

You think for a moment. 

“It was Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns n’ Roses.”

Logan widens his eyes, genuinely impressed that you got it so fast…

“Holy shit.”

…But the grin which crosses your face suggests you’re playing a trick. 

“I hear you hum it a lot. It wasn’t a big leap, honestly,” you confess. He chuckles, but pauses for a second as he realises the implication of this discovery. 

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I like that song too.”

You don’t seem saddened by this conversation, so he guesses it’s okay - he’d never wanna hurt you by dredging up the past. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s okay to reminisce about what used to be, while knowing what you have now is so strong and secure. 

Logan pulls back to look at you, attempting to affect seriousness but knowing he could never fool you for a second. 

“So you cheated, huh… doesn’t seem very fair…”

“Hmm, you’re right. I guess I’ll have to forfeit…”

You slide off his thighs and onto your knees in front of him, grinning as you go for his belt… but pausing so that you can use your powers to turn off the radio. 

“Unless you want to come to Brian Johnson’s voice, but it doesn’t do it for me personally.”

He laughs, actually belly laughs, and if the two of you aren’t engaged by the time the week is out he’ll be damned.

He’s able to go to a jeweller’s the next week under the guise of finally going to the city and getting glasses, and buys the perfect ring there and then. It must be fate that they have it in your size, a silver band and pretty stone. The caveat of this is, that for the ruse to work, he does actually also have to go to the opticians.

He comes back with a small pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a chip on his shoulder about the fact they make him see so much better. You seem pleased though, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing the bridge of his nose.

“You look very handsome.”

“Mmmm…” he grumbles. You laugh and kiss him again.

“What are you doing today?”

“Workin’ on something.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a secret, can’t tell ya.”

You harrumph.

“A secret, huh…?”

“A surprise, then.”

You sigh dramatically.

“Well, okay. If it’s a surprise I suppose I’ll let it slide. The girls and I were gonna head into town to go shopping anyway so I guess I’ll see you tonight?”

You kiss farewell and when he’s sure you’ve left the manor he heads to the garage. It doesn’t take much searching to find his old Harley, hidden under a dust sheet and waiting patiently for his return. Logan can’t help the smile at the old thing, running his hand along the neglected metal frame and scaring a spider from its perch.

“Sorry I was gone for so long, baby,” he rumbles, then gets to work.

The next few days are tough. He doesn’t want to ruin the surprise, but you’re clever, always investigating without meaning to, noticing when he trips up on an inconsistency. So whenever you try and weasel information out of him he simply refuses to answer. You’re grumpy, sure, but he can think of a few ways to make it up to you.

He’s nervous in a way he hasn’t been for… well, a while. He’s sure you’ll say yes. You’ll say yes, right? You’ve already been married once before – to him – so the odds are in his favour, but still, he gets a churning feeling in his stomach when he looks at the little box. Anxiety. He’s far too fucking old to be anxious like a schoolgirl asking out a crush, he feels goddamn ridiculous…

But.

But.

What will he do if you say no?

Ah, he can’t dwell on it for too long. Logan channels all of his effort into fixing up the bike - even allowing Laura to join in when she crosses her heart not to tell you - and plans ahead. Checks the weather. Picks his favourite shirt. 

Takes the plunge.

That morning Logan asks you to prepare a picnic and then meet him outside the manor. You look up at him from the reflection in your boudoir mirror as Carole King floats from the radio, an eyebrow arched.

“Oh? Why?”

“C’mon, I haven’t cracked yet. You think you’re gonna get me now?”

You pout. You’re cute. He drops a kiss on the top of your head.

“It’ll be worth the wait.”

“Well-ll-ll… okay. I’ll trust you. Shall I wear those jeans? The ones which make my ass look great?”

“Baby, all jeans make your ass look great. You have a great ass.”

You grin and scurry over to the wardrobe.

He heads downstairs and brings the Harley round front, fingers tapping nervously on the hand clutch as he waits. For the millionth time he checks his pockets. Yep, ring still there. 

As you leave the front door, basket nestled in the crook of your arm, the smile which crosses your face is the same as if you’re seeing an old friend again.

“Oh my god! I had no idea this thing was still kicking around!”

You run the last few steps and put your hand on her chassis. You genuinely look a bit choked up.

“Fixed her up so I could take you for a ride.”

Your expression is so soft, so loving when you look at him.

“Logan… that’s so sweet.”

Stepping forward to press up against him you pull him in for a kiss, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He hums against your lips.

“Put a helmet on,” he says, handing one to you as you stow the basket. You fix him with an old-fashioned look as he presents it to you. It’s bright pink and has Barbie written across the side.

“God damn you Logan Howlett…”

“You liked the damn film. Keep hearing you sing that stupid song to yourself.”

You harrumph but don’t deny it, instead fastening the helmet on and climbing up onto the seat behind him.

It feels good when your arms tighten around him for support. Always feels good when your arms are around him, honestly, no matter what the cause. He revs the engine loudly a couple of times making you giggle, then speeds off.

He feels your fingers tighten in his shirt as he drives, weaving between whatever cars happen to dot the road as he goes. He’s not had a bike between his thighs for years now but you never really forget how to ride one. Besides, with you as his cargo, he makes sure to go safe. When he was a younger man he’d have been pushing the Harley to her limits just to get his blood pumping… nowadays he’s happy to take it slower. The longer the ride, the longer you’re pushed up against him, after all.

He’s still such a sucker for your touch.

It’s a nice day, and when he eventually slows down to the old lookout spot he used to take you to, you grin as you see the familiar view.

“It’s been a long time,” you sigh, eyes sparkling in the sun. You smooth your hair down where the helmet has taken its toll and start to lay out the treats you’ve packed onto a gingham blanket: thick-filled sandwiches, a fruit salad, a whole apple pie which Logan has no idea how you smuggled out. Fuck. He is so lucky to have you.

He sits and forces himself to eat, knowing the ring is hidden away in his pocket. You’re happy to take the lead on the conversation as you always are, chatting about your classes in between bites of roast beef, but cock your head to the side when a period of silence goes on for too long.

“Something’s on your mind.”

“What?” he asks, silently cursing himself for being so obvious. You reach out to rest a hand over his.

“Is there something you wanna talk about, Logan? It’s okay if there is. We can face it together, you know. We’re a team.”

As you let that sink in with him you wave your hand to bring out a thermos from the basket. It pours out two cups of coffee, both black, and you float one over to each of you.

He watches this with sharp eyes.

“You didn’t add any creamer,” he says softly. You smile, using your free hand to lift the cup to your lips.

“What can I say? I guess you got to me.”

You’re finally a coffee purist.

Logan blinks, taking in the sincere look on your face. There is only absolute adoration written there. It is a plain and simple fact: you love him more than he thought anyone could ever love him.

After a beat, he pulls his hand away.

He shifts to one knee.

Your eyes go wide.

“Logan…?”

“I gotta… you gotta let me talk. I need to get this out,” he says, slipping his hand in his pocket to grab the ring box. You cover your mouth in shock. “You’ve made me a better man. And more importantly you make me want to be one. I wanna spend the rest of our lives together because I’d be a goddamn idiot not to.” He opens the hinge and the ring shines where it’s seated in velvet. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh shit,” you say, then you do something unexpected. You throw your head back and laugh. 

Of all the reactions he was not expecting that.

Logan’s hands dip a little. What the fuck? Is this a rejection? Did he screw this up, monumentally misread the signs between the two of you? Are you having some sorta episode? What has happened to prompt this?

“Oh, baby, no - don’t be sad! Just… hang on…” you say when you see how his face has fallen. He watches as you root around in the picnic basket. “You won’t believe this…”

You shift to one knee…

…and pull out a ring box of your own.

Logan’s mouth falls open as you present a ring to him. A plain gold band, shiny and new - one you’ve had made specially for him. 

“I got your size from my Logan’s old ring. I’ve had it for days just waiting for the right moment and… I guess you have too.”

This information settles around him like a deep, sudden snowfall. His eyes can’t leave the little box you’ve pulled out. 

A smile creeps over his face.

“Holy shit,” he laughs, echoing your sentiment from earlier, and then suddenly you’re laughing too, head thrown back in utter joy. You throw yourself into his arms and press kisses all over his face: his beard, the end of his nose, all over his cheekbones, and then finally his mouth. He can feel the tears spill over your eyelashes and dampen his face, and holy fuck is he in love with you.

“So is that a ‘yes’?” he asks against your lips. He can feel your grin under his mouth.

“Depends if it’s a ‘yes’ from you.”

“Of course. I want you to make an honest man of me.”

“Then fuck yeah. I’ll marry you, Logan Howlett.”

Another glorious, effervescent peal of laughter falls from you and then you’re kissing him again. Together your hands fumble in order to exchange rings, a difficult task when neither of you will open your eyes and break lips, but eventually he manages to slide his ring on your finger and feels you exchange your own.

It feels good. It feels right.

Logan pushes you back onto the blanket, picnic forgotten for the moment. His mouth turns from sweet to hungry as he uses his body to cage you in. His hands drop to the hem of your shirt and start to pull it up so he can trace the bared line of your chest. 

“Logan, here?” you ask in a way which suggests here is great, actually. 

“Why not? Nobody watching. Just you and me, honey.”

He wins you over easily with that argument and your hands go for the top buttons of his flannel. When you find your fingers aren’t doing a fast enough job you start using telekinesis to undo them from the bottom, too. He drops his grip to your hips and fiddles with your belt and the fly on your jeans, groaning with pleasure at how easily you accommodate him and lift your hips so he can strip you.

“Fuck. You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he growls. His hand skims your underwear and takes a handful of your ass - god he loves your ass - as you rid him of his shirt so you can run your palms over the thick plain of muscle in his back.

“Look who’s talking,” you breathe against him, biting down on his bottom lip and tugging at it. Electricity shoots through him.

“Harder,” he mutters. You oblige him and sink your teeth in just enough for a little blossom of blood to spill into his mouth.

He’s going to go crazy right here on this blanket, you will drive him to insanity. What bliss. 

He kicks off his jeans and starts grinding his clothed cock against the fabric covering your cunt, like two teenagers so desperate to get off that they don’t even bother to get naked first. His blunt head catches on your clit and you groan at where you can feel him leaking.

“Love it when you fuck me, Logan,” you sigh. He’s not sure if it’s pride or arousal which throbs through him, probably both, but he realises then he has to do now what he should have done a long time ago.

Claws come out, he cuts your underwear off and you squeal in delight. For a moment he considers just sliding inside but if he’s going to do this, it has to be done properly.

So he pushes your legs upwards against your stomach, in a way which he knows your hips will complain about but your pussy will love. Your mouth is a soft little o as you realise you are being manhandled into a mating press. 

“Logan…?” you breathe, a little confused but giddy with pleasure, sucking air in sharply when he rolls his hips to try and slide his cock inside your wet heat. 

“Wanna put a baby in you,” he states, simply, growling it out. Your eyes roll back and you moan at his words, what a pretty sight. 

“But we… oh fuck… I don’t know if we can…”

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he manages, pressing his hand to the soft paunch of your stomach under which your womb sits, “let me try.”

Your eyes go wide as your head empties.

“Okay, yeah. Do it. Fuck a baby inside me, Logan.”

What sort of loyal dog would he be if he didn’t follow orders?

His legs trap yours against your body as he starts fucking you in earnest, pressing home inside you with one rough thrust. You mewl and knead at his skin with worshipping hands as he moves. Each undulation of his hips buries himself in you impossibly deeper, so he knows when he spills inside you it’ll be right where it needs to take.

“Fuck…” you hiss, palm cupping his face so he can look down at you, gaze on your gorgeous face. The crease of concentration between your brows as you register how tightly he’s nestled inside you, lips soft and kissable. Your hair blooms like a halo, an angel silhouetted against gingham.

He loves you. Oh, how he loves you.

“Wanna be so full of you, Logan… want to walk around with your baby in me. Show everyone who I belong to.”

He growls but he also knows he belongs to you, too. You have his heart in your ribcage beating alongside your own, a thing he has freely given because you’re the person who most deserves it. He’d never want it to rest with anyone but you.

Logan moves his hips in slow, sensual movements, taking time to luxuriate in the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of your walls. When he presses back inside he sees the way your eyes roll back as he hits that sweet spot, gloriously blissful.

“Gonna take you somewhere nice n’ quiet on our honeymoon and keep you in bed, doll. Fuck you until you’re full. Not gonna stop until we’re sure it’s taken. Watch you get all round with me. Goddamn, can just imagine how you’ll glow.”

You gasp at the filth he’s muttering but the grin on your lips show you’re incredibly enthusiastic about that idea.

“Yeah… want you to fuck me whenever you want, Logan… bend me over and fill me up… I’m yours, only yours…”

Something about the way you sigh that last part flips a feral switch in his brain. His hips speed up and the slap of skin on skin echoes from your hips, and then he’s coming in thick ropes to paint the inside of your pretty pussy. Mark you up as his. You groan at the feeling of warmth blossoming inside you but he knows you haven’t reached your peak yet. Usually he’d make sure you orgasm before him… but he has something a little different in mind right now.

Logan slips out of you and you mewl in the displeasure of being emptied. This doesn’t stop him manoeuvring your ass into his lap, though, keeping your legs spread so he can push three fingers inside your warm and willing entrance. A groan rips itself from your throat as you clamp desperate fingers down on his forearm. Were he a human man you’d leave fingerprints for certain, and for a moment Logan regrets that you can’t — he’d love evidence of this tryst; apart from your growing belly, of course.

“Fuck. Yes, Logan, push it inside me,” you whine. Oh goddamn, he’s so easily broken when you beg. He uses his fingers to gather up his spend as it tries to leak from your fucked-puffy cunt and presses it back into your hole. As he goes he makes sure to crook them inside you, hitting the same spot he was with his cock just moments ago.

All you can do is hang on and choke down air as he fucks you with his hand. He’s an expert at your body, can play it like an instrument; it doesn’t take long to get you where he needs you. He feels your walls twitch and then you’re coming around his knuckles, a filthy mix of his release and your own dripping all the way down to his wrist.

You collapse back onto the blanket, gasping for breath as your wits return. As he slowly pulls his hand away from you, you reach out to grab him and pull him to your mouth, sucking the cocktail of you both from his fingers and running your tongue around him.

He groans.

“Fuck. You’re gonna ruin me.”

“But what a way to go, huh?” your smile is devilish. He can’t help but reach down and kiss it. Your hand tangles in his hair and scratches his scalp affectionately. 

A beat.

“So… we’re trying?”

You don’t need to specify for what. He knows. When Logan pulls back there’s an expression of barely-concealed hope on your face. Makes his heart melt. His fingers move to lock with yours, squeezing gently down on your knuckles.

“Yeah. We’re trying.”

He’s never seen you look so happy. You trace your abdomen with a careful hand. The ring he got you glints on it, the stone reflecting the sunshine. 

“Well, okay then.”

It doesn’t take long for news of your engagement to spread. You tell Laura who puts it in a group chat she has with the other students in the mansion, and from there it has no chance of staying secret. In fact you return after you finish the picnic (and an attempt to tidy yourselves up) to a chorus of ‘congratulations’ from a gathered crowd at the door. Logan pretends to be grumpy but honestly? He wouldn’t trade the look of joy on your face for anything. He shows off his ring alongside yours and people coo with adoration at how cute you both are.

Once he’d have snarled at ‘cute’. Now he just accepts it as you snuggle into his side. 

You go to meet up with Wade and Al a couple of days later to tell them but it turns out word travels fast. The apartment door is thrown open in your faces as Wade pours accusingly. 

“I can’t believe I had to find out about this via social media from a teenage girl! What am I, back in high school? Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to deal with puberty again, it wasn’t kind to me,” he says, waving his phone at you to show a cheerful post about the engagement put up by Yukio. Logan doesn’t get a good look, but does see the words “still find love in old age” which makes him bristle.

“Sorry, Wade. But you know, we live in the same house as her,” you say, sounding genuinely quite apologetic. Wade deflates a little at your tone, but keeps the act up anyway.

“Big-ass house. Coulda kept your damn hands in your pockets…” he mutters, but then gives you a sincere hug. When he turns with his arms open to Logan, he sighs and accepts one too. “But really, I’m happy for you two. Just don’t forget about your old perpetually single buddy Deadpool when you’re off bumping uglies as a legally wedded couple…”

“I think I might try and forget you during those times actually, Wade,” you say with a laugh. 

“Hmm. Oh wait, holy shit - can I be your best man? I promise you I scrub up pretty well. Well, apart from the face. Mmm, and the rest of my body. My ass looks great in a suit is what I’m saying,” this is directed at you and you give Wade a sad smile.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry, I already asked Laura. We kinda trauma bonded in the Void,” you say. Wade’s eyes slide over from you to Logan.

“Oh my god,” he grumbles.

“C’mon, peanut! Isn’t that what best friends are for?”

Logan opens his mouth to snap that they are not best friends but then… he just sort of… closes it. He’s too old to have a best friend. Grown men don’t have best friends. Or at least that’s what he’d have said a scant few months ago. But now…

“Fine,” he sighs. Logan feels you squeeze his hand in joy as Wade lets out a woop which startles Al.

“Yes! I won’t let you down buddy. I’m gonna give you the best dry bachelor party of your life. The strippers will be so hot you won’t even need beer to make them look good!”

“Wade…”

“Joking! Joking…” he says, in a way which suggests he probably wasn’t - though about the quality of the strippers or there being any in the first place, he can’t be sure.

The two of you don’t want a big wedding. You had one in your own timeline and know how stressful it can be. You’re both able to come to the same reasoning: it isn’t the size of the celebration which matters, but that you’ll be married by the end of it. That’s what it’s all leading to after all. Every morning Logan wakes up to the weight of your ring on his finger and he feels complete. He feels grounded. 

He’s happier than he’s been in a long time; maybe ever.

You book a day to go down to city hall and sign the marriage certificates, only in a couple of weeks’ time. The kids all make you cards, shoving them under your door or handing them over during lessons. Soon your room is covered with crayon-scribbled well-wishes and poorly drawn felt-tip depictions of you both. Mostly, it’s you smiling, and Logan snarling with his claws out. You laugh every single time you see one, so he doesn’t mind too much. There are always little love hearts doodled between you anyway. At least the kids know you’re happy together.

Time moves by quickly but maybe that’s just a symptom of being in love. Classes no longer drag on and drain him, instead Logan starts every morning with the vigour of a young man… though the fact that he fills you up every morning before you both head to work might help. It’s strange; you never use protection anyway, but now it feels like there’s a purpose behind the way you fuck. Any position where he gets to see your face as he comes deep inside you will do it for him honestly. He could live in your cries of pleasure, the way you mewl his name, the duty of putting a baby inside you. Before long, those couple of weeks the city hall needed to get your paperwork in order are up, and the day arrives that you’re finally able to go and make things official. 

Logan wakes in bed alone. This is expected. He came home late last night after his bachelor party which, to be fair to Wade, wasn’t so bad. The guy had just organised some friends to play poker late into the night. Due to - what Laura has coined as - his natural ‘resting bitch face’, he cleared everyone out. He’s two hundred and sixty dollars richer so now he can grab you some nice flowers on the way to the wedding. He’d gotten a text saying that you were staying at a hotel in town for the night, the girls had insisted on keeping you separate because it’s tradition. Logan isn’t sure what about this whole situation is exactly traditional, what with all the crossed timelines and long-lost soulmates, but if it makes you all happy he’ll relent.

He showers, missing your body in the steam with him, then walks naked back into the room to grab something nice to wear, fingers fumbling with the radio as he goes. It picks up just as the host is introducing the next song.

“...goes out to Logan from ‘the love of your life’, who is pretty sure you’ll have the radio on by now! Apparently you’re getting married today? Well a big congratulations from everyone here at the station, you two, enjoy this classic tune…”

Chapel of Love by the Dixie Cups starts to spill out from the speakers and Logan chuckles, grabbing his phone and tapping out a message.

Cute.

You text back almost immediately. He can imagine you grinning at your screen as the music plays, waiting for his reaction.

I am. Can’t wait to see you today, baby ♥

Yeah, he can’t wait to see you either.

Seeing as it’s meant to be a relaxed ceremony you’d both decided not to wear anything too formal. Logan pulls out a white dress shirt and a fresh pair of jeans, toeing on the boots he cleaned last night. He looks at himself in the mirror before deciding to roll his sleeves up to his elbow. For some reason you go crazy when you can see his exposed forearms; you say it’s “pure unadulterated sex appeal”. He’s never understood it himself but anything to make you smile. 

Laura grabs a ride with him in the pickup he uses. She’s wearing leggings and a baggy suit blazer but he has to admit, the kid looks pretty cool. Despite his several warnings not to she sits with her feet on the dash playing with her phone, calling him a boring old man for not wanting her to go through the windscreen. 

“Remember I heal like you, dummy. It’s no problem.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want you turning up to my wedding covered in glass with your clothes ripped to shit.”

She grumbles and relents, ever the petulant teenager.

He manages to get parking nearby, so someone up above must be smiling down on him, takes the short walk to the city hall - making sure to get a ridiculously large bouquet as he goes. As he takes in the smell of roses he realises it isn’t that he’s feeling nervous per se, but there’s definitely an anticipation running up his spine. Realistically he knows nothing will change when the two of you are married on paper.

But… kinda everything will change.

He spots you talking to Wade on the grey stone steps, and his mouth is pulled into a smile at the cute little dress you’re wearing. You had been going on about how you picked it up at the thrift store - what a bargain! - and now he sees it, he agrees about how it highlights your figure perfectly. You light up when you see him… and Wade’s face falls as he turns.

“What the fuck! I thought this was a wedding?! Now I look like I’m in a competition for most formally dressed dickhead!” he says, gesturing to himself. He’s in a full black tuxedo and is definitely the most suited up person for about five blocks.

“It is a wedding. Not my fault you never asked the dress code,” Logan states. You burst into laughter as Wade pouts, but he seems to be taking the ribbing pretty well. Your hand tangles into Logan’s. He looks at you.

“Hey,” you breathe, taking the flowers and taking a deep breath of their sweet smell. “Thank you, these are lovely.”

“You deserve the best, baby.”

“Aww. You know, look great.”

“So do you.”

“We scrub up pretty well, huh? Great choice on the sleeves, by the way.”

Logan smiles into the kiss he presses to your lips. Laura groans at the public display of affection.

“C’mon, your slot is coming up. You two wanna be late for your own wedding?”

And so you traipse up the stairs to the office where the smiling registrar has you fill out the paperwork to officially be married to each other. When you see Logan’s hands shake a little, you press your own to the small of his back and rub small soothing circles there. Wade and Laura cheer when you have your first kiss as a wedded couple and burst party poppers of confetti over you both. The group of you stand together and get a picture to celebrate the day: Logan’s arm around your waist while yours is secretly perched on his ass, Laura grinning and holding the bouquet for you, Wade laying across the front of you all Breakfast Club-like. 

Logan smiles so hard his face hurts.

It’s nice.

Though the two of you didn’t want a party it’s pretty hard to convince the kids at the manor of anything, so you get back to a banner reading congratulations! It’s held by your youngest students who cheer as the group of you get out of the pick-up. Yukio rushes in to give you a tight hug and you laugh, joyful at the love you’re walking into.

The dining room has been cleared to set up an impromptu celebration space. A metric tonne of pizza has been ordered and Piotr, the rather willing DJ, makes sure nothing pre-1989 is played. 

He’s never really been one for dancing, but when you drag him to the middle of the wooden floor and wrap your arms around his neck Logan can’t help but sway with you to all the cheesy love songs. You press your forehead to his, tips of your noses meeting. You breathe in harmony. You let the same air fill your lungs.

“I love you,” you sigh a dozen times over, dreamily.

“I love you too,” he breathes a dozen times back.

When you throw the bouquet that evening you’re in such a good mood you both forgive Wade for body-checking a kid to grab it out of the air.

Logan thinks about his life and smiles.

He’s got it pretty good.

He takes you on a honeymoon for a week to a little cabin in the woods he rented out. It’s in the wilderness, miles from anyone or anywhere, which means he’s able to do what he wants with you: have you naked the whole time.

The two of you don’t do anything but fuck, and you’re very down for it. Something about married life has you more horny than you’ve ever been before. For the first couple of days you hardly leave the bed, Logan only heading to the kitchen to grab you some food to keep your energy up between sessions, pumping you full of his come until you’re a sticky and sated mess. He feeds you slices of pie as you lay dazed on the mattress, a pillow under your hips to keep his spend from dripping out of you.

“Fuck, Logan, you’re gonna kill me,” you groan as he starts rocking his hardening cock up against you the fifth time that day.

“Nah, baby. You can take it.”

You fall asleep with him buried deep inside of you so that the thing waking you up the next morning is him rolling his hips. It’s a pretty fucking good way to start the day.

Eventually the two of you leave the bedroom and walk around the place. Autumn is coming in properly now, the green of the trees outside turning to reds and oranges. You wrap yourself in a blanket and stand at the huge windows looking out at the vista, your aesthete sensibilities pulling you there. Silhouetted in October’s light, Logan can only be struck by how perfect you are: your body, your heart, your soul. His, all his.

He’s the luckiest goddamn man alive.

He takes you against the windows, your chest pressed up against the cool glass and making you gasp in thrilled pleasure, rubbing loving circles on your clit until he feels you clench around him.

At night the two of you huddle by the wood-burning fireplace, the flames dancing across your bodies as he makes love to you slowly, non-hurriedly, letting you enjoy each other. You push him onto his back and ride him, head thrown back so he can appreciate the long line of your neck which he traces with thick calloused fingers.

Fuck, he’d keep you here forever if he could. A little slice of perfection made for just the two of you. Nobody to bother you or call you away for duties, just your love and all the space it needs.

It’s a shame when the two of you have to return to the manor, but he has a job to do. Kids to teach. A Wade to keep in check. It’s easy to slip back to day-to-day life, though, when he has a wedding ring on his finger and you in his bed.

That is until one day he finds you with your head in the toilet, emptying your guts of the day’s breakfast.

“Logan, I don’t feel so hot,” you groan. He goes into panic mode, worrying you’ve got some sorta bug, practically carrying you to Hank’s lab so the doctor can get a good look at you. When you get there, he doesn’t seem incredibly impressed, but checks you over diligently because he’s a friend. 

“Look, I don’t mean to be crass, but have you taken a pregnancy test?” he asks, bluntly. Your eyes go wide over the glass of water you’re sipping.

“Well, no, but…” you trail off. Logan can see you counting on your fingers, trying to make something add up in your brain.

“Ah. Right. I don’t have one but I do have an ultrasound scanner, it was one of the things Charles foresaw a use for I suppose…”

So Logan stands there as Hank wheels the thing out and has you lay down on a counter - this isn’t the med room after all, there’s no beds in here. Your hand grabs onto his as Hank carefully lifts your shirt and presses the wand to your stomach.

There’s no mistaking the image on the screen. Head, body, arms and legs. The baby’s picture thrums. Hank does not seem surprised.

“Yep, there it is. You’re pretty far along. I’m not an expert, but I’d say three months?”

“Three…!” you look at Logan as if this is his fault. Which, he supposes, it sort of is. “But we’ve only been… uh, trying for a few weeks now.”

Hank shifts uncomfortably. Logan wants to die. He does not want to talk about his sex life with a peer.

“Have you been using birth control?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Then I think you have your answer. Nature did what it does best.” He manages a smile. “Congratulations to you both. I’ll uh, let you have a moment alone.”

He practically runs out of the lab. The two of you are left sitting there in silence.

Then slowly, so slowly, your hand comes up to rest on your abdomen. You look down at the point of contact and tears well up in your eyes.

“Logan…”

With one word you summon him, his strong arms wrapping around you and holding you tight, an anchor in this moment of joy. He buries his lips into your hair as you sob, utterly overwhelmed.

“Fuck, we did it, baby,” you manage to choke out. His hand comes to rest on your own and then you switch, covering it with yours so that he can feel the skin of your belly. It’s warm and soft. It feels strange knowing that his child is in there. Strange but right.

He gave you what you deserve. His heart beats a little faster and he realises his vision is blurry, too. Fuck. Look at him, welling up. 

Ah man, he doesn’t care.

The kiss between you is wet and desperate, an act of triumph and elation. As his mouth presses deep into yours he feels you tug at his shirt, pawing at him like an animal.

“Honey, I’m not gonna fuck you in Hank’s lab,” he states. You whine beneath his lips.

“But I wanna celebrate…” you mewl, hitting him with the doe-eyes. He scoffs a laugh and you pout. “Besides the pregnancy hormones are driving me crazy.”

“You just found out.”

“Yeah, weird how quickly they can take effect…”

Logan gently but firmly removes your exploring hands.

“We can do it somewhere our friend and coworker doesn’t spend his whole day. C’mon,” he silences any protestations with another kiss, soft and loving, “we have all the time in the world, baby.”

You run your fingers through his hair, eyes still a little dewy, but smile is undeniable.

“All the time in the world…” you sigh, a promise. 

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

those of you who liked part 1, too: @inumakisriceingredients @respectmyprivacys-blog @xcalcalcalcalx @moonixlity @justanothermarvelfanaccount @taraa-dactyl @nitimurinvetitumsposts @sseleniaa @diegobrandolover99 @blackcanvaspainting @youngestxhearts @veggie-eggrolls

[kentobb]

The Bet (Part Two)

Characters: College!Sukuna x Female Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Foul language, Kiss. Sukuna being an idiot.

Author’s note: Thank you for everyones comment! It meant a lot for me. Did a part two thanks to the feedback 🩷 I love reading your comments. Feel free to leave a feedback or how you feel in the comments.

Part 01 Part 03 Part 04

Sukuna walked into the library, his heart pounding a little faster than usual. He was there under the pretense of needing help with his project, but deep down, he knew he didn’t really need it. He just needed to make progress with you on this stupid bet with Gojo. As he walked through the aisles of books, he spotted you from a distance. You were sitting peacefully, engrossed in a book. The sight of you so absorbed in your reading made him feel a pang of guilt. He was about to disrupt your tranquility for his own selfish reasons.

He approached you quietly, not wanting to startle you. When you looked up and saw him, you greeted him with a warm smile, ready to help. Sukuna couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed. What kind of person was he to use you like this? Would you mind? Would you not mind?

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual. “Thanks for agreeing to help me.”

“It’s no problem,” you replied, closing your book. “What do you need help with?”

“Uh, just some research for our project,” he said, sitting down next to you.

You nodded and opened your laptop, quickly pulling up some documents. “Alright, let’s start with the basics. What part are you struggling with?”

He glanced at the screen, feeling a bit like a fraud. “I guess I’m having trouble narrowing down the sources. There’s just so much information.”

You smiled and began explaining the research process to him, breaking it down into simple steps. You had a way of making even the most complex topics seem easy to understand. As you talked, Sukuna found himself genuinely enjoying the conversation. Your voice was soothing, and your explanations were clear and concise.

“See, it’s not that hard,” you said, looking at him. “You just need to organize your sources and make sure they’re credible.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Sukuna said, smiling. “Thanks…you’re really good at this.”

You blushed slightly. “I’m glad I could help.”

You continued working, and Sukuna found himself relaxing more and more. He started cracking jokes, trying to lighten the mood. You giggled at his comments, and he was immediately struck by how beautiful your laughter was. He felt his cheeks warm up and quickly looked back at his laptop, hoping you hadn’t noticed his reaction.

“So, what do you like about reading?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

Your eyes widened, surprised that he is actually making a conversation with you, that he is treating you like a decent human being…as if you were important. Your heart warms at the thought that someone is actually talking to you. You smiled, “I love getting lost in different worlds and stories,” you said, your eyes lighting up. “There’s something magical about books. They let you explore places you’ve never been and meet people you’d never know otherwise…”

“That’s cool,” Sukuna said, genuinely interested. “Maybe we could go book shopping sometime. You could show me some of your favorite authors.”

Sukuna glanced at you, who didn’t seem to take his suggestion seriously. You shrugged and gave a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, okay,” you said, clearly doubtful.

He felt a pang of frustration. “No, really,” he insisted, trying to sound more sincere. “I’ve been meaning to get into reading more. Maybe you could help me find some good books?”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You’re interested in reading?”

“Yeah, I mean... books are cool,” he said, mentally cursing himself for sounding so unconvincing. He then had a sudden, seemingly brilliant idea. “How about we go book shopping right now?”

You laughed at his suggestion, thinking he was joking. But when you saw the serious expression on his face, your laughter died down. “You’re serious?”

“Totally serious,” he said as he smiled.

You hesitated for a moment, your sixth sense telling to you bail out and go back to your dorm, to drown yourself in books. Your thoughts want to win, telling you that he is just doing this out of petty, that he is just using you—

“Hey…” he said softly, standing up. “Let’s go. It’ll be fun.”

And this time, you decided to ignore your sixth sense. Slowly nodding and smiling, “Okay, if you say so.”

You both left the library and walked to a nearby bookstore. Sukuna was mentally cursing himself the entire way. This was not his scene at all. But as you both entered the store, he found himself distracted by your excitement? Who would have thought that the shy girl who hides herself from the world is smiling and giggling over some books? You moved through the aisles with ease, picking up books, reading the backs, and smiling at titles that intrigued you.

He watched you, feeling a strange lightheartedness. Seeing you so animated, so genuinely happy, was not as unpleasant as he had anticipated. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

“So, what kind of books do you like?” he asked, trying to sound genuinely curious.

“I love fantasy and adventure,” you said, holding up a book with a dragon on the cover. “And sometimes a good mystery.”

He nodded, pretending to be interested. “That sounds cool. What’s that one about?”

You began to explain the plot, your eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. Sukuna found himself smiling, not because of the book, but because of the way you talked about it. Have your voice been always this beautiful? Have you always been this pretty? He picked up a random book and glanced at the back, not really reading the words.

“This one looks interesting,” he said, trying to keep the conversation going.

You looked at the book he was holding and chuckled. “That’s a romance novel, Sukuna.”

He quickly put the book back, feeling embarrassed. “Right, not exactly my style. What would you recommend for a beginner?”

You thought for a moment, then picked out a book and handed it to him. “Try this one. It’s a good start for anyone new to reading.”

He took the book, looking at the cover. “Thanks, bookworm. I’ll give it a shot.”

Both of you walked to the register together, and he paid for the book. As you stepped outside, he noticed a cozy coffee shop across the street. The warm lights and inviting atmosphere seemed like the perfect place to continue the conversation.

“Want to grab a coffee?” Sukuna suggested, surprising himself with how much he wanted to prolong your time together.

You looked pleased and nodded. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

You both walked over to the coffee shop, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeting both of you as you entered. Sukuna wondered what kind of coffee you would order, trying to guess your tastes. When it was his turn, he ordered a black coffee, simple and strong. You, however, surprised him by ordering a hot chocolate.

The cashier rang up the total, and just as you were about to reach for your wallet, Sukuna handed over his card, paying for both of you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, looking a bit flustered.

He shrugged it off, trying to play it cool. “Consider it a thank you for helping me with the project. And the book recommendation.”

You smiled, your cheeks tinged with a slight blush. “Well, thank you, then.”

Both took their drinks and decided to take a walk, sipping and talking about random topics. For the first time in a long time, Sukuna felt genuinely content. Both of you discussed everything from favorite movies to childhood memories. Sukuna found himself opening up more than he expected, and he was amazed at how easy it was to talk to you. As you walked, Sukuna couldn’t help but compare this feeling to his usual encounters with MeiMei and his other hookups. With them, it was always superficial and fleeting. But with you, it felt different. More real, more meaningful.

Eventually you both arrived back at the dorms, and you turned to him with a grateful smile. “Thanks for today, Sukuna. I had a great time.”

Just as you were about to leave, Sukuna impulsively grabbed your arm, causing you to look up at him with those doe eyes that always made him feel like he was going to melt. He hesitated for a moment, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and excitement.

“Hey, sorry, can I have your number?” he asked, his voice a bit softer than usual.

You blushed and looked down, shyness making you even more endearing. You nodded and took his phone, carefully entering your contact information. When you handed it back to him, fingers brushing slightly, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

“Here you go,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

He looked at the new contact in his phone and couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, bookworm. I’ll text you later.”

You nodded and you chuckled over your new nickname, still blushing. “Okay, see you.”

As Sukuna walked back to his dorm, he felt an unusual sense of happiness. It wasn’t just that he had a good time—he had plenty of fun at parties and with friends. This was different. He felt a genuine connection, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever.

Sukuna stepped into his apartment, feeling strangely lighthearted. He placed the book you had recommended, "The Alchemist," on the kitchen island and headed to the fridge to find something to drink. After rummaging through the contents, he settled on a cold soda. Just as he closed the fridge door, Yuuji jumped out from behind it with a loud "Boo!"

"Jesus, Yuuji!" Sukuna exclaimed, nearly dropping his drink. "What the fuck, man?"

Yuuji burst into laughter, clutching his sides. "You should've seen your face, bro! Priceless!"

Sukuna rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, yeah, hilarious."

Yuuji’s eyes drifted to the book on the island. He squinted, recognizing the title, and then smirked. "Wait a minute... Is that a book? Sukuna, since when do you read books?"

Sukuna felt a blush creeping up his neck. "I read," he muttered defensively. "Stop being stupid.”

Yuuji snorted. "You read, huh? Bullshit. You don’t even read what you eat.”

Sukuna glared at his brother, but Yuuji's smirk only widened. "Saw you today at the library… with this girl… what was her name again? Y/N? Yeah… Y/N.”

The blush on Sukuna’s face deepened, and he struggled to maintain his composure. "We're just working on a project. That’s it."

Yuuji wasn't buying it. He leaned in closer, waggling his eyebrows. "Sure… does that project include going to bookstores and coffee shops? I saw you, idiot. I was buying some shoes next to that bookstore.”

Before Sukuna could come up with a retort, Choso walked in, catching the tail end of the conversation. "What's going on here?"

Yuuji turned to him, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Guess what? Sukuna’s been hanging out with the bookworm. And he bought a book… because he “reads.” He said sarcastically

Choso raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Sukuna doesn’t even read the bills—”

Yuuji laughed, “Right? That’s what I said!”

"It's not like that," Sukuna protested, feeling cornered. "We're just working on a project together, and she recommended the book. That's all."

Choso nodded slowly, his expression turning mischievous. "Sure….”

Yuuji laughed, clapping Sukuna on the back. "Come on, Kuna, you can tell us. Do you like her?"

Sukuna could feel his face burning. "It's not like that," he insisted again. "We’re just...classmates."

Choso and Yuuji exchanged knowing looks, clearly enjoying their brother’s discomfort. "Sure, sure," Choso said. "But just so you know, if you need any dating advice, your little brothers are here to help."

“She seems like a good girl." Yuuji added with a wink. "I bet dad would like her.”

Sukuna groaned, wishing he could disappear. "You guys are the worst."

Yuuji grinned. "That's what brothers are for. So, when's your next study date?"

"It's not a date," Sukuna grumbled. "And I'm not telling you."

Choso chuckled. "Alright, keep your secrets. Just don’t get too distracted from your actual project."

Sukuna rolled his eyes. "I swear, you guys are so fucking annoying.”

Yuuji and Choso exchanged another amused glance but let the subject drop, for now. Sukuna grabbed his book and retreated to his room, trying to escape their teasing.

When he got to his room, he sat down on his bed, still holding the book and his phone with your number on it. He realized he was smiling like an idiot, but he didn’t care.

Sukuna found himself smiling at his phone more often than he'd like to admit. You and him had started texting regularly, and he genuinely enjoyed the conversations. You are easy to talk to, and he found himself sharing more about his day than he ever had with anyone else.

He liked updating you on his progress with "The Alchemist," surprising even himself with how invested he'd become in the story. He shared memes, too. You had a surprisingly sharp sense of humor, and your texts always made him laugh.

During practice, Sukuna would sneak glances at his phone, chuckling at your latest meme or comment. His teammates noticed, and curiosity buzzed among them.

"Yo, Sukuna, who are you texting so much?" Geto asked one afternoon, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Sukuna shrugged nonchalantly. "Just a friend."

Gojo, ever the instigator, leaned in with a smirk. "Is it MeiMei? Got a booty call lined up or something?"

Sukuna's smile didn't waver, and he simply shook his head. "Nope."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the genuine smile on Sukuna's face. "Hmm, really now? That smile of yours seems pretty genuine. Are you sure it’s not someone special?"

Sukuna looked up, meeting Gojo's eyes. He knew his friend was fishing for information, but he wasn't about to give in. "Just a friend," he repeated, but the slight blush on his cheeks didn't go unnoticed.

As practice ended and they all headed to the locker room, Gojo exchanged a glance with Geto. "What do you think?" he whispered.

Geto grinned. "I think our boy might actually be falling for someone. And it's definitely not MeiMei."

Back at his apartment, Sukuna sprawled on the sofa, phone in hand. He shot off another text to you, telling you about a particularly funny moment from practice. Almost immediately, your response popped up, and he couldn't help but smile again.

Sukuna: "You won't believe what happened at practice today. Gojo tried to dunk and ended up flat on his face. Classic."

Bookworm :) : "Haha, I can totally picture that. Is he okay?"

Sukuna: "Yeah, he's fine. Just bruised his ego a bit."

Bookworm :): "Poor Gojo. Btw, how's the book going? Any new revelations?"

Sukuna: "Actually, yeah. I'm starting to see why you like it so much. It's kind of... inspiring."

Bookworm :) : "Told you. It's a great read."

Sukuna: "You're a great recommender. Maybe you should suggest my next read."

Bookworm :): "I have a few ideas in mind. But only if you promise to actually read them."

Sukuna: "Deal."

As he put his phone down, Sukuna's thoughts drifted to you. You were different from anyone he'd ever known—intelligent, kind, and genuinely interested in the things he had to say.

The morning sun filtered through the classroom windows as students filed in, preparing for another day of lectures and notes. Sukuna was already seated, tapping his pen against his notebook, when Mahito walked over, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, Sukuna," Mahito said, leaning against Sukuna's desk. "Big party today at my place. Spread the word, yeah?"

Sukuna nodded, matching Mahito's grin. "Got it. Should be a blast."

As Mahito walked away, Sukuna's eyes drifted across the room until they landed on you. You were quietly arranging your things, completely unaware of the whirlwind of thoughts running through his mind. He knew it wasn’t your usual scene, but the idea of you being there intrigued him. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

He needed to make progress on the bet, because… this was about the bet… is not that he wanted to see you, is not that the idea of you has been consuming his mind. As he approached you, he tried to act casual.

"Hey," he greeted you, taking the seat next to you.

You looked up from your notes and smiled, a gesture that made his heart skip a beat. "Hi, Sukuna."

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. "So, there's this party at Mahito's place today since its a long week. I was thinking you should come. It'll be fun."

Your smile faltered slightly, and you looked a bit uneasy. "Oh, um, thanks, but I'm actually busy tonight.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. "Busy? Doing what?"

You hesitated, then sighed. "I'm going to a museum. They have a new exhibit I've been wanting to see."

"A museum?" Sukuna repeated, trying to hide his surprise. "You're going with someone?" He asked, his heart pounding.

"No, just me," you giggled, cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

Seeing your flustered made Sukuna feel a pang of guilt. Here he was, trying to use you for a bet, and you were genuinely one of the sweetest people he'd ever met. "Hey, that actually sounds interesting," he said, surprising himself with his sincerity. "Mind if I tag along?"

You blinked, clearly taken aback. "You... want to come to the museum with me?"

"Yeah," Sukuna said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Why not?"

You looked down, clearly embarrassed. "I don't know, Sukuna. I feel like... it might not be your thing." You gave a small smile, “You’re just being nice…you don’t have to do this.”

He laughed softly. "Maybe not, but I'd like to give it a try. Besides, it's better than going to some noisy party, right?"

You bit your lip, contemplating his offer. "Alright, if you're sure."

"I'm sure," he said, his smile genuine. "So, what time should we meet?"

You smiled and he swear he almost melts.

The afternoon sun was gentle, casting a warm glow on the bustling city streets as Sukuna and you walked side by side towards the train station. You looked adorable in your floral satin dress, your outfit modest and tracing your curves. Your hair was down, two loose strands framing your face. Sukuna found himself captivated by your natural beauty and the soft, unassuming way you carried herself.

You pulled out a map, your fingers tracing the route you needed to take to reach the museum. You glanced up at Sukuna, a shy smile playing on your lips.

"Thanks for coming with me," you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the city's hum. "I know you had that party you could have gone to instead."

Sukuna shrugged, a small smirk forming on his lips. "There are always going to be other parties. I'm not worried about missing one." He paused, looking at you earnestly. "I want to create new experiences, you know? Do something different for a change."

You looked at him, your eyes wide with surprise and gratitude. "That's really sweet of you."

You continued walking, the conversation flowing more easily now. Sukuna asked you about your favorite museums and what you liked most about them. You animatedly talked about the different exhibits you have seen and the stories behind them. Sukuna found himself genuinely interested, watching your eyes light up with each new topic.

As you sat next to each other on the train, your shoulders occasionally brushing, Sukuna leaned in a little closer. "So, what's the best part of the museum we're going to?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

You thought for a moment, then replied, "I think it's the interactive exhibits. They make you feel like you're part of the story, not just a spectator."

Sukuna nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Sounds interesting. I like the idea of being part of the story."

You smiled, feeling more at ease. "Yeah, it's a lot of fun. I think you'll enjoy it."

When you arrived at the stop, you continued the walk towards the museum. The city was bustling, but you both managed to carve out your own little bubble of conversation and laughter. Sukuna found himself enjoying your company more and more, appreciating the way you saw the world with such enthusiasm and wonder.

At one point, both of you stopped at a small park to rest for a moment. You took out your map again, double-checking their route. Sukuna watched you, amused by your determination. "You really like being prepared, huh?" he teased gently.

You looked up, blushing slightly. "I just don't want us to get lost."

He chuckled. "Don't worry, I'd follow you anywhere."

Your blush deepened, and you quickly turned your attention back to the map. Sukuna found your reaction adorable, and a warm feeling spread through him.

As you approached the museum, Sukuna could see the excitement building in your eyes. You were practically bouncing on your toes, and he couldn't help but smile. It felt good to see you so happy.

"Ready for our adventure?" he asked, holding out his hand.

You hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, fingers warm and soft in his. "Ready," you replied, your smile bright and genuine.

The party was in full swing at Mahito’s place. Bodies moved to the beat of the music, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat. Mahito and his friends scanned the crowd, puzzled by the absence of Sukuna. Gojo, always observant, finally spotted Yuuji and Choso lounging by the snack table.

He approached them with a smirk. "Hey, you guys seen Sukuna? Mei Mei’s been blowing up his phone, and he’s MIA."

Yuuji, munching on a handful of pretzels, grinned. "Oh, Sukuna? He’s got a date tonight." He chuckled.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A date? With who? The fuck?”

Yuuji leaned in, lowering his voice dramatically. "The bookworm.”

Gojo’s eyes widened with amusement. He couldn’t believe that Sukuna has actually made progress with you. Was Sukuna able to pull anyone he wanted? He thought to himself "You mean Y/N? No way!"

Choso chuckled, shaking his head. "Yup, that's the one. Heard she is a good girl. She is good for Sukuna.”

Mei Mei, standing nearby, overheard the conversation. Her eyes narrowed with jealousy as she processed the information. Without a word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the party, leaving a trail of stunned onlookers in her wake.

Gojo, oblivious to Mei Mei’s reaction, clapped Yuuji on the shoulder. "Man, Sukuna must be working hard for those hundred bucks, huh?"

Yuuji’s grin faded, replaced by confusion. "What do you mean, hundred bucks?"

Gojo laughed, taking a swig of his drink. "Oh, you didn’t know? We made a bet. Hundred bucks says he can’t hook up with her."

Yuuji’s expression darkened, his hands balling into fists. "Sukuna did what? He put a price on someone’s feelings? On her? Are you guys fucking insane?"

Gojo, realizing he might have said too much, raised his hands defensively. "Hey, it’s just a bet, man. Nothing serious."

Yuuji rolled his eyes as he searched for his phone, “I swear sometimes yours and his brain are there as a decoration.”

Gojo realized that he may have put Sukuna in trouble and tried to ease problem, “Yuuji, come on. It’s just a silly bet.”

But Yuuji was already dialing Sukuna’s number, his face set with determination. When the call went straight to voicemail, he turned to Choso. "We need to find him. Now."

Choso nodded, his playful demeanor gone. The two brothers pushed their way through the crowd, urgency in their steps. Gojo watched them leave, a sense of unease settling in his gut.

“Fuck…”

The museum was an eclectic mix of contemporary and classical art, its walls adorned with pieces that ranged from the breathtakingly beautiful to the bewilderingly abstract. Sukuna walked beside you, casting sidelong glances at you as you moved from one exhibit to another with an easy grace. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, though he was secretly nervous about how the day would unfold.

As you stood in front of a particularly strange piece of modern art—a series of seemingly random splashes of paint on a massive canvas—Sukuna tilted his head, trying to make sense of it. "I don't get it," he admitted, glancing at you. "What's it supposed to mean?"

You laughed softly, a musical sound that made Sukuna's heart skip a beat. "Honestly? I don't get it either," you confessed. "I like to read about the artists and their intentions. Sometimes it helps to understand what they were trying to convey."

Sukuna felt a wave of admiration wash over him. "So, you learn about it to understand it better?"

You nodded. "Exactly. Sometimes things don’t make sense until you dig deeper and get to know the context behind them."

Sukuna found your words resonating with him on a deeper level. He realized that getting to know someone—or something—often required patience and effort. It was a lesson he hadn't fully appreciated until now.

Both of you continued walking through the museum, and Sukuna found himself genuinely interested in the art, largely because of your enthusiasm and insightful commentary. You moved from exhibit to exhibit, discussing the pieces and sharing both thoughts. As you walked, shoulders occasionally brushed against each other, a subtle but intimate connection that neither of you seemed to mind.

He was starting to enjoy this more than he expected.

At one point, both of you stood in front of a serene landscape painting, both of you lost in its tranquility. Sukuna glanced at you, noticing how the light played off your features, giving you an ethereal glow. His heart pounded in his chest, a feeling of warmth spreading through him. He was falling for you, and it was happening faster than he could comprehend.

After you had explored the entire museum, you stepped outside, only to find that it had started to rain. The drops came down heavily, quickly soaking the ground. Both of you looked around for shelter and found a small alcove with a roof that provided some protection from the downpour.

You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself to stave off the cold. Sukuna, without a second thought, shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. "Here, take this," he said, trying to sound casual despite the fluttering in his chest.

You looked up at him, your doe eyes filled with gratitude. "T-Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

Seeing you still shivering, Sukuna hesitated for only a moment before he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. "You're still cold," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "This should help."

Your heart raced, your pulse quickening at the unexpected contact and he could feel it. You looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise and something else—something that made Sukuna's heart ache with a strange, new longing.

Without fully understanding what he was doing, Sukuna reached up and gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your soft skin. Your faces were inches apart, and he could feel your breath mingling with his own. In that moment, everything else faded away—the night, the rain, the cold, the world around you. It was just the two of you, lost in a bubble of warmth and closeness.

Slowly, Sukuna leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, a gentle, tentative kiss that quickly deepened as you both gave in to the feelings that had been building between you. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his shirt as if you needed something to anchor herself to reality. This was your first kiss, and it felt like a dream—one that you never wanted to wake up from.

Sukuna felt his heart swell with emotions he hadn't known he was capable of feeling. He kissed you with a tenderness he hadn't shown anyone before, savoring the sweetness of the moment. When both of you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you tried to process what had just happened.

Sukuna was speechless, unable to find the right words to convey the overwhelming feelings swirling inside him. He could only look at you, his eyes reflecting the depth of his emotions.

Just then, his phone began to vibrate, breaking the intimate silence between you. Sukuna fumbled to pull it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen to see Yuuji's name flashing. He hesitated, torn between answering the call and staying in this perfect moment with you.

You gave him a gentle smile, understanding the conflict in his eyes. "Um…you should answer it," you said softly, stepping back slightly to give him space.

Sukuna nodded, still feeling dazed. He answered the call, his voice unsteady. "Y-yeah, Yuuji, what's up?"

“We need to talk. And it’s serious. Go home.” Yuuji said and Sukuna is worried about his brother tone.

His mind kept drifting back to the kiss, to the way you had looked at him, to the warmth that still lingered from your embrace.

You both walked in silence toward the train station, the only sounds between you were the patter of rain and your own footsteps. The air was thick with unspoken words, each of you lost in your own thoughts about the kiss. You couldn't help but feel a pang of insecurity. You worried that Sukuna regretted it, that maybe he saw you as a mistake—an odd, nerdy girl who didn't match his level. You bit your lip, glancing at him from the corner of your eye but finding no clues in his expression.

Sukuna, on the other hand, was wrestling with his own confusion. He had never anticipated falling for the girl he was supposed to win over for a bet. His heart felt heavy with the realization that he had genuinely fallen for you, but he was at a loss for how to navigate these new, intense feelings.

When you arrived at the station, boarded the train, still wrapped in silence. The ride felt interminable, each stop only heightening the tension between you. As you finally reached the stop and walked toward the dorms, Sukuna felt a growing sense of dread. He didn't want this night to end, didn't want to leave things unsaid.

Outside your dorm, you began to take off Sukuna's jacket, but he gently stopped you. “Keep it," he said softly, his voice betraying the turmoil inside him.

You looked up at him with your wide, doe-like eyes, then quickly looked away, misinterpreting his silence as rejection. You thought he must be disgusted, regretting the kiss, and that made your heart ache.

Sukuna watched as you fumble with your keys, a million thoughts racing through his mind. He was about to turn away, but then he heard the lock click open. Something snapped inside him, and he muttered, "Fuck it."

In a few quick strides, he was back at your side. He took your face in his hands and kissed you again, this time more passionately, with all the feelings he had been holding back. The rain poured down around you, drenching you both, but neither of you cared. The wind whipped through the corridor, making the moment feel even more intense.

When you finally broke apart, both of yoi breathless, Sukuna rested his forehead against yours. "You're cute," he said, his voice soft and sincere. "Text me when you go to bed, okay?"

Your face lit up with a genuine smile, your worries melting away. You nodded, unable to find the words to express how she felt.

Sukuna gave you one last lingering look before he turned and walked toward his own dorm. His heart was pounding, and a small smile played on his lips despite the rain and cold.

Yuuji and Choso sat in Sukuna’s apartment, a heavy silence hanging between them. The dim light from the kitchen cast long shadows, making the space feel tense and charged. Yuuji kept glancing at the door, while Choso leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, his face set in a stern expression.

Finally, the sound of keys jingling outside broke the silence. The door opened, and Sukuna walked in, looking tired but content. He paused when he saw his brothers, sensing the confrontation waiting for him.

"Hey," Sukuna greeted, trying to keep his tone light as he shut the door behind him. "What's up?"

Yuuji stood up, his face a mix of frustration and concern. "We need to talk."

Don’t forget to leave a comment <3

[moonstruckme]

James Potter x Reader where reader is in a different house (Hufflepuff if you don’t mind) and she ends up on the receiving end of one of their pranks which makes her angry so she avoids James and the other marauders, forcing him to grovel/beg for forgiveness? Thank you so much xoxo

Hi, thanks for your request! This got a bit long haha, but I enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoy reading :)

cw: mentions of blood

James Potter x Hufflepuff!reader ♡ 1.8k words

Though no one tells him it’s happening, Remus sees the prank coming from a mile away.

Primarily, this is because James and Sirius appear to be playing an entirely ordinary game of frisbee. Just tossing it back and forth, no hexes or nifflers or anything. A simple pastime between two boys on a lovely warm afternoon. 

Secondly, they haven’t asked Remus to join them. While they know from experience he’s content to read his book in the grass, they always make a point to ask just to be sure Remus doesn’t feel excluded. The fact that they haven’t suggests that they’re well aware that whatever they’re up to, Remus will want no part in it. 

Lastly and most importantly, James Potter has the worst poker face Remus has ever known. 

When the curly-haired boy slyly drops the frisbee they’ve been using into his bag, trading it for another, he can hardly keep the giddiness from his face. Which is probably why, when he tosses it well away from his companion and towards a crowd of gathered students, Sirius is the one who has to say, with theatrical volume and distress, “Merlin, can somebody grab that?”

Remus watches warily as several students turn to track the progress of the disk as it sails overhead, and after a moment one breaks away, chasing after it. Remus feels a pang of sympathy for you, your yellow and black scarf flying behind you as you run, needing no further evidence than the eager look in James’ eyes to know that you’ve fallen for a trap. 

You jump up to grab it out of the air, beaming in triumph for a moment before a yelp escapes you. You fling your catch to the ground, cradling your hand as the fanged frisbee twitches and snarls at your feet. 

“Shit,” he hears Sirius breathe, and the excitement is gone from his and James’ expressions as they jog over to you, Remus standing to follow them. 

You pick your head up as they approach, eyes wet but fierce. 

“What the hell?” you snarl, and Remus realizes with a stab of concern that there’s a small puddle of blood forming in your palm. “You’ve begun targeting your stupid pranks at anyone who’s dumb enough to help you now? How’s that funny?”

Remus looks at his friends in bewilderment, aggrieved on your behalf but unable to believe they’d do something so cruel. The fanged frisbee—a cheap trick, which really should be banned in Remus’ opinion—twitches closer to your ankle, and Sirius flicks his wand at it, its teeth retracting as it goes silent and motionless. 

“We…I charmed it so its teeth would be dull and harmless.” James scrubs a hand through his hair, at a loss. “It was only supposed to scare you, not hurt you.” 

You shake your head at him disbelievingly and bite your lip, face reddening as the pain sets in. James steps closer to you, blocking you from view of the small crowd of gawking students, none of whom, Remus notes with some bitterness, have come to help you or see if you’re okay. 

“I’m really sorry,” James says softly. “Let me help.” But when he reaches for your hand, you step back, holding it close to your chest. 

“Just leave me out of your fun in the future, yeah?” you hiss, stalking inside. 

James looks pained as he watches you go, and though Remus doesn’t begrudge you your justified anger, he feels for his good-natured friend. It had been an honest mistake, though the cost turned out to be far higher than either of his friends had expected. But knowing James, he’ll find some way to make it right. 

“Sorry, mate. They can’t all be winners.” Sirius claps him on the back, and Remus knows his light tone is more to make James feel better than it is true carelessness. Sirius is loyal that way; he’d probably lock you in a broom closet rather than have you upset James again. 

“It wasn’t meant to hurt anyone,” James says quietly.

Sirius’ smile is unfaltering, though Remus spies the worry in his eyes. “She’ll get over it. C’mon, there’s still time to go into Hogsmeade if we hurry.” 

And though Remus hopes you’ll feel better soon, he knows it will take James a long time to get over it himself. 

James shuffles from foot to foot, feeling silly and anxious as he waits for someone to leave the Hufflepuff dorms so he can go inside. He’s fairly sure you’re supposed to have potions together, but you hadn’t shown up to class, and though James had kept an eye out all day in the hallways, he’d never spotted you. He’d thought he’d caught a glimpse of you in the great hall during lunch, but you’d darted out of sight before he could be sure, and then there’d been no sign of you at dinner. Luckily, it had only taken a quick consultation of the map he shared with his friends to find out that you’d holed up in the Hufflepuff common room, so here he was, draped in his invisibility cloak and fidgeting like a nervous date at your front door. 

The door creaks open, and James slips in before it can shut, the exiting Hufflepuff shivering slightly at the breeze he makes whisking by them. It’s not difficult to spot you where you’re sitting painting your nails, lips pursed just slightly in concentration. The common room is mostly empty as other students enjoy the nice weather outside, and James is grateful for the privacy as he takes off the cloak and goes to sit beside your feet where they’re stretched out on the couch. 

You look up at the intrusion and startle to find James, pulling your feet closer to you reflexively. He hopes it’s an instinct to make room for him and not to protect yourself from him, though given recent events he could hardly blame you for the latter. 

“What’re you—how did you get in here?” you ask, eyes darting between James and the door in bafflement. 

Never mind that. “You weren’t at dinner,” James says, holding out his small stolen dish of chicken curry, “so I thought you might be hungry. Sorry, it’s barely warm now.” 

You take it from him suspiciously, careful of your wet nails, and James feels a stab of guilt at the sight of your bandaged hand. 

“I’m really sorry about yesterday,” he goes on, throat burning with shame. “I know I’ve already said it, but it was supposed to be harmless. I wasn’t careful enough.” 

You don’t look at him, not rejecting his apology but not quite accepting it either. “Pomphrey fixed it good as new anyways, so we can just say it never happened.”

James appreciates the attempt to ease his conscience, but your kindness only makes him feel that much more villainous. This would be so simple if you were one of those pureblood gits, or even just a bit ruder, but you’re you, and that’s so much worse. 

“Can I see it?” he asks softly, and you hesitate only a moment before scooting a bit closer and extending your hand to him, palm up. 

James unwraps the bandage with care, keeping one eye on your face to ensure he’s not hurting you, and so he notices the faint blush that colors your cheeks as he cradles your hand in his. The last layer of your dressing falls away, revealing three tiny white scars. Though they’re healed over, he hisses in sympathy, drawing your hand further towards him protectively but forgetting you’re attached to it. 

Your inhale is soft as you lean forward awkwardly, and James huffs a laugh at his enduring idiocy. “Sorry, love,” he says, letting you lean back. He doesn’t let go of your hand, though. “Were they deep?”

You give a one-shouldered shrug, as though it’s nothing to you. James worries you’re putting on a performance of exaggerated blasé for his benefit. “They bled a lot, but a charm sealed them up quickly enough.”

James nods, remembering with sickening clarity the blood that had pooled in your palm and dripped from between your fingers. 

“I’m glad,” James says, and it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. But he can’t stop himself, even if it’s all inadequate. “I’m really sorry.” 

You sigh, and James knows enough about you to guess that being upset is exhausting you. It isn’t in your nature; you’re someone who always has a kind word for everyone, who he’s seen lend your quill to a student that forgot theirs and offer them an understanding smile when they broke it, who would rather spend all day avoiding James than let him feel the wrath of your grudge. 

Your very warranted grudge, by the way. 

It’s terrible luck that someone as sweet as you was on the receiving end of his mistake. But, as you’d pointed out, that was how the prank was designed, wasn’t it? Though James and Sirius hadn’t thought that part through at the time, the victim was always going to be whoever stepped forward to help. Normally it might not matter, but they’d gotten so caught up in the excitement of trying out their new toy that James had somehow gotten the spell wrong. And as a result, you’d been forced to pay a price for your kindness and his incompetence. 

“It’s okay,” you say.  

“It’s not,” James insists. “And I can’t fix it, but let me do something else. I can do your potions’ homework for the rest of the year, I can give you my dessert every night, I can…I can sneak into Hogsmeade and bring you whatever you want, anytime you ask, I can…what?”

You’re smiling at him, and it’s familiarly lovely but, James can’t help but think, entirely undeserved. 

“I don’t need any favors from you, James,” you say, and he realizes it’s the first time you’ve said his name. It’s not a long name, but somehow your voice gives it a cadence he quite likes. “Just be more careful, okay? I ended up fine, but next time someone might not.” 

“There won’t be a next time,” he promises swiftly, and means it. “But sweetheart—” if he notices how you soften at the endearment, he doesn’t mention it “—you’ve gotta let me make it up to you somehow.”

You sigh again, though it’s lighter this time, seemingly both exasperated and amused by his persistence. After a moment spent within your own head, you ask, “Could you help me study for the potions exam next week?”

“Yes!” James grins eagerly. “Of course. That’s a start. How’s tomorrow after class? I’ll bring study snacks as well, and we can make it a regular thing, if you like.” 

He’d like to make it a regular thing, debt or not. 

You smile. “Tomorrow is perfect. And can I call in another favor right now?”

If James weren’t sitting, he’d buckle at the knees in relief. “Yes. I’m at your service.”

“Can you tell me how you got into the Hufflepuff common room?”

“That,” he says smoothly, “is just one in my arsenal of skills now at your disposal.”

[emjayewrites]

fouled by fate • aurelien tchouameni (4/10)

SYNOPSIS: Aurélien Tchouaméni, one of football’s rising stars, is used to navigating the pressures of the pitch—but nothing could prepare him for an arranged marriage. With his family’s legacy and cultural traditions at stake, Aurélien reluctantly agrees to marry a woman he barely knows. But as they’re thrust into the public eye, sparks fly in unexpected ways. The two must navigate the complexities of love, duty, and fame, all while figuring out if they’re playing on the same team—or if their hearts are destined for different paths.

PAIRINGS: Aurélien Tchouaméni x Zuri Awanto Nchang (faceclaim Samira Ahmed @/iamsamiira)

WARNINGS: cursing, football b.s., dry humor/wit, slight arguing, friends to lovers, instant attraction, angst, eventual smut (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @essaysbyciara @saturnville @trentswrld @planetmimi @muglermami @shepgurl @sucredreamer @julescpu @tchouathon @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @bbgkoo

A/N: Doing my best to incorporate bits about Cameroonian culture as best as possible. Thank you again for your love and appreciation!

Zuri tilted her head, examining her reflection in the salon mirror. The warm auburn tones of her newly dyed hair caught the light, giving her skin a golden glow. She ran her fingers through the silky strands, marveling at the smoothness of the press.

"¿Te gusta?" the stylist asked, a hopeful smile on her face.

Zuri nodded enthusiastically. "Me encanta," she replied, her Spanish still hesitant but steadily improving. "It's perfect."

Stepping out of the salon, Zuri blinked against the bright Madrid sun. She pulled out her phone, tapping the Uber app to request a ride. As she waited, her agency's notification popped up again. They'd been shocked when she'd informed them of her move to Spain, but she'd managed to dodge their questions about the reason. How exactly does one explain an arranged marriage in the 21st century without sounding like you've lost your mind?

The Uber pulled up, a sleek black sedan that looked out of place among the colorful Spanish cars. Zuri slid into the backseat, giving the driver a polite nod before losing herself in thought.

It had been a whirlwind few days since Real Madrid's UEFA Super Cup victory in Poland. The city was still buzzing with excitement, and now all eyes were on the upcoming match against Mallorca. Including, apparently, her own.

Aurélien had been... different lately. Considerate in a way she hadn't expected. Always making sure she had enough to eat, asking about her day, suggesting places in Madrid she might enjoy. It was... nice. Confusing as hell, but nice.

The Uber wound its way through Madrid's streets, and Zuri found herself actually appreciating the view. When had that happened? When had this strange city started to feel less alien?

Arriving at Aurélien's - their? - house, Zuri was greeted by Zeus's enthusiastic barking. She bent down to ruffle his fur, giggling as he tried to lick her face.

"Hey, boy," she cooed. "You like the new look?"

As if in response, Zeus gave an approving bark.

Zuri made her way down the hall, her mind already on the packing she needed to do for Mallorca. Aurélien had invited her to the away game, her second match since Poland. She was determined to continue making a good impression, though she wasn't quite ready to examine why that mattered so much to her.

As she pulled out her suitcase, Zuri's phone buzzed with a text from Aurélien:

"Heading home. Want to grab dinner? There's this great tapas place nearby."

Zuri found herself smiling as she typed her reply:

"Sounds perfect. Can't wait. 😊"

As she hit send, Zuri paused, her hand hovering over her open suitcase. When had she started looking forward to spending time with Aurélien? When had his texts started making her smile like this?

She shook her head, trying to clear these confusing thoughts. Focus on packing, she told herself. One step at a time.

But as she folded a sundress into her suitcase, Zuri couldn't help but think about the paparazzi photos she'd seen online. They were claiming she was Lila's new BFF, which was fine by her. It kept her connection to Aurélien under wraps for now, at least until he could discuss everything with his PR team.

The flutter in her stomach returned, stronger this time. Zuri took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. This was just an arrangement, she reminded herself. A business deal, essentially. So why did it feel like something was shifting?

As she continued packing, Zuri found herself both dreading and eagerly anticipating the weekend ahead. Whatever was happening between her and Aurélien, whatever this strange new dynamic was, it was clear that Mallorca would be more than just another away game.

The quiet creak of the front door snapped Zuri from her thoughts, followed by the rapid patter of paws and excited barking that echoed through the house. Aurélien was back from training. Zuri took a steadying breath, running her hands over the fresh curls of her new hairstyle. It wasn’t nerves, she told herself—just an adjustment.

When she stepped into the foyer, Aurélien was petting Zeus. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, his eyes widening slightly as they landed on her.

"Nice hair," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Ready for dinner?"

Zuri gave a small nod, a bit of warmth creeping up her neck under his approving gaze. "Thanks. Let’s go."

Zuri followed him to his Porsche 911 Turbo S. She watched as Aurélien opened the passenger door for her, waiting patiently for her to slip inside before moving to the opposite side of the car, sliding into the driver's seat, his movements fluid and graceful. His large hands gripped the steering wheel with a casual confidence.

Aurélien navigated the Madrid streets with ease, his muscular forearms flexing slightly as he shifted gears. Zuri found herself stealing glances at his him, the strong line of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes as he focused on the road. The way he handled the powerful machine with such effortless control was... undeniably attractive.

The tapas restaurant was tucked away on a quiet side street, its warm yellow lights spilling onto the cobblestone sidewalk. Inside, the atmosphere was relaxed and inviting. Exposed brick walls were adorned with vintage posters, and the air was filled with the enticing aroma of garlic and saffron.

They slipped into a corner booth, the noise of the restaurant — soft chatter and the occasional clink of glasses — fading into the background. Zuri finally exhaled fully, feeling some of the unease of the past few weeks start to melt away.

"So," Aurélien said, popping an olive into his mouth, "tell me more about New York. What do you miss most?"

Zuri's mind flooded with images of her favorite coffee shop, late nights with friends, the constant buzz of the city. "Everything," she admitted. "But mostly my friends. It's... different here."

Aurélien nodded, understanding in his eyes. "It takes time," he said softly. "But Madrid has a way of growing on you."

His voice was quieter now, less assured, like he was offering something personal. Zuri tilted her head, curiosity getting the better of her. "How long did it take you?"

Aurélien smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Longer than I care to admit."

Over plates of patatas bravas and gambas al ajillo, their conversation turned to lighter topics. Zuri discovered that, despite his tough exterior, Aurélien had a soft spot for cheesy rom-coms, something that made her laugh out loud. She countered by confessing her own secret obsession with true crime podcasts, to which Aurélien, smirked and nodded in concurrence, as if he wasn’t surprised by her revelation.

"How's your father?" Aurélien asked as they shared a plate of churros. "No more late-night calls?"

Zuri shook her head. "No calls, but my mom's been texting. Sending over documents and stuff." She hesitated before adding, "My brother's not speaking to my dad right now. He's... not happy about this whole situation."

Aurélien's brow furrowed. "Is he trying to get you to come home?"

Zuri shrugged, suddenly finding the tablecloth fascinating. "I guess. I don't know how I feel about it. We'll cross that bridge if we get there, I suppose."

Something flickered across Aurélien's face, an expression Zuri couldn't quite decipher. Was it concern? Disappointment? Before she could analyze it further, it was gone, replaced by his usual calm demeanor.

The drive back home was quiet. Zuri found her mind racing. Did Aurélien care if she went back to New York? It had barely been two weeks - surely he hadn't gotten attached to her already? And more pressingly, why did the thought of leaving make her feel so... unsettled?

She snuck a glance at Aurélien, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the passing streetlights. He was still a mystery to her, this man she was supposed to marry. But with every passing day, every conversation, that mystery was starting to unravel bit by bit.

And for the first time, Zuri wasn’t sure if she was ready for what she’d find at the heart of it all.

They arrived back at the house, the silence between them comfortable yet charged with an undercurrent of... something. Aurélien settled onto the couch, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Zuri, suddenly feeling awkward, started to head towards her room.

"Where are you going?" Aurélien's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Oh, I, uh... just thought I'd turn in early," Zuri stammered, the excuse sounding weak even to her own ears.

Aurélien arched an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a small smirk. "Nah, ZuZu, come sit down so we can finish this crime documentary series."

Zuri blinked in surprise. Well, damn okay... she thought, surprised and slightly aroused by his somewhat commanding tone.

She made her way back to the couch, where Aurélien patted a spot eagerly next to him - real close. She did as she was told, flabbergasted by the shift in his demeanor from the restaurant to now.

As usual, he'd thrown her for a loop, but she tried to relax as he grabbed the remote, pressed the Netflix icon, and resumed the limited series they'd been watching.

As the episode played, Aurélien couldn't seem to contain his commentary. "Man, some guys are just shit, you know?" he muttered, shaking his head at the latest revelation in the case.

Zuri gave him a look, half amused, half skeptical.

"What?" Aurélien countered, catching her expression. "You know you've been thinking it."

A small smile appeared on Zuri's lips, unable to deny it. As they continued watching, she found herself relaxing into the couch, acutely aware of Aurélien's presence beside her. The warmth of his body, the subtle scent of his cologne, the way his arm brushed against hers when he gestured at the screen...

When they finally finished the crime documentary series, Aurélien decided to turn on a random rom-com. Zuri felt his fingers graze her shoulder as he reached for the remote, sending a shiver down her spine. These light touches were becoming more frequent, and she found herself both thrilled and terrified by them.

For doing something in their routine together, she was slowly beginning to realize if this was "their thing" now, which was weird because that's something couples do and last time she checked, they were far from it, despite having a wedding on the horizon.

If they even have a wedding, that is.

Her brother was hellbent on having her engagement ended, which she couldn't agree more of due to the ridiculousness of it all - however, Aurélien could be worse. He could be mean, old, and an all-around shitty guy but from her interactions with Lila and his teammates as well as their time together, that was not him at all.

All in all, it was a lot to think about.

"My dad called me earlier today," Aurélien revealed, making small talk.

"Oh? What did he say?" Zuri didn't dare to glance into his hypnotic gaze, fearing she'll get trapped in it once again. Usually, she enjoyed the attention from a guy, but Aurélien's eyes seemed to bore into one's soul and she didn't need to further complicate her feelings.

"Stuff about your bride price," he said, letting out an amused miff. "You're not cheap, ZuZu."

"And you expected that I was?" She retorted sassily, taking this moment to stare directly at him. Big fucking mistake! He glanced at her, head cocked to the side and his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It was sexy - dangerously so and she immediately shifted her gaze back onto the television.

"Never," he said finally and she could still feel his eyes on her, making her swallow and shift uncomfortably in her seat. "You're expensive." Hearing him say that in regards to her bride price and essentially buying her off should make her inwardly cringe, but Aurélien's deep timbre and underlying calmness just made her body's temperature rise and her heart thump like a jackrabbit.

"How much am I, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Merde, enough," he said playfully, kissing his teeth. "The elders think so too. Your father never talked to you about your bride price? Or at least your mother?"

"Nope, if you couldn't figure it out already, I'm as Americanized as one can get."

"Hmm," he began, "well it mentions a newly built house for your grandmother, a dozen cattle for your uncle, tithes to the church, jewelry, and some gift for your parents."

Her parents? "What?" That made her stare back at him. She was fine with her grandmother's new house and cattle for her uncle - only because she loved them both dearly and they were the complete opposite of her father - but she drew the line at a gift for her parents. "Like what exactly?"

"Bride's choice," he told her, "however your dad told mine that you wanted him to have a new car."

Of course he fucking did! "What?!"

"Yeah, figured that isn't true, especially after you mentioned at dinner that you haven't spoken with him recently. Glad we got that cleared up."

Zuri felt a surge of anger towards her father, but it was quickly overshadowed by a wave of gratitude towards Aurélien. He'd seen through her father's lie, had understood her well enough to know she wouldn't have made that request.

"Thank you," she said softly, meeting his eyes. "For not... assuming."

Aurélien's gaze softened, and for a moment, Zuri felt like she could drown in those eyes. "Of course," he murmured. "We're in this together, remember?"

As they turned back to the movie, Zuri found herself leaning slightly closer to Aurélien.

"Have you ever been to Mallorca?" Aurélien asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

Zuri nodded. "Yeah, actually. I went with my best friend Senait a couple of years ago."

"Senait?" Aurélien repeated, his accent wrapping around the unfamiliar name.

"She's Eritrean," Zuri explained. "We've been friends since college. I miss her like crazy." She sighed, a wistful smile on her face. "We text all the time, but it's not the same, you know?"

Aurélien nodded thoughtfully. "I'll see if she can come to Madrid."

"Are you for real?" Zuri asked, straightening in her seat.

"Yeah, you miss your best friend. Have to fly her out."

"Oh Aurél, thank you!" She exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. He tentatively hugged her back, and when she pulled back slightly, their faces were mere inches apart. "I really appreciate it," she said softly, her eyes locked on his.

"Y-yeah, of course," he replied, not moving from their embrace. "But after our families leave, okay?"

"Okay," Zuri agreed, reluctantly moving back to her spot on the couch. She glanced at her phone, trying to break whatever spell had fallen over them. "We should head to bed. It's getting late, and we have an early flight."

"Didn't realize how late it was, shit," Aurélien said, standing up quickly then leaned forward to place a kiss on her temple. "Good night, ma chérie."

"Good night," Zuri responded in a daze, watching as he headed upstairs with Zeus at his heels.

After turning off the TV, Zuri retreated to her room. She put a few last-minute items in her carry-on before starting her nightly routine.

She began by carefully brushing her hair, sweeping it around her head like a crown. With practiced movements, she secured it with duck clips, then wrapped a silk scarf around her head. Finally, she pulled on her satin bonnet, ensuring every strand was protected.

As she went through her skincare routine and brushed her teeth, Zuri's mind kept drifting back to Aurélien. The warmth of his embrace, the intensity in his eyes when they'd been so close...

Slipping into bed, she couldn't help but smile. Despite all the complications and uncertainties, she had to admit – being in Aurélien's arms had felt pretty damn good.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Aurélien was sitting on the couch, relaxed, with Zuri tucked into his side. The faint glow of the TV flickered across the room as they watched Netflix, the air thick with a quiet, easy comfort. Zuri laughed at something on screen, her head falling against his shoulder as she glanced up at him, eyes warm and bright.

"I got you something," Aurélien murmured, turning toward her.

Her face lit up with excitement. "Really? What is it?"

Instead of answering, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped box. Her arms flew around his neck in a tight embrace, catching him off guard. The way she held him, pressed so close, made his pulse quicken. The feel of her body against his — soft, warm, familiar — shifted something in him.

The hug lingered, and then, as if on instinct, their eyes met, and before either of them could think twice, he kissed her. It started slow, innocent, but quickly grew heated. Zuri responded just as eagerly, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer.

In one swift movement, he had her beneath him on the couch. The movie long forgotten, he trailed kisses down her neck, his hands slipping under her shirt, finding the warmth of her skin. Zuri gasped softly, arching into him, her fingers clutching his shoulders. He gripped her thighs, pulling her legs around his waist, settling between them as the tension between them escalated to something primal.

With their clothes off, he then entered her in one smooth thrust, a groan escaping his throat as her body wrapped around his. The sensation was overwhelming, her tight heat drawing him deeper, her soft moans driving him wild. Every movement felt electric, like they were perfectly in sync, the rhythm of their bodies a perfect match. He buried his face in her neck, losing himself in the feeling of her, the taste of her, everything he’d imagined and more.

Just as he was reaching the peak, his iPhone alarm blared into the quiet room, yanking him from the vivid dream. Aurélien bolted upright, chest heaving, his body slick with sweat. He glanced down, cursing under his breath as he saw the wet spot in the crotch of his boxers, his semi-deflated morning wood still straining against the fabric.

"Merde," he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, planting his face in his hands. His breath came in heavy, uneven bursts as he tried to shake the remnants of the dream.

It had been a long time — years, in fact — since he’d had a wet dream this vivid. And what made it worse was that it wasn’t some random woman; it was Zuri. The woman sleeping just downstairs. His future wife. His attraction to her had been steadily growing since she’d arrived, but this? This was something different altogether.

His body was reacting to her in ways he couldn’t control, ways he hadn’t prepared for. And now? It was only going to get worse. He could feel it, deep in his gut, how much he wanted her. The dream had made it clear — too clear.

Aurélien sighed, standing up and padding toward the bathroom, slipping off his boxers and turning the shower on. The water was cold at first, a shock to his heated skin, but he needed it. He stepped in, the stream pounding against his tense muscles as his mind wandered back to Zuri.

She had felt so good in his arms, so right. And that kiss… The way she melted into him in the dream. If that was any indication of how things might go between them in reality, he knew they would be explosive together. His body still throbbed at the memory, but he pushed it aside. They hadn’t even touched each other like that yet. But eventually, they would.

They were going to be sharing a bed soon enough, and the way things were going, it wouldn’t be long before they crossed that line. Sex would be second nature at that point. Yet, as much as he wanted it, he couldn’t ignore the complications it would bring. Sleeping together would blur the lines even more, making their situation more real, more tangled.

But then again, what could he do? Send her back to New York? Even if he did, he’d still be thinking about her, yearning for her from thousands of kilometers away. She was under his skin now, and there was no easy way to shake it.

He finished his shower, drying off quickly before getting dressed. His mind was still clouded with thoughts of Zuri as he moved around the room, grabbing his things for the day. They had a flight to catch — another match, another distraction. Maybe that would help, though he doubted it.

As he headed downstairs into the living room with his bags in tow, Zuri was already there, scrolling through her phone as she waited with her carry-on. She looked up when he entered, her face lighting up with a smile that only made his chest tighten. He couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on her for a moment longer than usual, the memory of the dream flashing in his mind.

"You ready?" she asked, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside him.

Aurélien nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, let’s go."

He petted Zeus goodbye and sent a text out to his chef, letting him know they were leaving and to come to check on his dog before they headed out to the car and drove to the airport. His hands gripped the wheel a little tighter than necessary. He tried to focus on the road, but his thoughts kept drifting back to her, to that dream, to how much he wanted her in ways he hadn’t even admitted to himself yet.

This is going to get messy, he thought, his jaw tightening. Really messy.

______________________________________________

Zuri shifted in her seat of Aurélien's Porsche, immediately noticing the shift in his demeanor. Gone was the warmth and playfulness from the night before, replaced by a tense silence that filled the car like a heavy fog.

She tried to engage him in conversation, even commenting on the SZA song playing softly on the radio, but Aurélien remained frustratingly aloof. His jaw was set, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.

Letting out an almost brat-like harrumph, Zuri folded her arms over her chest and pouted as she glanced out the window. What the hell was his problem?

When they arrived at the airport, Zuri didn't wait for Aurélien to open her door. She marched to the trunk, pulling out her carry-on and weekender tote with more force than necessary.

"ZuZu, let me—" Aurélien started.

"No, I got it," she said curtly, causing Aurélien to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"Chérie, what do you think you're—"

"My favorite couple - Mr. and Mrs. Tchouaméni!" Camavinga's voice cut through the tension as he approached with open arms. "Ready to kick Mallorca's ass, Aurél?"

Zuri didn't stick around to hear Aurélien's response. She breezed past them like a bat out of hell, clipping Aurélien's arm as she went.

"ZuZu," he called after her, but Zuri's only response was a raised middle finger as she stormed into the airport.

Her mind raced as she made her way to the TSA checkpoint. How could she have been so stupid? Thinking he was sweet, that he actually cared about her wellbeing. God, she hated how he made her feel, how quickly he could go from charming to cold. She just wanted to go home.

As Zuri stood in the TSA line, fumbling with her passport and mobile ticket, a commotion behind her caught her attention. She glanced back to see the Real Madrid team striding through the airport, a small crowd of fans and paparazzi trailing in their wake.

Her eyes landed on Jude and Lila, walking hand in hand. To her surprise, Jude suddenly changed course, guiding Lila towards the TSA line where Zuri stood.

"Hey, Z," Jude greeted with a warm smile. "Thought you'd be with Aurélien."

Zuri managed a tight smile in response, not trusting herself to speak.

Lila's eyes narrowed slightly, picking up on the tension. "Yeah, why didn't you walk in with him?"

Before Zuri could formulate a response, Jude glanced at his watch. "Shit, I've got to go. See you on the other side, babes." He gave Lila a quick kiss, nodded to Zuri, and jogged off to catch up with his teammates.

As soon as Jude was out of earshot, Lila turned to Zuri, eyebrow raised. "Okay, spill. What's going on?"

Zuri let out a groan that seemed to come from her very soul.

"Oh," Lila said, understanding dawning on her face. "Lover's spat?"

Zuri nodded, her frustration evident in every line of her body. "He's being... I don't even know. Last night he was all sweet and considerate, and this morning it's like I don't even exist."

Lila linked her arm through Zuri's, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Men," she said, rolling her eyes. "They're all idiots sometimes. Even the good ones."

As they inched forward in the line, Zuri found herself spilling the whole story to Lila - the cozy evening, the morning's cold shoulder, her confusion and anger.

Lila listened attentively, offering sympathetic nods and the occasional "What an ass" at appropriate moments. By the time they reached the front of the line, Zuri felt marginally better, if no less confused.

"Look," Lila said as they gathered their belongings post-security check, "I don't know what's going on in Aurélien's head, but I do know he's not usually like this. Give him some time to sort himself out. And in the meantime," she added with a mischievous grin, "we'll have ourselves a girls' weekend in Mallorca. Show him what he's missing."

Despite herself, Zuri felt a smile tugging at her lips. She might be stuck in this bizarre arranged marriage situation, but at least she had found a true friend in Lila. Maybe this trip wouldn't be a total disaster after all.

As they made their way to their gate, Zuri caught sight of Aurélien in the distance, his tall frame unmistakable even from afar. She squared her shoulders, lifting her chin defiantly. Whatever game he was playing, she refused to be a pawn. Two could play at this hot-and-cold routine, and Zuri was ready to give as good as she got.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Aurélien stepped off the private jet, the warm Mallorca air hitting him like a wall. His teammates chattered excitedly around him, but he barely registered their words. His mind was still back at the airport in Madrid, replaying the hurt and anger in Zuri's eyes as she stormed away from him.

He hadn't meant to be so cold, but the dream from the night before had shaken him more than he cared to admit. The intensity of his growing feelings for Zuri terrified him. This was supposed to be an arrangement, nothing more. And yet...

"Oi, Tchouaméni!" Jude's voice cut through his thoughts. "You coming or what?"

Aurélien blinked, realizing he'd been standing at the foot of the jet's stairs, lost in thought. He nodded, hefting his bag and following his teammates to the waiting bus.

As he settled into a seat, Camavinga dropped down beside him. "Trouble in paradise?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes concerned.

Aurélien grunted noncommittally, but Camavinga wasn't deterred. "Come on, man. We all saw that little scene at the airport. What's going on with you and Zuri?"

For a moment, Aurélien considered brushing him off. But the weight of his confused emotions was becoming too much to bear alone. "I don't know," he admitted quietly. "It's all... it's complicated."

Camavinga nodded sympathetically. "Arranged marriages usually are. But Zuri seems cool. And you two looked pretty cozy that night at dinner in Warsaw."

Aurélién's head snapped up. "You saw that?"

"Hard to miss," Camavinga grinned. "You were practically undressing her with your eyes."

Aurélien felt heat creep up his neck. "It's not like that," he muttered, but even to his own ears, the protest sounded weak.

"Sure it's not," Camavinga said, his tone making it clear he didn't believe a word. "Look, man, I get it. This whole situation is weird. But pushing her away isn't going to make it any less complicated. If anything, it'll just make you both miserable."

As the bus pulled away from the tarmac, Aurélien found himself mulling over Camavinga's words. He'd been so focused on maintaining distance, on not getting too invested, that he'd hurt Zuri in the process. The memory of her raised middle finger as she stormed away made him wince.

"I fucked up, didn't I?" he said, more to himself than to Camavinga.

His teammate clapped him on the shoulder. "Probably. But the good news is, you can still fix it. Just... talk to her, man. Be honest."

Aurélien nodded, a plan already forming in his mind. He'd find Zuri as soon as they got to the hotel. He'd apologize, explain himself.

As the bus pulled up to the hotel - or rather, the sprawling villa that would serve as their accommodations - Jude let out a low whistle. "Well, this is a step up from last year," he chuckled, eyeing the lush gardens and sparkling pool visible from the driveway.

The team filed off the bus, their excited chatter filling the air. Ancelotti's voice cut through the noise, reminding them of their early morning practice before granting them the evening off.

Aurélien's eyes immediately scanned the area, landing on another bus where the players' girlfriends and wives were disembarking. His heart skipped a beat when he spotted Zuri, standing next to Lila.

Before he could make a move, Jude was already jogging towards the women. Aurélien watched as his teammate leaned down to whisper something in Lila's ear, causing her to gasp and take a playful swing at him. Jude easily dodged it, wrapping his arms around her and hoisting her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Jude!" Lila yelped, laughing despite her protests. "Put me down!"

"Get in there, Jude!" Vini Jr whooped, earning a thumbs up from Jude as he carried his girlfriend away, pausing only to direct a bellhop towards their luggage.

Aurélien shook his head at their antics, but his amusement faded when his eyes met Zuri's. Her gaze was cold, narrowed in clear displeasure. Taking a deep breath, he hiked his bag higher on his shoulder and approached her.

He heard her suck her teeth as he neared, her attention deliberately focused on her phone. "Zuri, can we talk?" he asked, only to be met with stony silence.

Frustration bubbled up inside him. "Seriously? You're going to ignore me?" When she continued scrolling, he acted on impulse, plucking the phone from her hand.

"What the fuck are you doing, Aurélien?" Zuri snapped, anger flashing in her eyes.

"I'm trying to talk to my fiancée," he retorted.

Zuri let out a sardonic laugh. "Oh, now I'm your fiancée? But earlier this morning, you pretended like I didn't even exist. Can you make up your mind please? I deal with this back-and-forth bullshit with my father, and I damn sure don't want it to happen in my marriage."

"I wasn't ignoring you," he lied, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Zuri's look made it clear she wasn't buying it.

"Okay, listen," he backtracked. "I apologize for what happened in the car, okay? It's just... shit is getting real. We have our families coming in a couple of weeks, and there's still too much we have to work through." Like how much I want to fuck you, he thought, but didn't dare say. "Plus, your father is bothering my father about this whole car bullshit... and I..." he trailed off, lost in her gaze.

Zuri shook her head, exhaling heavily. "I thought we were in this together, Aurélien? You put so much effort into me, and I can't do the same? Or at least be a listening ear when things get rough? How do you expect this marriage to work?"

Her words left him speechless. "You don't have to worry about me, Zuri," he finally managed. "I have to worry about both of us, as the husband–"

"Oh, spare me this old macho, man of the house spiel!" Zuri cut him off. "We both know that's a cop-out. I know both of our fathers put us into this situation, but I can tell that your father didn't raise you to believe anything you're saying right now. Did he?"

Aurélien shook his head, unable to deny it.

"So where is this coming from? Do you hate me or something?"

"No, Zuri–"

"So what's up?"

Again, he found himself at a loss for words, struggling to explain the turmoil inside him.

Zuri let out a frustrated growl. "Fine, be like that. Until you tell me what's wrong with you, I don't have anything else to talk to you about. Now give me back my phone so I can get to my room."

Aurélien stepped aside, handed back her phone and watched helplessly as Zuri trudged away, dragging her carry-on behind her. As she disappeared into the hotel, he realized he'd somehow managed to make things even worse.

"Fuck," he muttered, running a hand over his face. He had some serious damage control to do, and he had no idea where to start.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Aurélien sauntered inside the hotel, barely registering the opulent lobby with its soaring ceilings and gleaming marble floors. He checked in mechanically, his mind still replaying his disastrous conversation with Zuri.

The elevator ride to his floor felt interminable. When he finally reached his room, he tossed his bag aside and flopped onto the plush king-sized bed, staring blankly at the ornate ceiling.

How does one apologize to their fiancée in a way that admits to their fuck-ups? he wondered. He could take the easy route – buy her some expensive jewelry and hope she'd forget the whole thing. But Zuri didn't strike him as the type of woman who'd be swayed by material gestures. And if he was honest with himself, it probably wouldn't work anyway. It certainly hadn't in his previous relationships.

Aurélien groaned, thumping his head against the pillow. He had a bad habit of being avoidant in relationship conflicts, and this wasn't how he wanted to handle things now. Not with Zuri. Not with this impending marriage that, arranged or not, was becoming increasingly important to him.

Suddenly, a rhythmic thumping from the other side of the wall interrupted his brooding. The unmistakable sound of a bed hitting the wall, accompanied by muffled moans, filled the air.

Jude, Aurélien thought with a mix of amusement and frustration. The club tended to assign rooms by position, which meant he often shared a wall with Bellingham.

He couldn't decide if this was God trying to spite him, laughing at his sexual frustration, or serving up an epiphany of how things could be if he'd just been honest with Zuri. Not that they'd immediately jump into bed together, but at least she'd know where both of his heads were at.

It made no sense how he could like a woman to the point of constant blue balls, and yet here he was. Maybe it was all the time they'd spent together over the past couple of weeks. Or maybe the elders were right – this was a "strong match."

Either way, Aurélien couldn't lie there listening to Jude's enthusiastic fucking. He hauled himself off the bed and banged on the wall a couple of times. To his surprise, the banging was returned in kind.

"Motherfucker," he cursed, hitting the wall again. This time, there was no response. Instead, a few moments later, there was a knock at his door.

Chuckling to himself, Aurélien padded over and swung it open, coming face to face with a shirtless Jude.

"The fuck you doing, mate?" Jude asked, looking more annoyed than amused.

"You guys are loud," Aurélien stated nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jude just shrugged. "Use some AirPods or maybe stop being a dick and talk to Zuri."

That comment made Aurélien arch an eyebrow. "What the hell, Jude?"

"Lila told me what happened with you and Zuri. Really fucked up, and your bullshit almost messed up my 'special time' with my girl." Jude said. "And you know how much I enjoy our 'special time'."

"You're a fucking fiend, that's what you are," Aurélien joked, but Jude wasn't in a playful mood.

"Anyway, Lila and Z are basically besties now, so you can imagine how that works out. Fix it, Aurél." Jude said, then turned to head back to his room.

Aurélien poked his head out the doorframe. "So are you going to keep it down or...?"

"Fuck no," was Jude's response before he disappeared back into his room, the door closing firmly behind him.

Left alone in the hallway, Aurélien sighed. He had some serious thinking to do, and apparently, he'd be doing it to the soundtrack of Jude and Lila's fuckfest. Wonderful.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

_______________________________________________

Match day dawned bright and clear, the Mallorcan sun already warm despite the early hour. Zuri stood in front of the full-length mirror in her hotel room, smoothing down the front of Aurélien's jersey. The oversized garment hung loosely on her frame, the number 14 emblazoned boldly across her back. She'd paired it with high-waisted denim shorts and white sneakers, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.

The irony of wearing his jersey wasn't lost on her. After their argument yesterday, she'd been tempted to leave it crumpled at the bottom of her suitcase. But something – stubbornness, maybe, or a desire to keep up appearances – had made her put it on.

As she applied a final swipe of lip gloss, Zuri's mind drifted back to the previous day. Aurélien's hot-and-cold behavior had left her reeling, confused, and more than a little hurt. She'd spent the evening with Lila, venting her frustrations and trying to make sense of it all.

Now, as she gathered her things to head down to the lobby, Zuri wondered if Aurélien fell into that category. Was he a good one just having a momentary lapse, or was this a glimpse of what their future held?

The knock on her door startled her out of her reverie. "Z? You ready?" Lila's voice called from the hallway.

Zuri took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. Whatever happened with Aurélien, she was determined to enjoy this day. She was in Mallorca, about to watch a professional football match up close. She wasn't going to let relationship drama ruin that.

"Coming!" she called back, grabbing her sunglasses and room key.

As she stepped into the hallway, Lila's eyes widened appreciatively. "Damn, girl. You're going to give Aurélien a heart attack in that jersey."

Zuri felt a small, satisfied smile tug at her lips. "Good," she said, linking arms with Lila. "Maybe it'll shock some sense into him."

As they made their way down to the lobby, Zuri's stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and nerves. She was looking forward to the match, to experiencing the energy of the crowd and watching Aurélien play. But she was also dreading the inevitable moment when she'd have to face him.

What would he say? How would he act? And more importantly, how would she respond?

Stepping out into the bright Mallorcan sunshine, Zuri took another deep breath. Whatever happened, she was ready. She might be in an impending arranged marriage, but she wasn't about to let anyone – not even her future husband – treat her like she didn't matter.

Game on, Aurélien, she thought as she climbed into the waiting car. Game on.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Zuri settled into her seat at Son Moix stadium, the energy of the crowd pulsing around her. The Real Madrid fans were out in force, their white jerseys creating a sea of support amidst the red of the Mallorca faithful.

As the teams took to the field, Zuri's eyes immediately found Aurélien. Despite her lingering frustration with him, she couldn't help but admire how he looked in his kit, tall and imposing as he jogged into position. The match kicked off, and Zuri found herself caught up in the ebb and flow of the game. She watched intently as Kylian Mbappé darted across the field.

In the 23rd minute, the crowd around her erupted. Rodrygo had curled a beautiful shot into the net, courtesy of a clever backheel from Vinicius Jr. Zuri found herself on her feet, cheering along with everyone else.

"Did you see that?" Lila shouted over the noise. "That's why they call it the beautiful game!"

As the first half wore on, Zuri's attention kept drifting back to Aurélién. He was everywhere on the field, intercepting passes, setting up plays. She felt a surge of pride, which she quickly tried to tamp down. She was still mad at him, after all.

The halftime whistle blew with Real Madrid leading 1-0. As the players jogged off the field, Zuri caught Aurélién glancing up at the stands. For a moment, their eyes met, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as his eyes scanned her body, his intense gaze lingering on the jersey she wore.

"Come on," Lila said, tugging at her arm. "Let's grab some snacks before the second half starts."

As they made their way through the concourse, Zuri's mind was racing. That look... what did it mean?

The second half kicked off with renewed intensity. Mallorca came out fighting, determined to equalize. In the 66th minute, their efforts paid off. Vedat Muriqi rose above the Madrid defense to head home a cross from Dani Rodriguez.

The stadium erupted, this time with the home fans' jubilation. Zuri watched as Aurélién's shoulders slumped slightly, frustration evident in his posture.

As the match neared its end, tensions rose. Mbappé had several near misses, including a shot that flashed just wide of the post. Zuri found herself holding her breath each time he got the ball, half expecting magic to happen.

In the dying moments of the game, chaos erupted. Ferland Mendy, in a moment of desperation or poor judgment, lunged at Muriqi. The referee didn't hesitate, brandishing a red card.

"Oh shit," Lila muttered beside her. "That's not good."

The final whistle blew moments later, the match ending in a 1-1 draw. As the players trudged off the field, Zuri felt a mix of emotions. Disappointment at the result, pride in Aurélién's performance, and a lingering uncertainty about what would happen next between them.

As they filed out of the stadium, Lila turned to her. "So, are you going to talk to him?"

Zuri sighed, running a hand through her ponytail. "I guess I have to, don't I?"

Lila squeezed her arm supportively. "Just remember, you deserve answers. And respect. Don't let him off the hook too easily."

Nodding, Zuri steeled herself for what was to come. Whatever happened next, she was determined to face it head-on. No more games, no more confusion. It was time for her and Aurélien to figure out exactly what this arrangement meant for both of them.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

_____________________________________________

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the hotel's outdoor restaurant, Zuri found herself seated at a large table with Aurélien, Kylian, Eduardo, Rodrygo, Jude, and Lila. The atmosphere was surprisingly light despite the day's draw, the players seemingly determined to enjoy their extended stay in Mallorca.

The sound of clinking glasses and laughter filled the air as they perused the menu. Zuri couldn't help but feel a bit out of place, still unsure of where she stood with Aurélien.

"I still can't believe that red card," Rodrygo groaned, shaking his head. "Mendy's going to be kicking himself for days."

Kylian nodded sympathetically. "It happens, man. We'll bounce back next match."

As the waiter arrived to take their orders, Zuri found herself gravitating towards a seafood paella, figuring she might as well embrace the local cuisine.

"Excellent choice," Aurélien murmured from beside her, his voice low enough that only she could hear. She felt a shiver run down her spine but kept her expression neutral.

The conversation flowed easily as they waited for their food, the guys recounting funny moments from past matches and sharing their plans for their mini-vacation.

"I'm thinking about renting a boat tomorrow," Jude announced, his arm draped casually over Lila's shoulders. "Anyone want to join?"

"Count us in," Kylian grinned, gesturing to himself and Eduardo.

Zuri caught Lila's eye across the table, silently communicating her uncertainty. Lila gave her a small, encouraging nod.

As their meals arrived, the table fell into a comfortable silence punctuated by appreciative murmurs. Zuri had to admit, the paella was incredible, bursting with flavor and perfectly cooked seafood.

"So, Zuri," Rodrygo said, breaking the silence, "what did you think of your second La Liga match?"

She swallowed her bite, aware of Aurélien's gaze on her. "It was... intense," she admitted. "I'm still learning, but I can see why you guys love it so much."

"Give it time," Kylian laughed. "Soon you'll be yelling at the ref like a pro."

As the meal wound down and they lingered over dessert and coffee, Zuri felt a gentle touch on her arm. She turned to find Aurélien looking at her, his expression unreadable.

"Can we go for a walk?" he asked quietly. "I think we need to talk."

Zuri hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

As they stood, she noticed the others exchanging glances. Lila gave her a subtle thumbs up, while Jude nodded approvingly at Aurélien.

"We'll be back," Aurélien announced to the table. "Just going to stretch our legs a bit."

As they walked away from the restaurant, Zuri's heart was pounding. This was it. Whatever was going on between them, whatever had caused Aurélien's strange behavior, it was time to face it head-on.

As they strolled along the beach, the soft sound of waves lapping at the shore filling the air, Aurélien broke the silence.

"You looked beautiful today," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers. "I was... distracted during the game."

Zuri raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why's that?"

Aurélien's lips quirked into a sheepish smile. "You looked so fucking hot in my jersey. Got me geekin' like Jude when I spotted you."

Suddenly, the intense look he'd given her at halftime made sense. "Oh?" she teased, a warmth spreading through her chest.

"I was this close to jumping over the barrier and kissing you, swear to God," he said, pinching his thumb and forefinger together for emphasis.

Zuri couldn't help but laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. As their laughter died down, she shook her head, inwardly frustrated at how quickly her anger was dissipating.

They walked further down the beach, the tension between them slowly easing. Finally, Aurélien stopped, turning to face her.

"Zuri, I'm sorry," he said, his voice sincere. "I... I've been struggling with something."

She waited, her heart pounding.

"I’m starting to like you," he admitted, his eyes searching hers. "And that scares the shit out of me."

Zuri felt her breath catch in her throat. "You’re... starting to like me?"

Aurélien nodded, looking almost vulnerable. "Yeah. I am."

Without thinking, Zuri stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him. His arms tightened around her waist, the embrace lingering.

When they pulled back slightly, Aurélien's gaze dropped to her lips. He bit his bottom lip, a gesture Zuri was quickly coming to adore, and leaned in.

Zuri felt herself leaning forward too, her eyes starting to close...

"¡Disculpe! ¿Señor Tchouaméni?"

They jumped apart as a fan approached, speaking rapid Spanish. Zuri didn't understand until the person handed her their phone, asking in broken English for her to take a photo.

After the impromptu photo session, they found themselves alone again. Aurélien rubbed his neck nervously.

"We should probably head back to the group," he suggested, not mentioning their almost-kiss.

Zuri nodded, surprised but deciding not to push it. They'd had enough drama for one day. As they walked back towards the restaurant, a comfortable silence settled between them. Zuri's mind kept replaying their almost-kiss, her lips tingling with the memory of how close they'd been. She stole a glance at Aurélien, catching him doing the same. Their eyes met, and a shy smile spread across both their faces.

Sure they hadn't kissed yet, but Zuri had a feeling it was only a matter of time. And for once, the thought of her arranged marriage didn't fill her with dread.

The yacht cut through the azure waters, leaving a frothy trail in its wake. Aurélien leaned against the railing, his eyes fixed on Zuri, a cold red solo cup sweating in his hand. She was at the bow with Lila, their animated chatter punctuated by bursts of laughter that carried over the sound of Don Toliver's latest track thumping from the yacht's speakers.

"Man, you've got it bad," Jude chuckled, dropping into the seat beside him.

Aurélien shrugged, not bothering to deny it. "She's... something else."

"Tell me about it," Camavinga chimed in, joining them. "Never thought I'd see the day when you got whipped."

The guys laughed, but Aurélien didn't mind the teasing. His eyes were drawn back to Zuri, watching as she threw her head back in laughter at something Lila said.

Zuri turned, catching his eye. She flashed him a smile that made his stomach do a little flip, and he found himself grinning back like an idiot.

"You know," Kylian said, "it's nice to see Zuri settling in. Lila's been good for her.”

Aurélien nodded, grateful that Zuri had found a friend in this new world she'd been thrust into. "Yeah, it is," he agreed, his eyes drawn back to her as if magnetized.

The day unfolded in a blur of laughter and sea spray. Aurélien found himself constantly torn between wanting to be near Zuri and trying to give her space. He was determined to do this right, to really get to know her beyond the confines of their arrangement. But damn if it wasn’t hard to keep his hands to himself when she looked like that in her bikini.

The sun-kissed her skin, highlighting every curve in the most tempting way. Her bikini was simple, nothing overly flashy — yet it hugged her body in all the right places, the soft fabric clinging to her hips, and her chest, making his throat dry. And then there were her nipple piercings, barely visible through the thin top but enough to drive him insane. They were just subtle enough to tease, small hints of metal catching the light each time she moved, taunting him. His eyes kept drifting back to them, imagining what they’d feel like beneath his fingertips, his tongue.

Focus, he scolded himself, dragging his gaze away, but it was impossible not to notice her, and he fought back a groan.

Zuri, oblivious to the firestorm raging inside him, turned to face him, her lips curled into a teasing smile. "You good over there?"

He blinked, his mouth dry as he forced a grin. "Yeah… just, uh… taking it all in."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Mhm. Sure."

And as the day wore on, Aurélien realized something: he was completely fucked. This attraction wasn’t going anywhere. If anything, it was only growing stronger, pulling him closer to her like a riptide. And the more he tried to fight it, the harder it became to resist.

When Zuri decided to try paddleboarding, Aurélien couldn't resist swimming over to her. She was wobbling precariously, her face set in adorable determination.

"Need some help there?" he called out, treading water nearby.

Zuri shot him a playful glare. "I've got this, thank you very much."

No sooner had the words left her mouth than a small wave caught her off guard, sending her tumbling into the water with a yelp. Aurélien was there in an instant, helping her surface.

"You were saying?" he teased, earning himself a splash of water to the face.

Their laughter mingled with the salt spray, and for a moment, Aurélien forgot about everything else – the arrangement, the pressure, the uncertainty.

Later, as the sun began to set, Aurélien found himself alone with Zuri at the stern. Before he could overthink it, he blurted out, "Hey, when we get back to Madrid, you wanna go out sometime?"

"Like a date?" Zuri looked surprised, then amused. "You mean, like normal people who aren't in an arranged marriage?"

"Yeah, exactly like that. I want to do this right, you know? Get to know you without all the..." he waved his hand vaguely, "arranged bullshit hanging over us. You down?"

Zuri studied him for a moment, her dark eyes searching his face. The vulnerability in her expression made his chest tighten in a way he wasn't quite ready to examine.

"Yeah," she said finally, her voice soft. "I'm down."

Aurélien's lips curled into a smirk, his eyebrow arching playfully. "Okay, so you want to get to know me better too, huh?" The teasing lilt in his voice barely masked the genuine curiosity underneath.

Zuri rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her gaze betrayed her amusement. "Don't get too full of yourself," she shot back, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

"All jokes aside," he said, his voice softening, "I mean it. I'd like to get to know you better. No rush, no pressure — just us."

"Sounds good," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the lapping waves.

Aurélien felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Good. Then we'll take it one step at a time."

TO BE CONTINUED....Read Chapter 5

[trueebeauty]

omg i love your lookism content ◉‿◉ can i have a scenario with Gun Park, like him & us enjoy quality time together on a day off during the storm in Seoul? thank you in advance ♡

It’s a stormy afternoon in Seoul, with rain pouring down against the windows. Inside Gun’s apartment, the atmosphere is warm and inviting, a cozy refuge from the gray, wet world outside.

The kitchen is brightly lit, filled with the fresh ingredients laid out on the counter: vibrant slices of fish, crisp vegetables, seasoned rice, and nori sheets—all ready for your lunch.

Today, Gun has decided to teach you how to make sushi, blending his Japanese heritage with your Korean roots.

Gun stands beside you, his sleeves rolled up and his demeanor as calm and stoic as ever.

His serious exterior rarely cracks, but his actions have an understated warmth as he carefully arranges everything. “We’re making sushi today,” he announces, his tone steady and authoritative, as always.

“Sushi?” you ask, a playful smile spreading across your face. “You mean kimbap, right?”

Gun’s eyes meet yours, his gaze steady and patient. “No,” he corrects gently, his tone serious yet instructional.

“Kimbap and sushi may look similar, but they’re different. Kimbap uses cooked ingredients and is seasoned with sesame oil, while sushi uses raw fish and is seasoned with vinegar. It’s all about the balance and the subtlety of flavors.”

You nod, absorbing his explanation. “Got it. Sushi, not kimbap.”

“Good,” he replies, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. “Let’s get started.”

The lesson begins with preparing the sushi rice. Gun’s hands move with practiced precision, gently mixing the rice with seasoned vinegar.

You watch closely, captivated by his skill. “The rice is the foundation,” he explains in his usual serious tone. “It has to be just right. Not too sticky, not too dry.” He offers you a taste on his finger, and you lean in to sample it, savoring the tangy flavor.

“Perfect,” you declare, your eyes lighting up. He nods slightly, a glimmer of satisfaction in his expression.

Next, Gun shows you how to slice the fish. His movements are exact, each cut clean and precise.

He guides your hands on the knife, his touch firm and steady. “Even slices,” he says, his voice a low, steady guide. “You need consistency.”

You mimic his technique, concentrating on each slice. “Even slices,” you repeat, focused on getting it right.

“Good,” he murmurs, watching you closely. “You’re doing well.”

With the ingredients ready, it’s time to assemble the sushi rolls. Gun places a nori sheet on the bamboo mat and spreads the rice evenly. “Now, choose your fillings,” he instructs. 

You pick out a variety of colorful vegetables and fresh fish, laying them on the rice. Gun demonstrates how to roll the sushi, his hands moving with the same precise grace. “It’s all about balance,” he says. “Too tight and it bursts. Too loose and it falls apart.”

You attempt your first roll, carefully following his example. It’s not perfect, but it holds together. “Not bad,” Gun comments, his voice devoid of the typical praise but with a subtle note of approval that you recognize.

As he decides to roll the rest, you can’t resist stealing kisses from him. He remains unbothered, his focus unwavering, but each time you kiss his cheek or the corner of his mouth, there’s a slight softening around his eyes. “You’re distracting me,” he says quietly, though there’s no real reproach in his voice.

“Good,” you reply with a smile, feeling a rush of affection for him. Despite his stoic facade and limited words, you know he enjoys these moments.

After what feels like both a long time and no time at all, you both sit down to enjoy your sushi. The rain outside has softened to a gentle drizzle, and the city lights shimmer through the wet glass.

You take a bite of your creation, savoring the blend of flavors. “This is amazing,” you say, your voice filled with genuine delight.

Gun watches you, his gaze steady and calm. “You did well,” he replies simply, his approval a quiet but powerful affirmation.

“Thanks to you,” you respond, your gratitude evident. You reach across the table, your hand finding his. He doesn’t pull away, his grip firm and reassuring.

As the meal ends, you linger at the table, the cozy atmosphere wrapping around you both. Gun stands and moves to your side, his presence a solid comfort.

He leans down, brushing a soft, fleeting kiss against your forehead. “You should make them by yourself next time,” he murmurs, his voice low and close to your ear.

You look up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “Thanks, Gun,” you say softly, your eyes meeting his. “But you’re way better at this than I am.”

He cups your cheek with his hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. “It tastes better when you make it,” he says simply, his gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity.

His words, delivered in his usual matter-of-fact tone, make your heart flutter.

Feeling a surge of adoration, you rise on your toes and press a tender kiss to his lips. Gun remains still, but his eyes soften slightly. “Maybe next time, I’ll surprise you,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his steady breath against your skin.

He nods slightly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I look forward to it.” 

[jeridandridge]

Nothing Matters

Freshly single Melissa goes to a bar.

The bastard came clean. Joe finally came clean about cheating on Melissa and now the redhead is single for the first time since college. After hours of tears and time on the phone and in person with an attorney, the papers are finalized and she’s ready to celebrate.

Dressed in her favorite little black dress Melissa fluffs her hair once more as she sits outside the bar in her car, taking a breath she gets out, heels clicking against the cement. As she goes in the music gets louder and the smell of smoke and beer hit her nose making her smile.

“Hey, Melissa!” The man behind the bar smiles. “Your usual?”

“Yeah, Tommy thanks.” She sits as he slides a glass of bourbon neat over to her.

“Is this a celebratory drink?” He asks over the music.

“That’s right. Joe can fuck all the way off to god knows where.” She smiles, finally feeling light, free.

“That’s right! Fuck Joe.” He laughs.

Across the bar you sit nursing your own poison, watching the stunning woman curiously as you stand at a tabletop with your group. With a smile, you grab your friends empty beer bottle using it as an excuse to get closer to the woman.

“Tommy! I need another!” You call out leaning over, not making eye contact with the woman right away.

“Hey, y/n! This is Melissa, you two have something in common,” he laughs turning to grab a beer.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Melissa quirks a brow eyeing you. When she does, you feel a warmth rush over you.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” you chuckle holding your hand out even in the close proximity, “I’m y/n.”

Melissa nods, taking your hand in a firm handshake.

“You might wanna ask her about Joe.” The bartender nods to you, handing the bottle over.

“Sleazy Joe?” You laugh in shock. “Oh god.” You groan necking the bottle before you lean closer to Melissa. “Joe works with my big brother, he’s always been a creep towards me and my girlfriend, well, ex girlfriend.”

Taking in the words Melissa can’t help but scoff at the new information. “I’m sorry, hon, He’s an asshole. That’s why I divorced his sorry ass.”

Chuckling you lean on the bar popping your hip out. “Well, here’s to taking out the trash, fuck Joe!.” You beam holding your beer out, cheersing to the woman’s new laughter.

The redhead laughs, something in her eye giving you a warm feeling.

“Next rounds on me, hon.” She gently squeezes your toned arm.

“Hey, you’re here to celebrate, come hangout with me and my friends. They’re alright I swear.” You tease nodding to your group, including your brother.

It doesn’t take much to convince Melissa to mingle. A couple hours later, Melissa has her arm around your neck screaming along with you into the microphone.

And you can hold me like he held her

And I will fuck you like nothing matters

And you can hold me like he held her

And I will fuck you like nothing matters

With one hand on her hip you both bounce around on the stage together, alcohol gone from your systems now from the sheen of sweat covering you.

Even when the cold comes crashing through

I'm putting all my bets on you

I hope they never understand us

I put my heart inside your palms

My home in your arms

Now we know nothing matters

Nothing matters

When the song ends the crowd paying attention whoops and hollers. You hop off the stage first holding your hand out for Melissa, the redhead wrapping her arm around your waist as you go back to the table.

“Shots for the singers!” Your brother laughs handing them over.

Clinking the shots together you both take the drinks dipping your heads back.

“I’m hot! Let’s go outside.” Melissa yells over the music, pulling you along with her.

Outside the bar you let out a laugh taking in the cool night air.

“I gotta tell ya hon, this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” Melissa admits with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah? I’m happy to hear it. You looked like you needed it. I uh, I’m happy I was talked into coming out here tonight.” You beam.

Melissa takes a step closer to you, her chin tipped up with a smirk. “And that ex girlfriend of yours, how set in stone is that?”

Your eyes flick down to glossy lips then back up to sparkling green eyes. “Pretty set in stone, enough for me to get the courage to give you my number.” You grin pulling an inked napkin out of your pocket.

The redhead smiles, not breaking eye contact with you as she takes the napkin, fingers brushing against yours.

“And if I call you tomorrow to invite you to dinner?”

“I’d ask white or red wine?”

Melissa chuckles, gently squeezing your hand. “Good answer.”

Sure enough, the next day you wake up with a slight headache and your phone ringing. You even contemplate sending Joe a thank you note.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2024 No.7 & No.11

Prompt 7: “It’s us or them.”

Prompt 11: Used as Bait (Alt)

Warnings: Allusions to torture; Allusions to violence; Allusions to death.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

A/N: War of the Worlds was responsible for a portion of this.

gif not mine - google

“They’re gonna lead them right to us, Daryl.” You rocked back and forth, exhausted and bloody, beaten down physically and emotionally by Alpha and her followers. You had been dangled in front of Daryl as bait, a means to bring him to his knees in front of the psychotic woman. Daryl—being Daryl—had refused her demands, knowing full well that he would crawl through hell to rescue you regardless.

And he did.

He was in just as rough of shape as you, giving just as good as he got in order to free you. Now, you were huddled in the corner of a small bunker, attempting to rid your mind of the memories of what Alpha had put you through. A young couple—obviously troubled, likely victims of the Whisperers’ devious plots themselves—bickered and raved over how they would destroy the entire horde with only their weapons and their meager might.

There was no hope of succeeding, but their raised voices of boisterous exclamations were doomed to bring the enemy down on your heads. Daryl had tried relentlessly to reason with them, all but begging for their cooperation and silence. He even offered them a place in Alexandria. They had laughed at him, called him a coward.

There was nowhere else to run. If Alpha discovered the bunker, you and Daryl were as good as dead.

The archer stood a few feet away, chewing on the inside of his cheek, his gaze darting between you and the two idiots standing at the open hatch. After a moment, he sighed and pulled his bandana from his pocket.

“Y’trust me?” He crouched in front of you, blue eyes searching yours, seeking an answer.

“More than anyone.” You replied shakily. He nodded, covering your eyes with the fabric and tying it at the back of your head. His calloused hands then took yours and brought them up toward your ears.

Your brow furrowed behind the bandana. “Daryl?”

“Sing me somethin’.” He waited you out and when you didn’t respond, he continued. “S’us or them.” He whispered, a hint of a tremor in his tone.

You knew what he meant then, what he was going to do regardless of the cost to himself. He knew you couldn’t fight, that you were hurting and tired and broken. He was going to protect you. You swallowed hard, nodding as you allowed him to place your hands over your ears.

“Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket.” You began quietly, your voice trembling. You felt his warm touch pull away, knew the moment he had stood, the second he had left you there. “Never let it fade away.”

You couldn’t hear what was happening but you could feel the vibrations against the dirty, cold concrete behind you. “Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket.” You flinched—something hitting the side of your boot—and drew your knees to your chest while your breath hitched with barely contained sobs. “Save it for a rainy day.”

You were unaware of when the silence ensued, continuing with your quiet tune until you felt the warm presence slowly position at your side. With a deep breath, your trembling hands left your ears and pulled the fabric from over your eyes. Daryl was next to you, his knees drawn up with his arms hanging over them. His head was bowed. There was blood dripping from his fingertips.

“Daryl.”

“S’gonna be okay now.” The light from the single candle in the center of the bunker cast shadows over his face, what wasn’t already hidden by his hair nearly impossible to see. The hatch was closed and there were two bodies lying motionless below it. With slow and careful movements, you pulled his arm across your shoulders, thankful when he held you tighter of his own volition. “You’re safe.” He whispered.

The snarls and shuffles and whispers above ground passed by quickly, never realizing their prize was just below their feet.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Gold, Coffee, and Mabel || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: based on s3 ep 7 with that scene above except it includes reader and Mabel 🥰🥰

Warnings: swearing, other than that fluff!!!

Word count: 1,036

A/n: yeah I procrastinated and wrote this in like 5 mins

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

"And you're sure this guy’s good?" Barry asks, his voice tinged with doubt as he glances sideways at Rafe, who walks beside him, hands casually stuffed in his pockets. They round the corner, and Rafe hums in response, clearly unconcerned.

"I mean, we’ve got a lot of people to see today," Rafe adds, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t even look at Barry, his gaze sweeping over the street with anticipation. It’s clear to Barry that Rafe is in his element, the prospect of a profitable day of gold-selling putting a spring in his step.

Rafe was confident, and that confidence was infectious. Today was going to be a good day. Hell, it was going to be a great day. He could feel it in his bones. Barry opens his mouth to ask about the next move, but the words die on his lips as Rafe suddenly comes to a halt.

Barry nearly collides with him, caught off guard by the abrupt stop. "What the fuck?" Barry blurts out, confusion etched on his face. Rafe doesn’t answer, his focus now entirely on a woman sitting at an outdoor table at a nearby café.

Without a word, he strides over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning down to kiss her, leaving Barry standing there like an idiot. It’s only when he sees the way Rafe's lips curve into a familiar smile that Barry realises who the woman is. It’s you.

“What are you doing here?” Rafe asks, his voice softening, a warm smile spreading across his face as he takes in the sight of you and Mabel. The hard edge that usually defines Rafe’s tone melts away, replaced by something warmer, gentler. You glance up at him, a bright smile lighting up your features.

"Having brunch with Mom," you reply adjusting Mabel so that Rafe can scoop her up into his arms. He does so effortlessly, his movements tender as he cradles his daughter against his chest.

Barry, still trying to piece together what's happening, blurts out, “Shit, almost didn't recognise ya-” , but Rafe cuts him off with a sharp look. "Language, Barry," Rafe says, his voice low and warning, a stark contrast to the affectionate tone he just used with you.

Barry throws his hands up in mock surrender. "My bad, my bad," he mutters, glancing at you with an apologetic smile. You chuckle at his usual antics. "Maybe because of my hair," you say, running a hand through your freshly coloured locks, your eyes bright as you wait for Barry's reaction.

"Looks good," Barry says, genuine in his compliment. You thank him with a nod, your eyes crinkling in the corners. As Rafe settles into a chair, Mabel perched contentedly on his lap, Barry shifts his weight, reminding himself of the job they’re supposed to be doing.

“Country club, don’t we need to get goin'?” he prods, noticing how comfortable Rafe seems, his focus entirely on entertaining Mabel, who giggles at his playful antics. You smile at the sight, feeling a warmth in your chest before you turn to Barry. “Busy day ahead?” you ask, a knowing glint in your eye.

Barry shoots a glance at Rafe, who seems completely absorbed in his role as a father, oblivious to the conversation and Barry’s questioning gaze. “Uh, yeah. Apparently so,” Barry replies with a chuckle, still not entirely sure how this unexpected stop fits into their tight schedule.

“I’m just going to order some coffee for my mom, I'll be two seconds,” you say, standing up from the table. "I’ll come with you. Might as well grab a coffee while we’re here," Rafe says, rising to his feet. He looks down at Mabel, then back at Barry with a grin. “Mind holdin' her for a minute?”

Before Barry can protest, Rafe is already handing Mabel over to him. Barry’s eyes widen in panic as Mabel, with her big blue eyes, stares up at him with a curious expression. He stands there stiff as a board, awkwardly patting her back and trying to figure out how to hold a baby without looking like a complete idiot.

As Rafe and you disappear into the café, Barry glances nervously at the door, silently begging one of you to come back quickly. At first, Mabel seems fine, but then her bottom lip starts to tremble. Before Barry can react, she lets out a wail, her cries escalating quickly. “Fuck—shit! No, no, no, please don’t cry,” Barry mutters under his breath, his heart racing as he tries to bounce her gently, but her cries only grow louder.

Just as Mabel’s wails reach a peak, you emerge from the café with Rafe right behind you. Relief floods Barry’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by anxiety as you approach, your eyebrows raised in a mix of concern and amusement.

“Did you make my daughter cry?” you ask, taking Mabel in your arms, though there’s a teasing lilt to your voice that Barry is too flustered to pick up on. Barry looks like a deer caught in headlights, especially under Rafe’s intense gaze. “What? No! I swear, I didn’t do anything—” Barry stammers, his face flushed, but you laugh, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

“I’m just messing with you. She’s probably just hungry,” you say, glancing at your watch before pulling out Mabel’s bottle. Barry lets out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck as the tension slowly eases from his shoulders.

Rafe watches the interaction with a smirk, clearly amused by Barry’s discomfort. “Well, we should get going,” Rafe finally says, leaning in to give you a kiss before gently pressing his lips to Mabel’s forehead. She’s already drinking her bottle, her little hands reaching up to grab at Rafe’s chin, making you chuckle softly at the adorable sight.

"I’ll see you at home later," Rafe says warmly, his eyes locking with yours as he leans in for one last kiss. He gives Mabel a gentle smile before glancing back at you, a lingering look full of affection. With a final nod, he turns to Barry, the smile still playing on his lips, as they head off to make a shit ton of money.

[luveline]

hi jadey! if you are up for it, do you think you could write reader unexpectedly doing smth nice for coworker!james, maybe she’s being kind of shy and trying not to make it a big deal while he’s trying v hard to not be all giggly heart eyes kiss kiss at her LOL thank you in advance and ilysm <3

tysm ilysm <3 fem

“Hey, killer.”

You sidestep past James bag into the nook of your desk. “Killer?” you ask, quick to drop your bag onto your chair and unbutton your coat.

“Beth told me you killed a spider in the break room. That’s not cool.”

“It was looking at me funny.” You shed your coat. “Where’s Remus?”

“Coffee.”

James doesn’t give you half as much attention as you’d wanted, turning back to his computer with an impassive expression. You swallow a cough and grab your bag, desk chair creaking as you sit. There’s a memo from Remus already tacked to your desk that asks you nicely to send him a long list of files, each written in careful print, and then a second that says good morning.

You smile at it and set them aside.

Though James doesn’t like you much, and you’re not totally sold on him, you’re starting to feel like you’re part of a team. It’s a hearty feeling to belong somewhere, to know you’re valuable, even if you’re only punching numbers in and swapping spreadsheets. So you’d seen the green tube boxes in the shops and you’d decided on a whim to get them. Perhaps it would inspire some sweetness from James. If he stops putting your mug in the freezer, you’ll be happy.

“I got you something.”

James tilts his head to the side but doesn’t look up. “Huh?”

The office lights aren’t as complimentary to his brown skin as the sun where it’s rising outside of your window. It warms his face and neck, and lightens the dark mop of his hair, his flyaways like silver scrapings.

You take one of the boxes from your bag and place it on the edge of his desk. You’ll give the second to Remus when he comes back.

“It’s one of your Smiskis,” you say, “but they’re exercise ones. I know you lift weights, there’s one with dumbbells. I want the hula hoop one.”

“Where did you get this?” he asks, looking at you with clear surprise. His thick brows rise. His smile is unmissable.

“They were three for two at Sainsbury’s. I got one for me and one for Remus, as well.”

James curls a lovely hand around the box. You pretend not to watch, quickly diverting your gaze to your bag to grab a Smiski for yourself. You can’t look up, can’t explain why on earth you thought it would be a good idea, really. You saw them and you thought of him and you’re entitled to lie about the two for three thing, it’s none of his business how much money you spend.

You dig your nail into the lid and rip it open.

“You look awfully smiley, Jamie,” Remus greets, approaching from your side to round the desks and place down his big mug of coffee. You chance a glance at the both of them and catch a half second of James’ ridiculous smile. “What made you so happy so early in the morning?”

“Nothing. Uh, just killer over here brought us some presents.” James tips the bag from inside of his box onto the desk mat.

“Really?” Remus asks.

You offer him his box over your monitors.

“Thank you,” he says. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s nothing,” you say with a hurried shake of the head, looking down at your own mystery Smiski. They’re nondescript little people who glow with a green UV sheen, and you hadn’t seen the appeal to begin with, but each morning you make sure to fix James’ if he’s toppled over. He never tells you off for it. “I just want one for myself, that’s all.”

You open them in tandem. Your figurine is sitting with its legs out in a v-shape and arms stretching down to its toes. Remus’ is slightly smaller perched on a yoga ball. James, apparently having all the luck in the world, unveils a Smiski struggling to lift a dumbbell from the ground.

“I love him,” you say with a pleased laugh.

“He’s brilliant,” Remus says.

“Thank you so much.”

Your smile gets caught on your mouth. James’ tone isn’t strange but unfamiliar —he speaks without a hint of irony. His grin is full of an emotion you don’t recognise. Too happy. Too friendly.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

They’re both kind enough to ignore your mild breathlessness. “No, seriously, thank you, she’s so cool. I didn’t know we could get these ones yet over here.” James puts his weightlifting Smiski in pride of place atop his outgoings. “Sirius is going to be jealous. I'm sending him a photo.”

You feel Remus’ eyes on you. He stares until you look at him, eyebrows wriggling. “Thank you for my toy,” he says.

“They’re not toys, lovely Moony, they’re figurines,” James says, leaning down and angling his phone. He snaps a few photos from different positions. He can’t seem to stop smiling. “Aw, look at her. She’s sick as hell. She’s gonna get so swole.”

You wrinkle your nose and sweep your rubbish into the wastebasket. Swole isn’t the word you’d use. Ever. But if it makes him happy…

“This is the best thing that’s happened to me all week,” James mumbles to himself, before clearing his throat extra thoroughly. “This doesn’t change the fact that you killed that poor spider, you know. What was it doing to you?”

“I crushed her by accident opening a cupboard door.”

“Likely story.”

[dreamyreveriie]

𐙚 WARM WELCOMES — LEO VALDEZ .ᐟ ˚⋆. ˚ ₊ · ͟͟͞͞➳ ꒰ leo valdez x gn!reader — a riordanverse blurb ꒱

— ordered﹔yes / no - here!! — ingredients﹔fluffy whipped cream, use of y/n, purpose use of lowercase alphabet soup, reader has a supporting/loving family, established relationship, probably not well proofread, lmk if i missed anything! — wc﹔500+ // 4 min average reading time — recipe﹔read the order above :) — cassie's tea time﹔i've been scrolling on pinterest for so long and couldn't find any good photos for 'handmade' stuff so i decided to just go w those three 😔😔 i also had like no idea what to name this HELP [also thank you to that anon who told me what i got wrong because i was like half asleep when i wrote this]

﹙the cafe // dishes // menu // barista board﹚

leo valdez stood nervously at your doorstep, one hand stuffed into the pockets of his jeans and the other fiddling with a gift he brought for your family. despite the confident grin he usually wore, you noticed the anxiety in his eyes. you reached over and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"they’re going to love you, i just know it." you said, smiling warmly.

"easy for you to say," leo muttered, but his smile became more genuine as he looked at you. "you're not the one who has to impress their partner's family."

"you'll do great," you assure, kissing his cheek.

as you opened the door, you could hear the sound of laughter from the living room. leo’s grip tightened on your hand for a moment before he took a deep breath, following you inside.

"mom, dad, this is leo," you introduced him to your parents. leo smiled nervously, giving them a small wave, his eyes looking around the room as if taking everything in.

your father stepped forward first, a kind glint in his eyes. "nice to meet you, leo," he said warmly, extending a hand. leo shook it firmly, a bit of the tension easing from his shoulders.

then came your step-mother who treated you like you really were her own. "my child's boyfriend, yes? she talks about you a lot." she chuckled.

you blush, and leo can't help but laugh as he glanced at you, his anxiety melting into amusement. "they're truly one of a kind."

"i made a few things for you guys.. just as a gift, y'know?" leo says sheepishly with a smile, handing your family the handmade gifts he had spent all night working on.

"made this yourself?" your father says, impressed as he examined the wrsitwatch your boyfriend gave him, turning it over in his hands to inspect the fine details..

"yep!" leo nods, squeezing your hand for reassurance.

"can you really make anything?" your little brother asked, eyes wide with awe and curiousity.

leo grinned enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "pretty much. wanna see?" your little brother nods eagerly.

he pulled a few random items from his pockets — a couple of screws, a piece of wire, and a small chunk of metal. in minutes, he had crafted a tiny bird that flapped its wings and chirped. your sibling’s eyes widened in amazement.

as the evening wore on, the tension leo had disappeared. by the time dessert came around, he was trading jokes with your dad and sharing stories with your mom like they’d known each other for years.

when it was time to leave, your parents pulled you aside.

"he’s a good one," your mother said softly, her eyes warm. "and he clearly cares about you."

your father nodded. "just make sure he knows we’re always watching," he added with a wink, his tone teasing but his meaning clear.

you couldn't help but roll your eyes playfully. "yeah, yeah, dad, got it."

you walked leo to the door, the night air cool against your skin. he turned to you, his expression a mix of relief and happiness.

"that wasn’t so bad," he admitted, pulling you into a hug.

you laughed, resting your head against his chest. "told you they’d love you."

leo kissed the top of your head. "thank you for believing in me."

you smiled up at him. "always."

— thank you for placing your order, and i hoped you enjoyed your meal! kisses from jvpiterzs <3 — cafe guest list﹔n/a

[dan-the-womans-blog]

hi! could you possibly write some spencer hurt/comfort? (it’s what i live and breath for) maybe reader has started a new job, and had a rough day, so when Spencer arrives home, he immediately picks up on the signs. they’re in bed, not feeling good, dreading the next day, but Spencer comforts them and eventually flips their mood around, so they aren’t thinking of work in such a negative light.

i tried to use gn pronouns cause idk what readers you write for. so if you wanna do this, could it mb be fem or gn? whichever you’re most comfy with. thank you! and no pressure to get this done x

You're so considerate, thank you!!!! I prefer female readers, however if requested i can do any. Ig not specified then the default will be fem, but most can be read as gn. Hope you enjoy, i rushed it a bit😅😁😘

Title: When Comfort Finds You

As the sun set, casting a warm, golden hue over the apartment, you lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The day had been long and arduous, your first at a new job. It wasn’t just the workload or the unfamiliar faces that weighed heavily on your mind; it was the feeling of inadequacy that had seeped into your bones, making you question every step you took, every word you uttered.

The sound of the front door creaking open broke the silence. You knew it was Spencer. His work hours were long and unpredictable, but you had come to recognize the subtle cues that signaled his return: the soft shuffle of his shoes, the quiet click of the door, the faint scent of old books and coffee that seemed to follow him everywhere.

“Hey,” Spencer called out, his voice gentle but laced with concern. He had a knack for sensing when something was off, and tonight was no exception. You heard him set his bag down and make his way to the bedroom.

You didn't move, hoping to avoid the inevitable conversation about your day. But Spencer, perceptive as always, wasn’t deterred by your lack of response. He stepped into the room, his eyes immediately finding your form curled up on the bed.

“Rough day?” he asked softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was tender, his eyes filled with empathy.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. You had wanted to be strong, to handle the new job without crumbling under the pressure, but today had proven to be too much. “It’s just… so hard,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Spencer’s brow furrowed as he listened. He had always been a great listener, his ability to empathize unmatched. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his hand resting on your shoulder, offering comfort.

You hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “I just feel like I don’t belong there. Everyone is so confident, so sure of themselves, and I… I just feel like I’m floundering.”

Spencer nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Starting a new job is always tough,” he said softly. “It’s normal to feel out of place at first. But that doesn’t mean you don’t belong. It just means you’re human.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little at his words, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. “I made so many mistakes today,” you admitted, the weight of the day’s failures pressing down on you.

Spencer’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, a gesture of reassurance. “Everyone makes mistakes,” he said firmly. “Even me. Remember when I first joined the BAU? I made a ton of mistakes. But that’s how we learn. That’s how we get better.”

You nodded, taking some comfort in his words. Spencer had faced his own share of challenges and had come out stronger. Maybe you could too. But the doubt still lingered, gnawing at your confidence.

Spencer seemed to sense your lingering unease. “Do you want to know what I think?” he asked, his tone gentle but insistent.

“What?” you asked, looking up at him, seeking the reassurance you desperately needed.

“I think you’re amazing,” he said simply. “You’re smart, capable, and incredibly strong. And I know that, given time, you’ll find your footing at this new job. It’s just the first day. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. But don’t let today define your entire experience.”

Tears welled up in your eyes at his words. You had been so caught up in your own self-doubt that you hadn’t allowed yourself to see the bigger picture. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

Spencer leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re welcome,” he murmured. “And remember, I’m here for you. Always.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. Spencer’s presence, his unwavering support, was exactly what you needed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He smiled back, his eyes twinkling with affection. “You’d be just fine,” he said. “But I’m glad I get to be here for you. Now, how about we do something to take your mind off work for a while?”

You nodded eagerly, grateful for the distraction. “What did you have in mind?”

Spencer’s smile widened. “How about a movie? Something light and fun. Or we could read together. Whatever you want.”

“A movie sounds nice,” you said, feeling a bit of the day’s weight lift off your shoulders.

Spencer stood up and headed to the living room, you following closely behind. He picked out a classic comedy, something you both loved, and soon you were curled up on the couch together, the comforting sounds of laughter filling the room.

As the movie played, you felt your anxiety slowly dissipate. Spencer’s arm around you, his presence grounding you, made everything seem a little less daunting. You knew tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but for now, you allowed yourself to relax, to enjoy the moment.

By the time the movie ended, you felt lighter, your mind no longer consumed by the day’s events. Spencer turned to you, a satisfied smile on his face. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” you admitted, leaning into him. “Thank you, Spencer. I really needed this.”

“Anytime,” he said softly, kissing the top of your head. “And remember, you’re going to do great. Just take it one day at a time.”

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of hope. With Spencer by your side, you knew you could face whatever challenges lay ahead. And as you drifted off to sleep that night, you felt a sense of peace, knowing that no matter what, you weren’t alone.