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dcxdpdabbles · 3 months ago

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DCxDP fanfic idea: What's your Poison?

Jason Todd's life has always been hectic. Or is tragic the better word? It certainly felt like that was a better way to describe it. Life was bursts of happiness and love for as long as he could remember, but it was often too short and quickly overshadowed by everything he loved being twisted into his worst nightmares.

His mother's lullabies, which once soothed him to sleep, would turn into her humming as she came down from her high, staring with unseeing eyes.

Bruce's warm compliments for pulling off a tricky maneuver would scatter in the wind as he pulled the triggers on the scum of the city, and all he heard from his father figure were swears to bring him in.

His childhood adoration for swimming, the few things he liked when school was out, would drown him in his memories of the liquid green he hadn't stepped foot in a pool in years as an adult.

It was more of a surprise to find that reading still offered him comfort as if he were the same scared, poor little boy who would do anything to escape his reality. Maybe that's why he made it his mission to visit every bookstore in this godforsaken city.

Maybe the magic wasn't the same, and he didn't lose himself in the words, or his passion for it wasn't as all-consuming as it once was. But it was the one thing from his childhood life that hadn't managed to ruin.

This is why he chose to go to Ghost Zone, which opened near the heart of Gotham's nightlife —only three streets away from Ice Lounge—despite doubling as a bar.

It sold drinks alongside books, and the menu featured cocktails based on book characters. At the last meeting, one of the men in the Red Hood gang was talking about it—or rather, the pretty owner. The spitfire had been unwilling to strike a deal about protection money, but his boys knew better than to force the owner's hand.

Jason didn't like bars.

He went to them when his friends invited him out, but these places felt horrible. Either he found people who thought they were untouchable by the world and made terrible choices because of it, or he found people who were so broken by the world that the bottle was all they knew.

Just like his old man.

The idea of being anything like Willis Todd left such a bad taste in Jason's mouth that he had never touched alcohol in his life.

It wasn't the kind of preference people usually liked him having at a bar. He's had plenty of women grow offended that they couldn't tempt him into a drink, not to mention the men who were suddenly brave enough to mock him for it.

Drunks, in general, annoyed him. They were too loud. Too much. And most times, you had to babysit them like an overgrown toddler.

So going to a bar, even one doubling as a bookstore was going to be a pain. Still, Jason pushed through the door, letting it slam close behind him and sealing away the neon lights, thumping music, and the echoing laughter from nearby nightclubs.

Thankfully, the Ghost Zone didn't seem very busy. In fact, Jason could see that he was the only customer in the building.

The bar ran along the left side of the room, more like a traveler than anything modern. Tables and chairs were nearly lined up in front of it. A lone man was cleaning some glasses with a cloth, dressed in a pretty green vest over a long black sleeve and black slacks.

He glances at Jason with sky-blue eyes, shimming with gentle light. "Welcome,"

"Hello," He responds, walking to the bar and checking the menu. There wasn't anything listed for none-alcoholic, which made him grimace.

"Can I help you with anything?" the man asks, stepping in front of Jason and flashing a pearl-white smile. It, annoyingly, lacks any fake costumer service tilt to it, meaning this man was able to appear genuinely happy to serve people.

Those were the worst kinds of salesmen. They sucked someone dry of whatever coins they had before the client even knew what was happening.

Jason knew to be wary as he grunted, "I was told this was a bookstore."

The man didn't even blink as his smile grew. He placed a small menu on the bar counter between them while pointing his thumb to a nearby stairway. "Books are on the second floor. You're welcome to pick one up and read here so long as you buy a drink if you're not looking to buy an entire thing."

There it was. The catch.

Jason doesn't bother hiding a grimace as he waves a hand. "Nah, I'll just browse. If I see something I like, I'll buy it."

"Alright. Let me know if you need anything, " the man says softly, going back to his glasses without care. Jason notes that they resemble roses as the employee holds one to the light. It shimmers slightly, catching a ray that bounces back on the man's face, making him glow for a brief second.

Jason whips around, wondering why he is staring when he should be looking at books. He scurries up the stairway, not looking too deeply into it. On the second floor, he finds bookshelve after bookshelve lined and organized neatly.

Babs would adore how well-kept everything was. As he starts browsing, he hopes this trip wasn't a waste of time. There are titles and authors he's never heard of, not even a money grab of new releases. Even after pulling out his phone to check reviews, Jason discovers that not a single one of these books is sold anywhere else.

They are all exclusive publishers of Ghost Zone. This is odd because even if it's local authors, there are some reviews and proof of the author somewhere. Usually, the lack of anything would have alarmed him, but instead, it fills him with the desire to read every single copy.

Jason soon finds himself with a stack of books. After walking through the entire second floor twice to ensure he didn't miss anything else he may be interested in, Jason encounters a little sign written in neon green.

Please make a book purchase at the bar below.

As he stumbles his way down to the bar, he can't help but feel as if someone is watching him. He glances out of the corner of his eye and manages to catch what appears to be a shadow of a child running and disappearing into a wall.

Huh. The Ghost Zone is haunted.

Well, all of Gotham is haunted. Jason is from one of the most haunted places in Gotham, and the ghosts in Crime Alley are never nice, but they can never harm anyone if you don't acknowledge them. It was a rule to always pretend you didn't see anything, and like any good Crime Alley kid, Jason did just that.

"Have you found everything you were looking for?" the man asks with a smile once Jason places his stack on the bar. He quickly starts scanning them with a ray gun.

"I did," Jason mutters, looking everywhere but the man who seems to have started glowing under his flower lights. He was beautiful in an almost untouchable way.

His hair almost flashed white for a brief second as he reached for a bag for Jason's books. Man, it's been a while since his last date. He was starting to see things if he was that distracted by a pretty face.

"Hey, since you are my first customer to buy some books, I was wondering if you would like a free drink?" the man says, giving the books back to Jason. He leans on the counter a little, giving Jason an almost taunting grin. "Tell me, what's your poison?"

"I don't drink," Jason replies, bluntly stepping back but not because of the offer or the grin. That child made of shadows was watching them from the backroom. Jason did not like that it followed him.

The bartender smiles. "I promise it will taste better than anything you've ever had."

"No, thank you." Jason stays firm, eyes trained on the bartender, but words aimed at the shadow child.

"Pity." The man sighs, leaning back. The shadow child vanishes, allowing him to relax a little more. Whatever that was, it lost interest in him. "I could make you a mocktail?"

Jason thinks it over, then shrugs. "If it's free."

"Great. I'm Danny, by the way. Based on the novels you picked, I think I know just what to get you." Danny twirls a wine glass shaped like a rose in his hand, and Jason is suddenly hit with the urge to never leave as the man trains glowing green eyes on him. "Have a seat."

He drops his books at his feet, stumbling towards the bar stole in front of Danny.

It takes his family three days to realize he's gone missing and five for the Red Hood gang to notice, too. But Jason doesn't mind. After tasting the best thing that's ever touched his taste buds, he's having fun mixing drinks with Danny at Ghost Zone.

Danny, for his part, seems grateful to have Jason around. Apparently, Jason is keeping the ghosts away from Danny- that might have something to do with the Pits being anti-death liquified- and hired him on the spot after Jason drowned his drink and begged him for more.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #What's your posion?#Part 1 #Ghost Zone is the name Danny picked for his bar/Bookstore #Danny unknowingly has Fae vibes #Jason may or may not have been Fae kidnapped #Jason's pov #Jason scares ghosts away #The books are from the real Ghost Zone #Dead on Main

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obsessivevoidkitten · 2 months ago

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Lured

Male Anglerfish Merman Yandere x Gender Neutral Angelfish Merperson Reader CW: Noncon, oviposition, kidnapping, minor brief hypnotism, general yandere behavior, size difference Word Count: 1.1k (This is the Mermay fic for this year! I hope you all enjoy it <3)

As an angelfish merperson you called the reef home. You felt in your bones that there was to be a storm. A big one. You thought you were safe in the safety of your reef abode. You were woefully wrong.

You hunkered down in your house and tried to lay low like you did during every extreme storm

Your door was ripped off the hinges, opening up your cave to a current that pulled you away from the safety of the reef and into the open ocean. When the storm finally ended you found yourself disoriented and far into foreign waters.

It seemed there was an island nearby. You decided to check it out and get your bearings.

When you approached, your head above the surface to get a good look, you realized with unrestrained horror that this was the Deadman’s Rock.

You had never seen it, but the description matched. Black sand beaches and a rock formation vaguely in the shape of a skull in the center. Every little merfolk in your reef grew up on the horror stories of Deadman’s Rock.

There were tale’s about it and the surrounding waters being haunted, about it being a hellmouth that led into the underworld, that strange leviathans lurked in the nearby depths. All typical types of stories one would conjure up to inspire terror.

But other stories were much more believable. Warnings of feral sharks and nearly feral shark mermen, anglerfish mermen, human poachers.

At any rate it was certainly not somewhere that you wanted to be near. You didn’t know what direction you had been blown in from ,but nowhere could be worse than here. You started swimming away.

Only once you were submerged you noticed a series of glowing lights. One large one in the front and a bunch of smaller ones following. They were a reddish orange color. Soft, warm, inviting.

You were enthralled and started drifting towards them, not really aware of what you were doing. They were so serene. Oh so pretty.

They subdued you completely. And by the time you realized just what they were it was far too late. The lure of an anglerfish man and the lights on the tips of his dorsal fins, and little lights going down his sides.

The spell he had over you didn’t break until he nabbed you. All the struggling and thrashing you did absolutely nothing. He was considerably larger than you and even though he was very lean he was also very strong. Down, down, down, you went. Deep into the alien waters, convinced that he was going to eat you.

But he didn’t. He dragged you into a terrible trench and just when you thought you’d pass out from the sudden shift in pressure and temperature he pulled you into a cavern. Instantly the water was warmer and lighter, heated by thermal vents. Or perhaps magic. You didn’t exactly have the ability to investigate given your current predicament.

The angler took you into a side room, evidently where he slept as it had what seemed to be a makeshift bed framed from the scavenged bones of several different creatures and filled with frillweed, a common bedding for merfolk.

“What the fuck do you want with me!?”

He replied in a foreign tongue, harsh and brutal, that you had no knowledge of. You doubt he could understand you at all either. As he placed you down on the bed and loomed over you, you at last had a moment to get a good look at him.

His mouth was a terrifying grin adorned with wicked needle-like teeth, his eyes entirely black, he had a lure coming out of his forehead and long red hair that matched the red scales of his fish half and complimented his brown skin. Fins on his back were tipped with red-orange lights, similar flecks of light went down his tail.

Though he could not communicate what his desires were verbally, his intention was clear through the large slimy red cock, the tip of which glowed with a light matching the rest, that slowly emerged from his genital slit.

Before you could dart away he pinned you down and rammed his prehensile cock into you, you could feel it wriggle and writhe inside you and he thrust, seeking pleasure and leaving no inch of your depths unexplored in its search.

He was brutal and hadn’t bothered stretching you out. His cock wasn’t as rigid as a human’s but the sudden entry and brutal pacing was still fairly painful at first.

Your captor gripped your hips, long claw-like nails digging into you. The angler couldn’t help himself. Such a beautiful creature lured right to him, practically swimming into his arms. Someone so fragile and fair all for him! He had to breed you. Claim you. Make you his. It wouldn’t do for such a jewel to be swimming about at random in these waters. Something terrible could have happened to you!

His new little jewel was lucky he found them. He could breed you and take great care of you. The first thing for him to do to prove his devotion was to fill you to the brim with his eggs.

After several seemingly endless minutes the pain ebbed away and eventually pleasure took its place. Then you were twitching and jerking lustifully as he violated you.

Gasps and moans escaped your lips, proof to him that he was pleasing his mate. Primal sounds that transcended any language barrier. You finished in unison but came partially to your senses when you felt a few hard orbs deposited into you.

/////////

Weeks had passed, you had managed to get a few words understood between the two of you. Names, for instance, his was Melchio. When he wasn’t fucking you roughly he was paradoxically treating you like a fragile treasure that would crumble to dust at the slightest inconvenience. Doting on you, hunting for you, feeding you by hand.

He still terrified you, especially his eyes and teeth, and you missed the sun and colors of the reef, but you didn’t dare try to run away. The deep heavy waters outside the cavern weren’t just a physical danger in of themselves but likely concealed all sorts of horrors far more dangerous than your new found “husband.”

When he noticed you were anxious or panicking about your new life there, he’d get behind you with his arms tightly holding you, his lure dangling in front of you, calming you into a trance-like state.

At least there you were healthy and well cared for. So there you would remain. Forever.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #my ocs #yandere x reader #monster boyfriend #gender neutral reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere monster #male yandere x gn reader #My OC Melchio #yandere mermay #yandere merman #anglerfish merman #merman x reader #reader merperson #yandere scenario #yandere situation #mermay 2025 #mermay

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himasgod · 2 months ago

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HOUSEWARDENS + CATER X READER

Where stress makes you vomit

Where you were out on an activity with your boyfriend, feeling a little dizzy… but Ace, Deuce, and Grim do something that makes your anxiety kick in and your condition grounds you…

You were already feeling queasy before the club meeting, but Cater had asked so sweetly, you didn’t want to let him down.

But Ace started a prank war with confetti charms, and Deuce tripped over the sound system. You had all that stress in your belly from your studies and...

It was just too much.

Cater noticed you slipping away mid-laugh. By the time he found you huddled behind the club’s storage room, you were gagging into a bucket and shaking hard.

“Babe—!” His voice cracked. “Oh no, oh no no no…”

He rushed to your side, dropping to his knees, not caring about his uniform.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, cool and steady, while his other hand gently rubbed your spine.

“Okay, deep breaths, sunshine. In… and out… You’re not alone, I got you.”

After the worst passed, he brought you to his room.

He brewed chamomile tea, held your hair when you had to lean over again, and never once looked away.

When you started crying out of frustration, he just scooted closer and rested his forehead to yours.

“You don’t gotta sparkle for me, cutie,” he whispered. “I like you just as you are—even on your bad days. Especially on your bad days. Let me be here for you, okay?”

It was supposed to be a fun surprise. Kalim had invited everyone to Scarabia for a “stress-relief” party after exams—

bright lights, loud music.... But the noise, the bustle, the magic—it hit your gut like a cannonball.

You barely lasted half an hour before retreating, your body trembling with the pain of it all.

Jamil was the one who found you curled up in Kalim’s room, and Kalim followed moments later, panicked and breathless.

“You’re sick? Oh no, no, what did I do—was it the music? The food? The carpet? The singing monkeys? I’ll cancel everything, I promise—!”

His voice cracked, tears already in his eyes, because he hated when you were in pain.

You whispered a soft broken “Kalim,” and it shut him right up.

He gently gathered you up into his arms, his chest warm against your back.

“I’ve got you. You don’t have to explain anything. Just rest. I’m here.”

Kalim turned the party into a quiet tea ceremony the next day, explaining to everyone—very sweetly but firmly—that you weren’t feeling well, and the dorm was now a “Quiet Zone.”

He filled his room with soft blankets, low lighting, and played gentle music to help you relax.

He even tried learning how to make porridge himself, burning two pots before Jamil took over.

When you woke from a fitful nap and saw Kalim asleep in a chair next to your bed, still holding your hand, you couldn’t help the lump that rose in your throat.

He woke at your soft sniffle, blinking sleepily.

“Oh! You’re awake—do you need anything? Water? Pillows? More hugs?”

You smiled, voice still weak. “Just you.”

His smile could’ve lit a thousand lamps.

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

You knew letting Ace and Deuce talk you into watching their failed potion experiment in the botanical garden was a mistake.

One minute it was a flask bubbling prettily; the next, it exploded.

The stress hit you like a train—and so did the stomach pain. By the time you staggered back to your room in Savanaclaw, you were shaking.

The nausea curled up in your belly. You didn’t even make it to bed before you sank to the floor, groaning, eyes blurry.

Leona found you there, pale and curled in on yourself.

“Tch. You look like shit.” he crouched beside you. “Oi. What happened?”

You tried to speak, but the retching cut you off. He swore under his breath, scooping you up with way more care than he liked to admit.

He brought you to his bed—because he didn’t trust anyone else not to mess it up—and bundled you in soft blankets.

You were barely lucid when he returned with a wet cloth and a lukewarm water bottle, pressing them both to your clammy skin.

“The hell were you doing with those herbivore idiots?” he muttered. “You know stress messes you up.”

“I thought it’d be fine…”

He clicked his tongue but didn’t argue. Instead, he eased down next to you, an arm lazily thrown around your middle, thumb rubbing slow, grounding circles.

Over the next few days, Leona kept his room on lockdown. He growled at anyone who dared make noise near the hallway and threatened Ruggie.

He barely left your side, only slipping away to fetch water, broth, or glare down any idiot who tried to cause a scene.

When you could finally speak clearly, you whispered, “You stayed.”

He scoffed against your hair.

“Of course I stayed, you dummy. Who else’s stomach is this dramatic?”

The chaos began with yet another of Ace and Deuce’s misadventures: this time, an enchanted pie that exploded and drenched half the dorm in whipped cream, including several angry hedgehogs.

Riddle was furious—but your stomach? It was worse.

You hadn’t eaten much that day, knowing the nausea had been lurking, but the stress of dodging magical desserts, Riddle’s rage, and Deuce running into your room shouting “there’s a badger in the hallway, don’t freak out!” had tipped your fragile gut over the edge.

You barely made it back to your room before the wave of nausea turned into something worse.

When Riddle finds out you’ve been vomiting for hours and haven’t been able to keep down even tea, the anger drains from his face.

He’s at your bedside faster than you expect, his normally upright posture hunched as he kneels next to you.

“I didn’t realize,” he murmurs “You should have told me sooner. I would’ve—” He cuts himself off

“I’m sorry,” you whisper hoarsely breath catching between stomach cramps.

“No.” He puts a gentle hand on your wrist, his thumb rubbing lightly over your pulse point. “Don’t apologize. I should have known better than to let them run wild like that. You’re… you’re more important than a few broken rules.”

Riddle ends up canceling the next day’s unbirthday party, putting the dorm under strict silence, and bringing in Trey to make very gentle soups and teas.

He keeps a detailed chart of what you manage to eat, fusses if you try to get up too soon, and reads to you in the evenings from books he used to like as a child.

“I know this isn’t a cure,” he says one night, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “But… I want to learn how to help. So you never have to go through it alone.”

The Mostro Lounge was packed. Azul had invited a few students from other dorms for a special tasting night—and while it should’ve been smooth sailing, Grim got into the desserts, Ace tripped into a table, and Deuce set off a mini cauldron trying to “help.”

The chaos was so intense, Azul didn’t even notice you had slipped away.

But Jade did.

When Azul arrived at your room, his face pale, you were hunched over a trash bin, your limbs trembling and your breathing uneven.

He’d read about your condition once, when you first confided in him. But reading about something and seeing it like this were worlds apart.

He set down his briefcase and moved closer.

“I didn’t realize the stress would—”

“It’s not your fault,” you rasped, head pounding.

“I should’ve…” He trailed off, then quietly knelt beside you. “May I touch you?”

You nodded, and his gloved hand came to rest gently against your back.

Azul canceled everything for the rest of the night. He didn’t care.

He sat beside you until you drifted into uncomfortable sleep.

He commissions Jade to make gentle teas and asks Floyd (somehow successfully) to "keep things quiet." You wake later to find Azul sitting at your bedside, reading aloud from a book on deep-sea myths, voice soft and smooth.

“I want to understand your illness better,” he says without looking up. “So I’ll never make it worse again.”

You knew attending one of Vil’s high-profile beauty showcases eith Ace, Deuce and Grim was a risk—you were already running on fumes, and stress from Deuce’s awkward attempt to “help” backstage had you tied up in knots.

When Grim knocked over the centerpiece bouquet, spraying pollen across the food table, it was the last straw.

You didn’t even make it to the end. The gut pain hit like a knife.

Vil found you backstage, curled up in a corner between costume racks, trembling and pale.

“Dear—” His voice lost its polished tune as he dropped to your side, one hand hovering. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Didn’t… wanna ruin it…” You gagged, bile rising.

“Forget the event,” he snapped, but it wasn’t angry “Your health is worth more than a thousand perfect showcases and fan selfies.”

He carried you himself, unbothered by onlookers, and had Rook cancel the second half of the show.

He brought you to his personal room, lit with soft ambient lamps, aromatherapy diffusers filtering calming scents.

“You need rest. Clean hydration. Low-acid, low-fat broth. And silence.” He turned to Rook, who bowed and vanished.

Vil sits beside you with a cooling eye mask in one hand, lightly pressing it to your forehead.

He doesn’t scold you for pushing yourself. Doesn’t nag. Just stays.

“Being beautiful means knowing your body, darling. And listening when it begs for mercy.” He brushes your cheek with knuckles like porcelain. “From now on… you don’t face that pain alone. Not on my watch.”

The tech convention seemed like a good idea—until Grim got caught chewing on a wire, Ace shorted a gaming display, and Deuce accidentally set off a security alarm that locked down the whole showroom.

You felt the panic building even before your stomach began to clench.

You barely had time to message Idia before you collapsed in the hallway, vision tunneling, bile in your throat. He found you minutes later.

“Why didn’t you ping me earlier?! I—I had my phone on and everything and I—” He cut off when he saw your shaking hands, the wince every time your gut spasmed.

He dropped to the floor beside you like he was hit.

“Oh no. Oh no. You’re crashing. This is a hard crash—ohhh this is worse than any boss raid emergency.”

But to your surprise, he didn’t freak out. Not externally. Not this time.

His fingers though cold and trembling, helped ease you upright against the wall. He got Ortho to beam in warm water and a soft blanket.

He made sure no one approached.

Later, he teleported both of you back to his room. He wrapped you in his giant hoodie, adjusted the thermostat, and brought his tablet bed-side so he could monitor your temperature and hydration without leaving.

“Y-You’re like… a delicate CPU,” he muttered, resting his cheek against your shoulder. “Overclocked. But I’ll patch the bugs, okay? I’ll optimize the code. I’ll… just stay right here.”

You should’ve known Grim’s fireball and Ace’s poorly cast spell in the tower would attract more than detention.

The magical backlash hadn’t just upset the tower’s alignment—it had deeply unsettled your gut, already straining under NRC stress.

You collapsed just outside the dias, pain blinding, nausea rolling.

Malleus was there in moments. Not because he was watching but because he always knew when your body ached.

He knelt beside you, gentle hands catching your wrist.

“Child of man… you are unwell.”

You couldn’t even answer. The pain robbed you of words.

His magic flared creating a bubble of silence around you, blocking out every other sound, even the wind. Then he scooped you into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all.

He brought you to Diasomnia, directly into his room, ignoring Lilia’s sly look and Silver’s raised eyebrow.

He laid you in his bed, casting soft enchantments to dull pain and calm your system.

“You carry a burden your body was not built to hold,” he murmured, brushing your sweat-soaked bangs from your forehead. “And yet you endure.”

He sat at your side through the night, reading you lullabies in the ancient tongue.

“I would call down lightning to strike those who brought you pain- But I think you’d prefer tea and silence. So… I will be still.”

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tiramissyoucake · 3 months ago

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I'm finally baaack. I'm rlly rusty so please be patient wit me. Here's a Mohawk Mark coming back to bimbo-coded reader

Mark learned a lesson today; you live your life believing you're the strongest until you have to face your own demons, literally in this case. Fighting a copy of himself who had the same power as him left him exhausted, blood that seeped down his nose and dried now tangy on his lips, he lost his hearing for a full 2 minutes and worst of all? He got nothing he was promised.

He found a way back to his own dimension, in some lawn of an unsuspecting family; he debated on going in and killing them to make himself feel better but... God, he was tired.

For the first time in Mark's life since he got his powers; he was exhausted. All that could make him feel better was a coma. Wobbling to his feet, he groaned to himself quietly as he wiped away at his face, dried blood flaking off and clinging to his gloves. He could rest easy now that he's in his own dimension... maybe you'd be awake.

It was past midnight as he hovered over the neighbourhood, an irritated expression stuck on his face as he followed a familiar route to your home, did time pass? How long was he gone? He knew dimension magic made no sense, a small part of him worried you'd turn him away for disappearing.

A soft light eminated from your window. You were probably having trouble sleeping. Mark took a deep breath, lifting his bruised knuckles to the window and knocking in a rhythm that you'd recognize (as if anyone else would knock on your window to sneak in).

Hope seemed to trickle away with every moment that passed. Were you ignoring him? Did you hate him? Were you scared of him? He shut his eyes tightly, why was he worrying now? You loved him, he knows you do.

"Mark?"

Every ounce of his tough guy attitude practically shrunk away as your voice reached his ears. You knew that dumb mohawk anywhere. You looked at him with an emotion he couldn't name, confusion? Betrayal? Shock? A familiar scent that he mentally tied to you wafted to him, dragging him to your windowsill.

"Yeah— it's me." He started, finally finding the casual tone to respond. "... can I come in? I know I've been gone for a while— I just..."

Your hands came to rest over his as he struggled to keep his image while being vulnerable to you, sighing. "... this is gonna sound corny as shit, but I really needed to see you."

You laughed, bordering on a sigh as you guided him inside, your room was relatively the same except for a few shuffled plushies, books and items of the sort. His feet reconnected with the ground as he settled in your room, holding one of your hands.

"My god..." You mumbled, his features now clearer in the dim glow of your room's lamps and laptop light, your hand cupped his cheek. "Baby, what happened? You look horrible..!"

He snorted, his cheek leaning into your warm nailed hand. "You would not believe the shit I've been through the past 3 days."

"3 days..?" you mumbled, tilting your head curiously. "You've only been gone for a day."

So the calculations he was given were off... a part of him was glad he came back so soon, but a sadistic part of him wanted to disappear for longer to make you miss him.

"... did you miss me?" He smugly asked, the smile widening as he heard your familiar laugh. "Oh, absolutely, I missed you sooo much!"

Mark's arms wrapped around you and tugged you closely, his nose almost nudging against yours. "Yeah? Missed me bad, didn't you, baby?" He asked over your flustered giggling, your hands cupping his cheeks. "C'mon, tell me how much you missed me."

"Shut uuup! You're so gross!" You laughed, no real malice behind your words as he guided you to your bed and flopping down on your fluffy, Inviting sheets, plushies jumping slightly before sitting back in place or toppling aside. "Mark! Nooo! You stink!"

"You love it." He grunted as he nuzzled his face into your neck, biting and kissing as you tried to wrestle him aside. "Noooo!! Stop smearing your grime on me!"

He laughed as you tried to push him away, licking his lips— suddenly, the dried blood was the least of his worries now. "I'm marking my territory! Stop moving!"

The giggling and laughing echoed in your room, your sleeping trouble gone, his exhaustion seeping away, his heart felt disgustingly full.

Mark winced as he sat up with a groan, his hand coming up to his neck. "Oh.. a-are you okay..?" You asked in an unsure tone, sitting up. "Jeez, Marky... who messed you up?"

He grunted, hissing as he sat on the edge of the bed. "You don't wanna know... can you patch me up?" He rolled his shoulder as you got up. "Hmm, 'Kay.. take it easy, alright?"

Mark hummed in response as you leaned down to kiss him briefly, he licked his lips; a habit he developed after everytime he kissed you. "... you going to bed with gloss on?"

"It's from a lip mask, dummy!"

#mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader

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yua0ra · 6 months ago

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𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞… 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?

WARNINGS: theodore nott x hufflepuff!fem!reader, speechless!theo (lol), bold reader, mentions of weed, mentions of mattheo riddle, SFW, not proofread. english is not my first language.

miscellaneous ☆

SUMMARY: House stereotypes don’t define the personality of a student, more the values and the attitude that they are more likely to lean on. Theo learns this when he has to leave his shyness aside and ask you for a little favor.

WC: 2.7K AN: My first Theo blog! SO thrilled! More to come tho :)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

Theodore Nott has hit his breaking point. His Herbology final is around the corner, and despite hours of studying, he feels so annoyingly unprepared. It’s the one subject where he truly needs help, and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Enzo, his usually reliable study buddy, is knee-deep in preparing for his practical exam in Care of Magical Creatures. Mattheo, on the other hand, has absolutely no interest in anything beyond the most basic knowledge of plants, only venturing into the greenhouse when he’s collecting a bit of weed for his own purposes. Draco and Blaise? Well, they’re too wrapped up in their own world, more concerned with their latest gossip than anything remotely academic. Pansy? Yeah, that’s not even an option.

So, Theo’s left with one option:

You.

The sweet, intelligent Hufflepuff who most definitely knows how to have fun, attending literally each and every party that the school has thrown yet when required, sits in the corner of the library, your nose buried in a book, always so effortlessly composed. The one person in the entire school who seems to have a natural talent for Herbology.

You’ve caught his eye for a while now, but he’s too shy, too nervous to approach you. He spends far too much time admiring you from afar, but that’s all he’s ever done—watching you as you confidently navigate through the subject he struggles with, never knowing how to bridge the gap between you two.

Desperation is a powerful motivator, though. He’s tried every other option and failed. With no other choice, Theo finds himself standing outside the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, heart pounding, mind racing. He rehearses what he’ll say in his head—should he be casual? Straightforward? Or maybe play it off like it’s no big deal? But the words don’t seem to come.

The thing is, despite his reputation, despite his intimidating family name and the distance he keeps from others, there’s something about you that disarms him completely. You’re not like the others. You’re kind, warm, and so elegant, so put together, it leaves him feeling self-conscious about his own fumbling attempts at social interaction.

But there’s no other way. He’s backed into a corner. Theo takes a deep breath, pushes past his nerves, and steps forward. It’s now or never.

“Hey Mate! You coming or what?“ He looks up, a friendly Hufflepuff holding the door for him.

Truly, they are nice. A Slytherin would never, ever, invite another fellow student into their sacred den.

Theo hesitates, wondering if he’s made a huge mistake. What if you turn him away? What if you laugh at him for asking such a stupid thing? His heart pounds louder in his chest as he takes another step forward, determined to follow through.

He finds the common room in a quiet lull—no loud chatter, no bustle of students. Only the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional rustle of pages turning. Then he sees you. You’re curled up in an armchair near the window, your bright eyes scanning a textbook, and for a moment, Theo stands there, just watching. The way the warm light from the fire dances off your hair, the way you lean in slightly as you read—it’s all so hypnotising, so you.

His throat tightens, and he suddenly feels foolish for not having prepared more. The sharpness of his thoughts cuts through the haze of nervousness, and he realizes this is exactly why he’s never managed to speak to you before. He’s always been too scared. Too unsure.

But before he can talk himself out of it, he’s already moving toward you. His footsteps are quiet, almost tentative, but you notice him as he approaches, lifting your head to meet his eyes. That instant eye contact is enough to send his stomach into a nervous knot, but he forces himself to stand tall.

“Hey, uh… I, uh… Could I ask you a favor?” Theo’s voice cracks slightly as he starts, and he curses himself internally. Why does he have to sound so awkward?

There’s a curious expression in your eyes, as though you weren’t expecting him to ask but aren’t exactly surprised either. You raise an eyebrow, and a small smile plays on your lips.

“If you’re looking for Enzo, he’s with Hagrid right now,” you begin, your voice calm, like you’re relaying a mundane piece of information, and Theo blinks in confusion, sitting down opposite of you but waiting for the rest. “And if you’d like to know where the stash is, it’s behind the Angelicas,” you continue, as if you’re discussing the placement of a few plants rather than something a bit more illegal, that could defiantly get you expelled.

You pause and then add, “I mean, I had to relocate the whole plantation because before, it was under the Venomous Tentacula, and more often than not, instead of getting high, students would get fucking poisoned.”

Theo freezes, his eyes widening in shock. His brain is still trying to catch up with the strange, casual way you’ve just dropped that bit of information. The weed, students getting poisoned. He blinks again, as though his mind needs to reset. “Wait, you’ve been… what?” he finally stammers, unsure of how to respond.

You laugh softly, clearly enjoying the bewildered expression on his face, and lean back in your chair a little, letting the firelight cast a warm glow over your face. “Yeah, it’s been a bit of a headache,” you continue, your tone light and almost mocking, but there’s a sharpness to your words that makes Theo realize you’re completely in control of the situation.

“At first, I had to move everything under the Tentacula because it was… well, convenient, you know? Students wouldn’t even dare to try to steal. But then the bloody thing started getting violent. I lost two strains and a few students before Mattheo and I figured it out.” You chuckle again, shaking your head as if it were just another mishap to add to your long list of Hufflepuff gardening troubles.

Theo freezes, his jaw going slack as his mind races to process your words. Mattheo? He blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of what you just said. Mattheo, his best mate, the guy who couldn’t be bothered to do anything that didn’t directly benefit him, was working with you? In the greenhouse? With you—a Hufflepuff, the sweet, hot and intelligent, did he mentioned hot, student he’d always admired from afar?

“Wait—Mattheo?” Theo stammers, his brain still struggling to catch up. “You and Mattheo are… working together? In the greenhouse?” He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea.

You raise an eyebrow, amused at his reaction. “Oh, yes. He’s actually surprisingly useful when it comes to problem-solving. I’m not saying he’s a botanist or anything, but we managed to figure out how to move the stash without getting caught. I have to give him some credit for that.” You laugh again, enjoying Theo’s stunned expression, as if this were all just another normal part of your life.

He slowly blinks, processing your strange perception of his friend. “Mattheo? Useful? I mean—really?” His voice is a mixture of disbelief and awe. “That’s—uh, that’s not the Mattheo I know.”

You shrug, a wry smile on your face. “Trust me, I was shocked, too. But it turns out he has a knack for finding creative solutions when he’s not too distracted by… other things.” Your smile turns sly, and Theo gets the sense that you’re holding something back, something more than just the simple partnership you’ve described. But the fact that you and Mattheo are so involved with each other in this capacity makes something in him shift—a mix of surprise, confusion, and maybe just a hint of jealousy, though he can’t quite place it.

“Honestly,” you continue, your tone dropping slightly, “he’s actually been a pretty good ally. He knows how to be discreet when it comes to things like this—he’s good at keeping his mouth shut when necessary. You’d be surprised, really.”

‘Yeah, he has definitely kept his mouth shut in regards of whatever this is’ Theo thinks and he can’t help but laugh, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “I’ve never once thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth, especially about him,” he mutters, half in awe, half in confusion. “But—really, the greenhouse? You’ve been doing all of this behind the scenes?.”

You nod, leaning back in your chair slightly, your gaze flicking to the fire. “Yep. It’s been a bit of a secret, but I’m used to keeping things under wraps. Some of us prefer to stay low-key, y’know?“ You flash him a teasing smile, and for a moment, Theo wonders if maybe he’s been misjudging the quiet Hufflepuff house all along.

Theo tries to process the revelation. His mind is still spinning, trying to picture Mattheo in the middle of it all, acting as some sort of ally to you, when he can barely even manage to get through his homework without drama. “I… wow. This is a lot to take in,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck as he lets out a deep breath. “You and Mattheo? That… doesn’t make sense, but it kind of does?”

And it actually does make sense. You’re fucking fit, party girl at heart, cool but apparently laid back, so yeah. He could see why Mattheo had taken an interest in you.

“Well, there’s a lot more to me than just a green thumb,” you say with a grin, obviously enjoying watching him try to piece it all together. “But I’ve must misjudged your reasons as to you approaching me,” you say, the teasing in your tone softening just a bit, “so tell me, Nott,”—and now you flash him a smile, that sweet, knowing smile that makes Theo’s heart skip a beat—“what’s the favour?”

Theo’s throat tightens at the question. The heat rises to his face, a little caught off guard by how smoothly you’ve shifted the focus back on him.

“I—uh, I—” Theo starts, then stops himself, taking a breath. He needs to focus. Focus on the fact that he did come to you for help.

But something about the way you’re looking at him—your eyes sparkling with amusement—makes it hard to think straight. He stares at you for a beat, trying to compose himself, but you’re so easygoing, so effortlessly you, that it’s like you’re pulling him into a side of the world he didn’t know existed.

“I… I really need help with Herbology,” he admits, his voice finally steadying, though it’s clear there’s an under-layer of shyness somewhere in between. “I’m kind of screwed if I don’t get this right. I just—I figured… you’re the best person to ask.” He forces a small, awkward laugh, trying to cover the tension that’s building in his chest.

You watch him, your gaze steady, and something in the way he stumbles over his words makes a knowing smile curl at your lips. There’s a certain vulnerability to Theo that’s only just beginning to peek through, and it’s clear to you that he’s not just here for Herbology help. Maybe he started that way, but now—well, now something else is bubbling underneath.

“Is that all?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, watching the way his cheeks flush with that mix of embarrassment and nervous energy. The way he keeps trying to brush it off, but you know he’s not as composed as he likes to pretend. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who gets rattled by plants.”

Theo shifts uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck again, and you can’t help but find it endearing. He’s trying so hard to play it cool, but it’s obvious he’s a little out of his depth. “I’m not,” he mutters, the words a little quieter now, the walls he tries to put up crumbling just a bit more. “It’s just… I really need to pass this exam. And you’re the best at this stuff.”

You smile again, but this time it’s realer, like you’re letting him breathe for a bit, seeing the genuine panic beneath the surface. “I know,” you say with a quiet confidence, your tone soothing him, almost like you’re comforting him without meaning to. “I’ll help you. It’s not a big deal.”

Theo looks at you, grateful but still a little lost. You seem so calm, so sure of yourself. It’s almost like you’re made of something he can’t quite figure out.

“I… appreciate it,” he says, his voice quieter now, but still genuine. He leans back in his chair, looking down at his hands for a moment, unsure what else to say. But his mind keeps wandering to the way you look at him—how you’ve kept him off balance with your easy smile, the casual way you talk about everything. “I don’t know, it just feels like I’ve got no idea what I’m doing half the time.”

You raise an eyebrow, not letting him off the hook that easily. “Really? You seem like someone who knows exactly what they’re doing most of the time.” The teasing lilt is back in your voice, but there’s something almost… tender underneath it. “Or maybe you just like pretending?”

Theo doesn’t know whether to laugh or be more embarrassed, so he does a little bit of both. “I guess pretending is easier,” he admits, the words coming out before he can stop them, and there’s a quiet honesty in his tone that catches you off guard. “But… you’re not what I expected.”

You look at him curiously, the firelight from the hearth casting a warm glow across your face. “What did you expect, exactly?”

He hesitates for just a moment, before speaking slowly, almost carefully, like he’s weighing each word. “I don’t know. Someone… different. Someone more… Hufflepuffy?” He chuckles awkwardly at the last part, trying to sound casual, but the truth is, he’s starting to realize that he doesn’t really know what he expected. You’ve made him question everything he thought he knew about you, and now all he can do is stare at you in a sort of awe.

You let the silence hang in the air for a beat, your lips curling into a smirk. “Hufflepuffy?” you echo, sounding amused but with a touch of challenge. “So what, you think just because I’m a Hufflepuff, I’m supposed to be all flowers and rainbows? Just because I know how to work with plants and enjoy life doesn’t mean I don’t have a little bit of edge, Nott.”

Theo looks up at you, his heart pounding a little faster, the realization hitting him full force. “Yeah,” he mutters, half to himself, “I guess I didn’t expect you to be this… cool.”

You smile at that, the corners of your lips tilting up in a way that makes his chest feel a little tight. “Cool, huh? I’ll take that.”

For a moment, there’s a soft pause, the tension between the two of you shifting, the way your eyes meet his, the way your smile holds a little bit more meaning, and the way his pulse races just a bit faster. It’s something else, something that’s starting to make him question everything he thought he knew about himself, too.

“So, uh,” Theo says, his voice suddenly feeling a little hoarse, unsure of what to say next. “Do you want to… get started on the exam stuff?”

You nod, leaning in just slightly, but there’s an air of something unspoken between you now, something neither of you has said aloud. “Yeah. Let’s get started.”

But as you begin to pull out your Herbology notes and you start discussing the plants and the key terms for the exam, the words seem almost secondary.

The way your fingers brush against his when you hand him a diagram. The way your laughter makes him feel like he’s somehow stumbled into a world he wasn’t prepared for but doesn’t want to leave. Everything feels just a little more alive, a little more charged than it ever has before.

And as Theo looks at you again—at the calm, effortless way you move through the conversation—he realizes that what he thought was just a favor for a Herbology exam is turning into something much more… complicated. And for the first time in a long time, he’s not sure he’s ready to figure it all out. But something about that uncertainty feels exciting.

#⋆. 𐙚 ˚ yua0ra’s works #slytherin #slytherin boys #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #wizarding world #harry potter #hp fanfic #theo nott #theodore nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott scenarios

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mrsfancyferrari · 7 months ago

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Baby Fever

Summary: OP81 + babysitting a child

Song: Melting · Kali Uchis

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 2.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

It was a sunny Saturday morning when Oscar and you arrived at your sister's house, the soft sound of laughter echoing from within. Today was your day to babysit little Olivia, your sister’s five-month-old daughter.

You had always adored Olivia, with her bright blue eyes and wisps of golden hair that caught the light like spun sugar. But you weren't prepared for what the day would unfold.

As you stepped through the door, the smell of fresh coffee greeted you two, wrapping around you like a warm embrace, and you caught sight of your sister bustling around the kitchen, prepping snacks and leaving last-minute instructions.

The moment felt charged with anticipation. Your sister turned, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, and you felt your heart lift in response.

“Hey! You guys are right on time!” she said, beaming at you two. “Olivia has been waiting for you!”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I hope she’s not too much trouble,” you said, glancing over at Oscar, who had just caught sight of the little one.

His face lit up with joy, and a sense of warmth filled the room.

“Oh, she’s a delight,” your sister reassured you, her voice brimming with affection. “But she can be a handful when she wants to be!”

You two made your way to the living room, where Olivia was nestled in a playpen, surrounded by colorful toys that seemed to dance with life. Each toy was a vibrant splash of color, a cheerful invitation for play.

As soon as Olivia spotted Oscar, her face lit up with excitement, a burst of pure, unfiltered joy.

“Look at that!” you exclaimed, nudging Oscar playfully. “She’s smitten with you already!”

“Hey there, little princess!” Oscar cooed, crouching down to Olivia’s level. His voice was soft and gentle, and it sent a flutter through your stomach—a reminder of the simple, profound magic that occurs when love is shared.

Olivia squealed in delight, waving her tiny arms and kicking her little legs in a frenzy of happiness. It was a sight that melted your heart, igniting a warmth that spread throughout your being.

You couldn’t help but grab your phone and snap a picture of Oscar leaning into the playpen, his eyes full of warmth and affection.

“C’mon, smile for the camera!” you said, trying to contain your own excitement, feeling the rush of happiness bubble within you.

Oscar glanced up, a playful grin on his face. “Is this going on your Instagram? I better look good!”

“Oh, don’t worry. You look adorable,” you teased, capturing the moment forever in digital form.

“Can you send me that later? I need to update my profile pic,” he chuckled, returning his attention to Olivia, who was now trying to grab his finger, her tiny grip conveying a strength beyond her size.

You and Oscar spent the next few hours immersed in Olivia's world, playing with her as if she were the sun and you two were the planets, spinning around her light.

Oscar was surprisingly great with her, holding her securely while making silly faces and sounds that sent ripples of laughter cascading from her lips. Olivia giggled, her laughter ringing like the sweetest music—a melody that filled the space around you and made everything feel right.

“Wow, you’ve got a talent for this,” you said, watching as he expertly balanced her on his knee, his hands cradling her tiny frame with such care. “Have you done this before?”

“Not a lot,” he replied, his cheeks flushing slightly. “But I guess it just comes naturally when you’re around a cutie like her.”

“Oh, so you think she’s cute?” you teased, leaning closer to them, the playful banter weaving a tapestry of connection between you two.

“Of course! But you’re cuter,” he said, giving you a cheeky wink, and your heart raced at the exchange, at the ease with which he moved between playful flirtation and sincere affection.

You rolled your eyes playfully, but inside, you felt a warmth spread through you, a glow that lingered long after his words. As the day went on, you found yourself taking more pictures, wanting to capture every fleeting moment of joy.

There was something so tender about Oscar gently bouncing Olivia on his knee or the way he would rock her to sleep, humming a tune softly, the sound melding seamlessly with the soft hum of the world outside.

“I think she’s ready for a nap,” Oscar said, glancing down at the baby, who was now starting to rub her eyes, tiny fists balled in the universal sign of sleepiness.

“Yeah, I think so too,” you agreed, feeling a sense of purpose as you two moved to put her down. “Let’s put her in her crib.”

Oscar followed your lead, and you worked together seamlessly, like a well-rehearsed duet. He carefully laid Olivia down, tucking her in with her favorite blanket while you dimmed the lights, creating a cocoon of comfort.

As she drifted off, you noticed the way Oscar’s expression softened, a hint of wonder in his eyes.

“Look at her,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “She’s perfect.”

“She really is,” you agreed, feeling a tug at your heart. “You’re really good with her, Oscar. I can see you being a great dad one day.”

He turned to you, surprise flashing across his face. “You think so?”

“Definitely,” you said, biting your lip to suppress a grin. “You’ve got the whole caring thing down. Just look at you!”

Oscar chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair, the gesture endearing in its familiarity. “Well, I’m glad you think so. I guess spending a day with Olivia isn’t so bad.”

Once Olivia was sound asleep, you retreated to the kitchen, where you two prepared a quick lunch. The atmosphere was light and easy, filled with the gentle clatter of dishes and the sweet sound of laughter.

As you ate, the conversation flowed effortlessly, like a river finding its course.

“So, do you want kids someday?” you asked, more curious than you realized. It was a question that hung in the air, a thread connecting your hearts in this intimate moment.

He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Yeah, I think so. Maybe a couple. How about you?”

“I’ve always wanted a family,” you admitted, surprised at your own candidness, your heart racing as you shared you thoughts. “But I guess I never thought about it too much until today.”

“Why today?” he asked, leaning forward, clearly intrigued, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

You shrugged, a little shyly. “I don’t know. I just see how good you are with Olivia, and it kind of makes me think...”

“Think what?” he pressed gently, his eyes searching yours, a mix of wonder and warmth enveloping you two.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a little one of our own one day,” you confessed, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, the weight of your words lingering between you two.

Oscar’s smile widened, and he reached across the table, taking your hand in his, a gesture that felt monumental in its simplicity. “Well, I’d be honored if we got to do that together someday.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought, and you squeezed his hand, a grin spreading across your face, a feeling of belonging blooming within you. “Yeah, me too.”

As the afternoon wore on and Olivia woke up, you found yourselves wrapped up in her giggles once again. It was a day filled with joy, laughter, and an unexpected revelation about your future together.

By the end of it, as Oscar and you watched Olivia play, you felt a longing in your heart that you hadn’t anticipated—a longing for a family and perhaps for a life with Oscar that included more than just babysitting your sister's baby.

This little adventure had opened a door you didn't know existed, and it felt like the start of something profound.

As you snapped one last picture of Oscar and Olivia, their faces illuminated with joy, you couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of something beautiful, a story waiting to unfold—one where laughter, love, and the pitter-patter of tiny feet might one day fill your home, creating memories that would last a lifetime.

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the cozy living room as the cheerful tunes of Cocomelon filled the air. You were nestled into the couch, a warm blanket draped over you and your boyfriend, Oscar, as Olivia gurgled and babbled in your arms.

The sweet smell of baby lotion lingered around you, and the world outside seemed to fade away, the chaotic hum of daily life replaced by the serene rhythm of laughter and animated melodies.

In this intimate cocoon, time felt suspended, as if you were in a little world of your own—a beautiful sanctuary where nothing else mattered but the warmth of your family and the joy radiating from a baby’s laughter.

“This is the life,” Oscar murmured, glancing down at the baby who was enthralled by the animated characters dancing across the screen.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer, and you could feel the tenderness in his touch. “I could get used to this.” His voice was soft, laced with affection, and it made your heart flutter.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “Me too. I mean, look at her. She’s adorable.” You gently bounced Olivia on your knee, eliciting a giggle from the little one, a sound so pure and delightful that it seemed to resonate deep within your soul.

Her bright eyes sparkled with excitement, reflecting the colorful images dancing on the screen, and in that moment, you felt an overwhelming surge of love and protectiveness over this tiny being.

“She really is,” Oscar said, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on Olivia’s forehead. “You’re the cutest little munchkin in the whole wide world, aren’t you?”

Olivia clapped her tiny hands in response, her eyes sparkling with delight, a captivating sight that filled the room with an infectious energy.

The peaceful atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the front door creaking open, the familiar sound that signaled the arrival of your sister, Claire.

She walked in, her arms filled with grocery bags, a picture of bustling energy. As she caught sight of the scene in the living room, a broad grin broke across her face, illuminating her features.

“Wow, you two already look the part!” she exclaimed, setting her bags down on the table with a flourish. “Should I be worried about leaving you alone with her?” There was a teasing lilt in her voice, an underlying sense of pride mingling with her playful skepticism.

You chuckled, looking up at your sister, your heart swelling with warmth. “We’ve got it under control! Right, babe?” You directed the question at Oscar, who nodded vigorously, his eyes sparkling with determination.

“Absolutely,” Oscar replied, his voice filled with confidence. “We make a great team.” The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and you felt a sense of unity and shared purpose envelop you both.

“Are you sure you don’t need us to take care of her for a little longer?” you begged, tightening your hold on Olivia as she reached out for your hair, her tiny fingers tangling in the strands.

The innocent curiosity of a child always seemed to capture your heart, igniting a desire to protect and nurture.

Claire raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “You know you can’t keep her forever, right?” The playful challenge in her voice made you laugh, a sound filled with playful defiance.

“I mean, we could if we really wanted to,” you said, playfully sticking your tongue out at her. “Look at how much fun we’re having! Cuddling, watching shows, and—”

“And learning all about the joys of diaper changing?” Claire interjected, her voice dripping with sarcasm, making you burst into laughter.

“Okay, maybe we don’t have that part down just yet,” Oscar admitted, glancing at you with a smirk, and the lightheartedness of the moment made your heart feel light. “But we can handle it. We’ve been practicing our ‘baby talk’ and everything.”

“Baby talk?” Claire laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s a skill you need to master. But it’s sweet you’re both so eager.”

You smiled at Oscar, feeling a rush of affection for him. “I really am grateful you decided to come with me to babysit. It’s nice to see you in this light.” The sincerity in your voice resonated with the deeper emotions swirling around in your chest.

Oscar looked a bit flustered but pleased, his cheeks tinting slightly with a hint of pink. “Well, it’s nice to see you in this light too. You’re a natural.” The compliment washed over you like a warm wave, igniting a spark of joy and validation.

“Okay, okay, enough with the mushy stuff!” Claire teased, plopping down onto the couch beside you, breaking the moment with her playful interruption. “I just came from the store, and I brought some treats. How about a snack break?”

“Please tell me you brought cookies!” you said, your eyes lighting up at the prospect of a sweet indulgence.

The thought of chocolate chip cookies brought a flood of childhood memories, evoking a sense of nostalgia that made you yearn for those simpler days.

“Of course! But you have to share with Olivia,” Claire replied, winking at her niece. “The more sugar, the more energy, right?”

You groaned playfully, feigning horror. “Oh no, we’ll never get her to sleep!” The thought of a hyperactive Olivia was amusing, and you could already envision the chaotic giggles and squeals that would ensue.

“That’s what makes it fun!” Oscar chimed in, clearly enjoying the lighthearted banter. “More giggles, less sleep!” His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and you couldn’t help but laugh, caught up in the camaraderie of the moment.

Claire started unpacking her bags, revealing an array of snacks: cookies, fruit snacks, and juice boxes. As she handed you a cookie, you took a bite, savoring the rich chocolate melting in your mouth.

“Delicious!” you declared, grabbing another one before Olivia could spot them. But Olivia had already caught sight of the brightly colored juice boxes and was reaching out for one, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Looks like we’ve got a little juice thief on our hands,” Claire said, chuckling as you quickly grabbed a juice box for Olivia. “Here you go, little one,” you said, handing it over.

Olivia squealed in delight, her tiny hands clasping the juice box, and you watched in pure joy as she took her first sip, her little face lighting up with joy that seemed to radiate around the room.

“See? We’re perfect at this,” you said, feeling a swell of pride as Olivia squeaked and wiggled with excitement.

Oscar leaned back against the couch, watching you with admiration, his gaze softening as it met yours.

“I could definitely get used to this family dynamic,” he said quietly, his words carrying a weight that made your heart flutter.

“Me too,” you replied, your heart swelling with warmth.

The joy of the moment made you realize that this was more than just babysitting; it was a glimpse into a future you both could build together, a shared vision that filled you with hope and longing.

As Olivia continued to giggle and bounce in your lap, you exchanged a knowing look with Oscar, a silent agreement passing between you.

This was just the beginning of many more beautiful moments to come, a preview of the laughter, the joy, and the unbreakable bond that family could create.

In the warmth of that living room, surrounded by the comforting presence of your loved ones, you felt a profound sense of belonging and the thrilling promise of a life filled with love and laughter ahead.

“So about that baby fever of yours?” Oscar whispers, leaning in closer, his breath tickling your ear. You feel a shiver run down your spine as he presses himself against you.

“What? Do you have it too?” you tease, your heart racing slightly as you turn to look at him, your playful smile lighting up your face.

He nods, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe I do. Maybe I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

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iitslera · 7 days ago

Text

lights, camera... censored. ✶ LN4

english isn’t my first language, Lando x Photographer!Reader, nsfw : minors do not interact !!, dom!Lando, Praise Kink

── ✦ ──

Working with McLaren was never part of the plan. But a personal offer from their creative team for a special portrait campaign raw, stripped-down, human landed you in the center of Formula 1, camera in hand, nerves in your throat.

Your job was simple: capture the drivers outside the suits, without helmets or egos. Just skin, expression, honesty.

That’s when you met him.

Lando Norris.

No shirt. Still damp from the shower. Sitting on a stool. Looking right into your lens.

"Are you gonna shoot or just stare all day?" he asked, voice low, eyes full of mischief.

You didn’t respond.

You just clicked the shutter. Once. Twice. Three times.

"You know," he added, shifting forward slightly, "I’m no photographer, but it seems like you’re getting... distracted."

You swallowed.

He noticed. And he smiled.

Not the PR smile. Not the fan smile. The other one. The one that felt like a secret. Like an invitation.

"Look to the side," you murmured, steadying the lens again.

"Like this?" He tilted his head just enough to show his jawline.

"Pull the shirt up a little," you added, too fast.

He obeyed slowly. The fabric lifted to reveal a toned stomach, glistening with water that hadn’t dried yet. Drops slid down toward the waistband of his pants.

Click.

"You’re blushing," he said, smirking. "Cute."

"I’m working," you replied, pretending your hands weren’t shaking.

"And I’m cooperating,” he said, hopping off the stool and walking right toward you. “But if you want, we can switch roles.”

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

He stepped closer, way too close, bracing one hand on the wall beside your face.

"One more shot," he said. "Then it’s your turn to pose for me."

Your breath hitched.

"Are you flirting with me?"

"And if I am?" His voice dropped, mouth just a few inches from yours. "You gonna run and hide behind your little lens? Or are you gonna put it down... and see what else I can do with my hands?"

Your camera was the only thing between you. Lando reached up, gently lowering it, and placed it on the desk behind you.

"You’ve been undressing me with your eyes since Tuesday," he murmured. "Don’t make me ask you to touch me, too."

Your body was already burning.

"One more photo," you whispered.

"Before I kiss you? Or after?"

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was urgent. Unapologetic. His hand gripped your waist as the other threaded into your hair, lips crashing against yours like he was done pretending.

Your back met the wall. Your body arched. Your breath disappeared into his mouth. Fingers curled into his shirt as he pulled you closer, so close you felt the heat from his skin and the tension in his muscles. His shirt came off with a single tug, flung somewhere you’d forget to care about.

His lips trailed down your neck. "You’re shaking," he said against your skin.

"I’m trying to breathe."

He laughed darkly. "Don’t. Moan for me instead." He kissed you again, slow and deep, before lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. Your skirt slid up as his hands traveled along your thighs.

"Do you really think I’m gonna behave after the way you’ve been looking at me all week?" he asked, fingers teasing the hem of your underwear.

"I didn’t misbehave."

"No," he said, biting your lip. "But you’re about to beg me to."

His mouth met your body like he’d been waiting for it forever.

He kissed along your inner thighs, soft and unhurried, until you were trembling. Then his tongue found you warm, slow, sure and you couldn’t hold back the sound that left you.

Your head dropped back. Fingers tangled in his curls. Legs tightening around him. He grinned against your skin. "So wet for me already," he murmured, voice hoarse. "You’ve been needing this, huh?"

"Lando—" you gasped.

"Yeah, say my name again. I wanna hear how it sounds when you come undone." His mouth worked magic tongue moving in circles, lips closing around your clit just right. Then his fingers joined in. One. Then two. Stretching you slowly, deeply, until your hips bucked toward him and you cried out.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t rush. He devoured you.

And when the orgasm hit, it was like fire. You shattered on his tongue, back arching, thighs shaking. He held you through it, licking you softly, kissing your thighs like you were the only thing that existed.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he whispered, wiping his mouth with his thumb.

You pulled him up by the shoulders and kissed him hard, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hand reached for his belt. He hissed softly when your fingers brushed him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, forehead to yours.

"I want you, Lando," you said. "Since the moment I took that first damn picture." He grinned.

"Good. ‘Cause I’m not planning to stop." He pressed you back gently on the table, aligning his hips with yours. When he pushed in slow, deep, deliberate you felt everything. He groaned softly against your ear.

"Fuck... you feel so good." Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your hands clutched his back. Every thrust was calculated, like everything else he did on track. Steady. Focused. Devastating.

"You’re perfect for me," he whispered, nipping at your collarbone. "So tight. So fucking warm. You were made for this."

The rhythm built his body rocking into yours, his name falling from your lips again and again as pressure bloomed between your hips.

"I wanna hear you say it," he growled, breath shaky. "Say you’re mine."

"I’m yours," you moaned. "All yours."

That broke him.

His movements grew rougher, needier, one hand on your thigh as he drove into you, the other tangled in your hair. You were already coming again, body clenching around him, your vision white-hot as he grunted your name and came deep inside you.

Both of you froze. Breathing. Shaking. Wrapped around each other like you’d never let go.

After a few quiet minutes, he kissed your forehead.

"You okay?" You nodded with a tired smile.

"Better than I expected to be when I walked into this studio." He laughed, low and sweet.

"Definitely more than just a photoshoot." You looked at him still shirtless, skin flushed, chest rising.

"And this… what does this mean?"

Lando ran his fingers down your spine, grounding you. "It means you’re gonna be taking a lot more photos of me," he whispered, kissing your jaw. "And that I’m done pretending you’re just the girl behind the lens."

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solxamber · 8 months ago

Text

The Fairest of Them All || Vil Schoenheit

You've chosen Vil!

Navigating the chaos of Night Raven College, you somehow end up stealing the heart of Pomefiore’s untouchable Housewarden.

w.c: 5.3k

1k Masterlist ; Prologue

It’s the night of the opera, and you’re anxiously adjusting your outfit for what feels like the hundredth time. Vil had invited you—Vil Schoenheit, the epitome of elegance and poise—and you’d spent hours ensuring you looked halfway decent next to someone so effortlessly perfect.

When the knock at the door comes, you barely manage to keep yourself from sprinting to open it. And there he is.

Vil stands on your doorstep, dressed in formal wear that could kill a victorian child, his golden hair tied back with precision that seems almost unfair to the rest of humanity. A soft scent of bergamot and cedar follows him, making your brain stutter.

Your jaw goes slack, and you freeze, blatantly staring like a deer caught in headlights. You’re trying to say something, anything, but the only thing leaving your mouth is the sound of air escaping your lungs.

Vil’s lips twitch into the faintest smirk. “Good evening,” he says smoothly, clearly noticing your state. His eyes sweep over your outfit, and he nods in approval. “You’ve done well. You look rather lovely tonight.”

“Uh-huh,” you manage to squeak, still staring. Internally, you’re screaming: What do you mean rather? Lovely?? Have you looked in a mirror recently?!!

He gestures toward the waiting car. “Shall we?”

You nod dumbly, closing the door behind you before following him to the sleek black vehicle parked outside.

The interior of the car is as polished as Vil himself, the soft leather seats and faint glow of the dashboard making it feel like you’ve stepped into another world. You try to focus on the excitement of the opera, but the quiet presence of Vil next to you is making that exceedingly difficult.

As the car glides through the city, your hands brush accidentally, a fleeting touch that sends a little jolt through you. You glance at him, expecting him to pull away or comment, but he doesn’t even blink. If anything, his expression softens, his gaze fixed out the window.

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage, and slowly slip your hand into his.

Vil raises an eyebrow ever so slightly, but his grip tightens around yours, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Excited, are we?” he murmurs, the corners of his lips tugging upward in that signature, knowing smirk of his.

You nod quickly, your heart pounding. “Yeah! I mean, it’s my first opera. I don’t want to miss a second of it.”

“Good,” he says, his voice a touch softer. “You’ll appreciate it more than most.” He pauses, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “And… it’s refreshing to share it with someone who isn’t afraid to show their enthusiasm.”

You smile at that, feeling a little less nervous and a lot more giddy.

The grand opera house is breathtaking, its towering marble columns and gilded details glowing under the warm lights. You almost trip on the stairs trying to take it all in. Vil’s hand at your elbow steadies you.

“Careful,” he says lightly, his lips quirking in amusement. “I’d rather not have our evening interrupted by a sprained ankle.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, your face heating up as you let him guide you to your seats.

The opera begins, and it’s as magical as you imagined. The singers’ voices soar, weaving a story so full of emotion you feel like you’re holding your breath half the time. But despite the beauty on stage, you find your attention drifting.

To him.

Vil sits beside you, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the stage lights. He’s transfixed, his violet eyes glittering as they follow the performers. He’s utterly ethereal, and you’re entirely doomed.

When he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, your gaze snaps back to the stage so fast you almost give yourself whiplash. But you can still feel him looking at you, and when you sneak another glance, you catch the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

Your heart does a little flip.

It's time for the intermission and you slowly stretch out your legs.

“Let’s take a walk,” Vil suggests as the lights come up. You nod, following him out of the auditorium and into the grand halls of the opera house.

The murals lining the walls are stunning, vivid depictions of myth and music that seem almost alive under the flickering chandeliers. Vil walks beside you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back to guide you through the crowd.

It’s subtle, effortless, and completely unfair. You’re hyper-aware of the warmth of his touch, the gentle pressure that somehow manages to make your brain short-circuit.

“Relax,” he murmurs, leaning closer so only you can hear. His breath brushes against your ear, and you nearly trip over your own feet. “You’re walking like you’re in a dream.”

“I feel like I am in a dream,” you blurt, before immediately regretting it.

Vil chuckles, a soft, genuine sound that makes your stomach flutter. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He pauses in front of one particularly grand mural, his hand lingering at your back as he studies it. You glance up at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he takes in the artwork.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, though you’re not entirely sure you’re still talking about the mural.

“It is,” he agrees, his gaze flickering down to meet yours. “Though not nearly as much as some things.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and judging by the amused glint in his eyes, he’s thoroughly enjoying your reaction.

The show ends, and you’re still buzzing from the experience as you climb into the car. You hum the aria under your breath, the melody still fresh in your mind.

Vil sits beside you, one arm resting casually against the window as he watches you with quiet amusement.

“You enjoyed it, then?” he asks, though it’s clear he already knows the answer.

“Are you kidding? That was amazing!” you say, turning to him with a wide grin. “I mean, the costumes, the singing, the—”

You stop mid-sentence as Vil leans in, his face so close you can feel the warmth of his skin.

Your heart skips a beat. “W-What are you—?”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. “You’re a mess,” he says, though his tone is far too fond for the words to carry any bite.

He leans back, smirking at your flustered expression. You can practically feel the heat radiating off your face as you bury it in your hands.

Vil walks you to your doorstep, the moonlight casting a soft glow over his features. He looks so effortlessly regal, so infuriatingly perfect, and you know you’re going to be replaying this night in your head for weeks.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say, turning to him with a smile. “I had a great time.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he replies, his voice smooth as ever.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you take his hand, pressing a quick kiss to the back of it. “Goodnight, Vil.”

You dart inside before you can see his reaction, but as you peek through the curtains, you catch him standing there, a small, genuine smile on his lips.

And just like that, your night feels even more magical.

The evening starts peacefully at Ramshackle, with you sitting on the couch, Grim sprawled on your lap, and a carton of apple juice in hand. The tranquility is shattered by what sounds like a battering ram hitting the door.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“HENCHUMAN!” Grim screeches, bolting upright and scrambling toward the door. “Somebody’s tryin’ ta demolish our house!”

“Calm down, Grim!” you shout, rushing to the door. As you open it, you find Epel standing there, out of breath, his hair disheveled like he’s been running for his life.

“EP—”

“I NEED SANCTUARY!” Epel cries, practically diving inside before slamming the door behind him. “Please, hide me! Don’t let him find me!”

You blink at him, baffled. “What—who—huh?”

Grim squints up at Epel, unimpressed. “What’d ya do this time, farm boy?”

“I didn’t do nothin’! Vil’s gone mad again! He wants me to do some eight-step skincare ritual with somethin’ called snail mucin!” Epel flops onto the couch dramatically. “SNAILS, Prefect. SNAILS. I don’t wanna look like no slimy critter!”

You try to keep a straight face, but it’s impossible. “Epel, you know he’s just trying to help, right?”

Epel grabs a carton of apple juice from the table and downs some of it like it's vodka. “Help? Help turn me into a snail, maybe!”

Grim nods sagely. “Yeah, I dunno what a ‘mucin’ is, but it sounds slimy.”

The atmosphere is almost cozy again as the three of you sit around, sipping juice and joking around. But then it happens.

Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

This knock isn’t like Epel’s desperate pounding. This knock is sharp, precise, and terrifyingly composed.

Grim lets out a dramatic gasp. “IT’S HIM!”

Epel pales. “Don’t open it. Please don’t open it!”

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you cautiously crack the door open. Sure enough, there stands Vil Schoenheit, looking like he just stepped out of a photoshoot, his expression as serene as a summer lake—but with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Good evening,” Vil greets you with a polite smile. “Would you kindly return my wayward dorm member?”

You glance over your shoulder at Epel, who is shaking his head violently and mouthing, “Don’t you dare!”

“Uh,” you begin, already feeling trapped. “I mean… what if—what if he just stayed here for tonight?”

Vil raises an elegant brow. “I see. Is that how it’s going to be?” He steps inside with the grace of a cat, his gaze shifting from you to Epel. “I’m sure you think you’re very clever.”

“Lemme be free,” Epel whines, hiding behind the couch. “I ain’t ready for snails on my face!”

Vil’s smile turns sharp. “Snail mucin is a highly effective hydrator, but if you insist on being dramatic…” He turns to you, his eyes narrowing in thought. “You. Are you willing to try the skincare regimen in his place?”

“Me?” You blink, startled.

Epel perks up from behind the couch. “YES. TAKE THEM!”

Vil tilts his head. “If you’re willing, I’m confident I can achieve better results from a subject who isn’t fighting me at every turn.”

You shrug. “Sure, why not?”

Before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, Vil has looped an arm through yours, gracefully pulling you out the door. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

Epel waves dramatically from the window. “Bless ya, Prefect! I owe ya big time!”

Grim just yells after you, “DON’T LET HIM TURN YA INTO A SNAIL!”

Pomefiore is somehow both intimidating and gorgeous at night, much like Vil himself. He leads you to a lavishly decorated room that smells faintly of lavender and something you can’t quite place but know costs more than your monthly groceries.

Vil gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling slightly like a sacrificial lamb.

“This won’t hurt,” he says smoothly, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, sit still.”

You expect him to just slap some moisturizer on your face and call it a day, but no. Vil moves with precision and care, his fingers brushing gently over your skin as he applies cleanser, toner, and a series of serums that feel more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.

“This feels… nice,” you mumble, your eyelids growing heavier.

Vil hums, clearly pleased with himself. “Of course it does. Skincare is an art.”

Somewhere between step five and six, you lose the battle against sleep, dozing off in the chair.

You stir awake to find Vil leaning over you, his gaze soft and almost… fond. He’s saying something about your skin glowing, but you’re too distracted by the feeling of being watched so intently.

“Vil?” you murmur groggily.

“Yes?” he replies, his voice softer than usual.

Your eyes narrow slightly as you sit up, noticing something on your cheek. “Uh… did you kiss me?”

Vil freezes for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. His usual composure slips, and he hurriedly swipes at your cheek with a handkerchief. “Don’t be absurd,” he says, but his tone is unusually flustered.

Except.

You glance at his lips, where the faintest smudge of lipstick is visible. “Riiiiiight.”

Vil notices where your gaze has landed and turns away, busying himself with the jars on the counter. “You’re imagining things.”

You smile, a teasing glint in your eye. “If you say so.”

But as he ushers you out of Pomefiore with a distracted wave and a faint blush dusting his cheeks, you know you’ve won this round.

The morning starts off with a buzz of activity at the botanical gardens. Vil, ever the professional, has arranged an elaborate photoshoot in the serene greenery. Props were meticulously placed, outfits were prepared, and lighting setups were already stationed. Vil even allowed himself to feel something akin to satisfaction.

That is, until afternoon rolls around.

Unbeknownst to Vil, the chaos trio (Ace, Deuce, Grim) and Jack had wandered into the gardens earlier for what they dubbed “a little harmless fun.” What they actually managed to do was:

Accidentally tip over a giant fountain while trying to see if Grim could swim (spoiler alert: he can’t).

Start a “friendly” game of tag that ended with Ace tripping over a prop table, sending vases and floral arrangements flying like shrapnel.

Release a flock of doves intended for Vil’s grand finale by opening the wrong cage ("I wanted to see if they could do tricks!" Ace insists as Deuce facepalms).

Grim, somehow, set a bush on fire. Jack put it out, but the smell of burnt shrubbery lingers ominously in the air.

By the time Vil arrives, the scene looks like a tornado hit. The once-pristine gardens are a disaster zone. Props are broken, flowers are trampled, and there's a trail of muddy footprints leading in every direction.

Vil steps into the carnage, his designer boots squelching in mud. His expression is eerily calm at first, but the sharp inhale he takes speaks volumes. He surveys the devastation with a look that could wilt the few surviving flowers.

“My vision,” he whispers, his voice tight with suppressed rage.

You stand beside him, trying not to laugh because you’ve never seen him this close to a meltdown.

“Vil,” you say cautiously, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s not that bad—”

“Not that bad?!” he snaps, whirling on you. “Look around! This isn’t a photoshoot location; it’s a war zone!”

From the corner of your eye, you spot Cater peeking in, phone out, clearly recording the unfolding drama. You make a mental note to confiscate it later.

Vil pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself, “I should have known better. Trusting anything to others. Utter folly.”

“You’re gonna burst a blood vessel,” you warn him, earning a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“Alright, alright,” you say, rolling up your sleeves. “Stop sulking and help me salvage this.”

Vil blinks at you, incredulous. “Salvage? You can’t possibly—”

“Watch me.”

With that, you march into the chaos. You grab what props can be salvaged, rearrange a few backdrops, and even craft makeshift decorations out of the remaining flowers and ribbons.

Vil watches in stunned silence as you hustle, barking orders at a very confused Sebek, who you dragged out of the equestrian club to help.

“Sebek, I need that saddle cleaned now!” you shout.

Sebek grumbles, muttering something about “desecrating noble horse equipment for frivolity,” but obeys when you glare at him.

Within the hour, you’ve transformed a patch of ruined garden into a new set: a rustic, equestrian-inspired photoshoot featuring horses. Vil looks around, stunned, as you pat one of the horses on the neck.

“Well?” you say, wiping sweat from your brow. “It’s not the flower themed you started off with, but it’ll work, right?”

Vil stares at you, a strange softness in his eyes. “...It’s perfect.”

The photoshoot goes off without a hitch. Vil looks flawless as ever, draped elegantly across a horse in one shot and holding its reins with regal authority in another. You even manage to convince Sebek to lend Vil his equestrian jacket for a dramatic flair.

As you predicted, the photos break the internet. The combination of Vil Schoenheit and majestic horses sends fans into a frenzy. “A SUPERMODEL AND HORSES??? THE WORLD ISN’T READY FOR THIS!” one comment reads.

But what really goes viral isn’t the official photos. It’s a video Cater secretly took of Vil watching you as you worked to save the shoot.

In the video, Vil stands in the background, holding a bouquet prop. His usual composed expression is nowhere to be seen—he’s looking at you with undisguised fondness, like you’re the only person in the world. The caption?

“The real shoot is happening behind the scenes #VilSmittenheit”

When you show Vil the video later, he groans and buries his face in his hands. “Of course Cater would...”

But you just smile, because even Vil can’t deny the truth caught on camera.

The potionology exam looms like a thundercloud, and you’ve made the questionable decision to study with the first-year gang. It feels like babysitting a tornado of chaos.

You’ve got your notebook out, ready to tackle the mysteries of potion ratios and ingredient compatibility. Then you look up.

Ace, Deuce, and Grim are locked in a heated debate over whether it’s morally acceptable to substitute powdered phoenix feather with breadcrumbs.

“Grim, breadcrumbs aren’t even magical!” Jack groans, rubbing his temples.

Grim huffs, waving a paw dismissively. “It’s got crunch! Everything’s better with crunch!”

“Breadcrumbs in a potion?!” Sebek barks, slamming his fist on the table. “Such idiocy would never occur in Lord Malleus’s presence! Do you know the kind of potions he could make? Far superior to this nonsense!”

Epel, slouched in his chair, mutters, “What’s the point of potionology when you can just punch your problems or fly away?”

“Guys,” Jack says, his patience clearly thinning. “We need to focus! We’re all going to fail if we don’t—”

“I’M NOT FAILING!” Sebek bellows.

“Then stop talking about Malleus for five minutes!” Ace snaps.

You close your notebook. You know when to admit defeat. You’re getting nothing done here.

Plan B: The Vil Schoenheit Method

You march straight to Vil in Pomefiore. He’s seated in his lavish lounge, sipping tea and reading a book on advanced alchemical techniques that makes your brain hurt just by looking at it.

“Vil, help me,” you say, dropping dramatically to your knees like you’re auditioning for a tragedy. “I’m going to flunk potionology, and I can’t rely on Ace, Deuce, or Grim because they’ve got the collective intelligence of a soggy paper towel.”

Vil arches an eyebrow, clearly amused. “And why should I help you?”

“Because you’re the best potionologist I know,” you plead. “And because I’ll owe you one. A big one. I’ll even—” You pause for dramatic effect. “—tell you where Epel is when he runs away.”

Vil narrows his eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, but your desperation is mildly entertaining. Fine. But I won’t go easy on you.”

You gulp.

Vil is intense. He doesn’t just teach you potionology; he micromanages your existence.

“Back straight,” he snaps, tapping your spine with a ruler. “You’re hunched over like a gremlin. And stop stirring like you’re mixing pancake batter. Precision is key!”

You mutter something about gremlins under your breath, but Vil hears it. “I can make this more difficult if you’d like,” he says with a sweet yet menacing smile.

He quizzes you relentlessly, correcting every little mistake with the sharpness of a dagger. “If you confuse Mandrake extract with Mandragora root one more time, I’ll have Rook carry you back to Ramshackle while reciting a poem about your incompetence.”

But by the end of it, you’ve actually learned. You’re tired, your hands smell like sulfur, and your posture is permanently straightened, but you’ve learned.

You ace the exam. You don’t just pass; you get one of the highest scores in the class.

“THAT’S MY HENCHHUMAN!” Grim crows, puffing his chest out like he took the test himself. “We’re unstoppable!”

Ace and Deuce, however, are staring at you like you’ve just revealed you’re a double agent.

“You went to Vil for help?!” Ace squawks. “That’s betrayal! Treason! You’re a traitor to the First-Year Study Group™!”

“You think you know someone,” Deuce adds solemnly, shaking his head.

“It’s not my fault you two were trying to use breadcrumbs in a potion!” you fire back.

“That’s not the point!”

Ignoring their melodrama, you bolt to Pomefiore to thank Vil.

Vil is sitting by the window, gazing out at the gardens with a cup of tea in hand. He looks up as you burst in, all smiles and gratitude.

“Vil!” you exclaim, practically skipping toward him. “I passed! Thank you so much!”

He raises an elegant eyebrow. “Of course you did. I wasn’t about to waste my time on a lost cause.”

You throw your arms around him in a quick, impulsive hug. “You’re amazing, seriously. I’ll thank you properly later, but for now—” You lean up and kiss him on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

Before Vil can react, you’re already sprinting out the door, leaving him sitting there with a stunned expression.

Moments later, Rook appears, materializing like the cryptid he is. “Ah, Roi du Poison,” he coos, his smile wicked. “You’re absolutely smitten, aren’t you?”

Vil sighs, shaking his head, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Be quiet, Rook.”

“Ah, silence is the language of love!” Rook declares dramatically. “But your face says it all! Mon dieu, how adorable.”

Vil doesn’t even bother denying it. He simply takes another sip of tea, thinking of your smile.

It’s 4 a.m. The witching hour. You’re blissfully cocooned in your blankets, dreaming of peaceful, non-chaotic things, when a sharp tap tap tap jolts you from your slumber. At first, you think it’s your imagination, but the tapping persists, growing louder and more insistent. You crack open one groggy eye, then the other. You blink at the sound’s source.

Your window.

“Window?” you mumble in confusion, still half-asleep. Then you see him. Rook Hunt. Perched precariously on the ledge like some kind of medieval gargoyle but with better fashion sense. He’s waving at you with such enthusiasm you’d think he were auditioning for a cheerleading squad.

Your brain, still booting up, goes: Of course. This is perfectly normal.

Then, a second later: WAIT A MINUTE—WHAT?!

“Rook?” you hiss-whisper, stumbling to the window. “Why are you—” You stop mid-sentence because his face is a mask of sheer panic. “What’s wrong?”

He places a dramatic hand on his chest, his voice trembling with urgency. “Mon amie! It is an emergency of the highest order!”

Heart pounding, you throw open the window. “What happened?! Is someone hurt?! Did something explode?! Is Vil—”

Rook nods gravely. “It is Roi du Poison.”

Your stomach plummets. He doesn’t have to say anything more. If something’s wrong with Vil, you’re going to help. You’re his friend, his confidant, his designated earplug during Rook’s poetic soliloquies.

You don’t hesitate; you grab your coat and shoes and sprint out the door, trailing after Rook, who somehow manages to make a full-on run look like a choreographed ballet.

The journey to Pomefiore is a blur of panic and adrenaline. You’re preparing yourself for the worst. Was Vil poisoned? Did he collapse during some over-the-top skincare ritual? Is it gasp the end of his perfect reign? By the time you burst into Vil’s room, you’re practically on the verge of tears.

“Vil!” you cry, rushing to his bedside. “Are you okay? What’s happening?!”

Vil, propped up against a mountain of silk covered pillows, looks up from his tissue box, pale but undeniably still Vil. His expression is unimpressed, though there’s a faint red tinge to his nose that he’d probably die before admitting to.

“I have a cold,” he says flatly, voice slightly nasal.

You blink. Once. Twice. You slowly turn to look at Rook, who is leaning dramatically against the doorway, one hand over his heart like he’s auditioning for Hamlet.

“A cold?” you echo.

Rook nods solemnly. “Oui! But what is a mere cold to a shining star like Vil? Even the smallest ailment feels like a tragedy!”

Without breaking eye contact, you grab a tissue from Vil’s nightstand and throw it at Rook’s head. He catches it mid-air with a flourish.

“I thought he was dying!” you snap, your voice somewhere between exhausted and hysterical.

Vil sighs deeply, like you’re all inconveniencing him. “Well, I feel like I’m dying,” he mutters, reaching for another tissue with the elegance of a dying swan.

Despite wanting to throttle both Vil and Rook, you stay. Because deep down, you care about Vil (and because Rook is lurking in the shadows, making escape impossible). Armed with tissues, herbal tea, and the resolve of a saint, you declare yourself Vil’s official nurse.

“Do you need anything?” you ask, pulling a blanket higher up his shoulders.

Vil sniffs. “I need… another pillow. This one is too flat.”

You grab another pillow and fluff it to perfection. “Better?”

“No, this one is too fluffy.”

You fight the urge to scream. But you adjust the pillow again. And again. And again.

Moments later:

“This tea is too hot.” You cool it.

“This tea is too cold.” You reheat it.

“This lighting is too harsh.” You dim it.

“This lighting is too dim.” You—wait, what??

For hours, you cater to his every whim with the patience of a saint. Vil complains about the temperature, his blanket, the angle of his tissue box. He’s fussy, demanding, and dramatic, but you take it all in stride.

Why? Because deep down, you know he’d never ask for help unless he really needed it. And because Vil, even at his most irritating, is still someone you care about. Maybe even have a crush on but that's a problem for future you.

Rook occasionally pops in to offer poetic encouragement. You ignore him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Vil falls asleep, his perfect features soft and peaceful. You, however, collapse on the couch in the corner of the room, absolutely spent.

The next morning, Vil wakes up feeling… better. His fever has broken, his headache has subsided, and for the first time in days, he doesn’t feel like his body is actively rebelling against him. He sits up and looks around, finding you passed out on the couch, still clutching a crumpled tissue in one hand.

He notices the dark circles under your eyes, the way you’re curled up in an awkward position, the slight shiver in your frame from not having a blanket. And for the first time, Vil feels something unfamiliar. Guilt. And a deep affection.

As the morning light filters into the room, he glances at you one last time, his expression softening. “Once I recover,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, “I’ll tell you.”

And with that, Vil Schoenheit makes a silent vow. The next time you nurse him through anything, it will be with him as your devoted partner—and not because of a misunderstanding orchestrated by a certain overdramatic huntsman.

It hits you like a truck in the middle of class: you’re in love with Vil Schoenheit.

Not a crush, not admiration—you’re down horrendous. Butterflies are doing pirouettes in your stomach every time he talks to you, and his slightest smile makes you feel like you’ve been hit by a blinding spotlight.

You try denial. (“It’s just his aura. He does this to everyone!”) You try avoidance. (“If I don’t look at him, I can’t fall harder, right?”) But none of it works. Every time he critiques your posture or gives you that sly smirk, it’s game over.

Finally, you give in. “Okay, fine! I’ll confess!” you announce to Grim, who’s lounging on the couch.

“Good luck,” Grim snickers. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I am about to be sick!” you shriek. “This is Vil! What if he laughs? What if he just… stares at me in that terrifying way he does when Epel says something stupid?”

“Then I’ll eat your dinner as consolation,” Grim says, ever supportive.

You prepare like your life depends on it.

Step One: Flowers. You pick out the most gorgeous bouquet, ones that practically scream, I’m hopelessly in love with you, please don’t let me die of embarrassment.

Step Two: A handwritten card. You pour your heart onto the paper with the eloquence of a poet. “You’re incredible,” you write. “Not just because you’re beautiful, but because of your strength, your kindness, and the way you inspire everyone around you. I… I love you.” You almost combust just writing it.

Step Three: Look your best. You pick an outfit that’s just shy of trying too hard and hope it’s enough to make you look like someone worthy of confessing to Vil Schoenheit.

“Alright,” you say, holding your bouquet like it’s a shield. “Here goes nothing.”

“Don’t trip and fall on your face!” Grim calls after you.

You’re halfway to Pomefiore, sweating bullets and trying to remember how to breathe, when you see him.

Vil is walking toward you, dressed impeccably as always, carrying… a bouquet of his own?

Your heart skips several beats, and you’re suddenly extremely nervous—the kind of nervous that makes your palms sweat, your knees weak, and your brain do somersaults. You feel like a malfunctioning automaton.

“Oh,” Vil says, his gaze locking onto you. He stops a few feet away, his eyes flickering between you and the bouquet in your hands. “Out for a stroll?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stammer, gripping your flowers tighter.

Vil tilts his head slightly, and you swear he looks… annoyed? “And the flowers?” he asks, his tone calm but sharp, like a scalpel. “A gift for someone special, perhaps?”

You freeze. “Uh—”

Before you can answer, Vil’s gaze shifts to the card sticking out of your bouquet. He reaches out and plucks it before you can stop him. Your soul briefly leaves your body.

He reads it silently, his face betraying nothing, until—

“Oh.”

His tone is quiet, and you’re horrified to see a flicker of heartbreak in his expression. “I see.”

“Wait! It’s not what it looks like!” you blurt, waving your hand like a maniac. “The flowers are for you! The card is for you! I just… forgot to sign it.”

Vil blinks, his lips parting slightly in surprise. Then, to your immense relief, he chuckles—a soft, melodic sound that sends your heart into a frenzy. “You forgot to sign it?” he repeats, amused.

You nod vigorously, clutching the bouquet like your life depends on it. “I was too busy panicking, okay?!”

Vil shakes his head, his smile widening. “Of course. Only you would confess in such a manner.” He steps closer, his own bouquet now visible. “It seems we had the same idea today.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what he means. “Wait… those flowers…?”

“For you,” Vil says simply. “Though I’ll admit, for a moment, I thought they might be unnecessary.”

You stare at each other, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. Then, Vil takes your bouquet from your trembling hands and replaces it with his own.

“They suit you better,” he murmurs.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, he leans in and presses his lips softly against yours.

The world seems to blur around you, and all you can feel is Vil—his warmth, his scent, the tenderness of his touch. When he pulls back, he’s smiling at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky.

“Let’s not wait so long to be honest with each other next time,” he says softly.

You nod, dazed and giddy. “Y-Yeah, totally.”

As he intertwines his fingers with yours, leading you back toward Ramshackle, you realize one thing: The first year gang is never going to let you live this down.

But to be honest, you really don’t care. Not when Vil Schoenheit is looking at you like you're the only ones left on the planet.

1k Masterlist ; Main Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x you #vil schoenheit #vil #1k event

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loganficsonly · 1 month ago

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hello!!! hope you're have a great day so far!! I was wondering if could you write something with Logan and an easily flustered! reader?? like they get bashful when he does anything sweet and super embarrassed when he's being flirty or touchy with them?? maybe they're a little insecure that he might still have feelings for Jean or think that he could do way better??

thank you for writing in! this is super cute but i think i ended up writing something so fucking debauched, i'm so sorry. this is just straight up porn lmao

i hope you don't mind me taking jean out of the equation too!

first time writing patch!logan >:)

beneath the mask

patch!logan x f!reader, 3.4k WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI please this is nothing but filthy smut!!!, flirting?, patch is a warning, reader has hair and is able-bodied, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), piv, riding, unprotected sex (please be responsible), pet names, not proofread or edited AUTHOR'S NOTE: writing sexy shit is hard eh. anyway, reader is a singer who looks like she can eat a man up and picks her teeth with his bones but is actually super easily flustered. i think i lost the plot towards the end but at least reader and logan get to bang!

Cherry lips croon from behind the silver microphone. Each syllable forms like the slow drip of nectar, lush and perfect and full of promises for those in the audience who have a thirst to quench.

And indeed one could say you’re a tall glass of water, standing on the stage with your hair framing your face like a painting, delicate nails stroking the mic. But with that deep red dress that shines every time you move under the light, it would be more accurate to call you a tall glass of Madripoor’s finest wine.

Coveted. Delicious. Expensive.

The spotlights are blinding, reducing the faces staring up at you into shadowed outlines.

That’s good. Between that darkness and the buzz of a warm drink you had just before the start of your set, nervousness has no place here.

You feel a curl of a smile on your lips. Melancholy melodies from the piano resound beneath your voice. The plucks of a double bass from the back of the stage, in time with soft shuffles of a drum set. The music is slow and languid, and you feel yourself sinking into it as you sing.

There was a boy

A very strange enchanted boy

They said he wandered very far

Very far

Over land and sea…

A figure in white cuts through the bar. There’s no need for words—a drink is placed in front of him swiftly, the caramel-colored liquid refracting in the light, ice clinking against the chilled glass. He sits, facing towards the stage.

One eye trained on you.

Business held him up more than he’d like. He settles down after a burning sip of whiskey, sufficiently satisfied with how he dealt with the problems that caused him to be late for this.

He’d call it a win-win situation. They paid the price. His suit remains crisp, unsullied. You are still singing. Your last song, evidently—Nature Boy is always your closer—but at least he got to hear you and that beautiful voice.

A little shy and sad of eye

But very wise was he

From behind the rim of his glass, he drinks in your figure.

Stunning. The dress betrays your curves, hugging them like second skin. He sees the sinful slit on the side of your thigh, only visible when you move enough. Your hair is down tonight, he notices—a different impression compared to that of your usual updo. Relaxed. Free. No doubt inviting visions of what you would look like with your head on a pillow, hair splayed as you sigh a sultrier tune…

You look like you were destined to doom good men.

Lucky for him, he isn’t a good man.

And then one day

One magic day he passed my way

And we spoke of many things

Fools and kings

This he said to me

Something pulls your eye to the bar, the only illuminated spot in the crowd.

He’s here.

There’s a subtle shiver—your skin reacting to the sight of him. White suit, black bowtie. Always the same colors, always here, watching. The many stares you earn from others don’t stand a chance to the smolder of his single eye. Unlike the rest, you can’t tell what’s on his mind. Maybe that’s why his presence at poker tables is considered a curse.

You thought he wouldn’t show, seeing as he missed almost the entirety of your set. But now that he’s fifty feet away, strong hand wrapped around a glass, you find butterflies in your stomach.

Your eyes meet.

The greatest thing

You’ll ever learn

Is just to love

And be loved in return

A thunderous applause and fifteen minutes later, he finds you on the other end of the bar, surrounded by admirers. They stand a little too close for his liking, but it’s almost part of your job to smile and laugh at them.

He watches as your fingers move up to fix a gentleman’s tie, half-lidded eyes focused on your task. The man tenses in a way that looks all too familiar. You move smoothly to hug an older woman, lips puckered for an air kiss on her cheek. There’s a hand on your jaw, thumb stroking affectionately, and you lean in, basking in the attention.

A hand on your arm. Fingers brushing against yours as they hand you your drink. And eyes, god, eyes that roam over you, barely veiling the wicked thoughts behind them.

You merely give them a small smile. The kind that tells them you know, and that you like it.

If he weren’t any better, he’d be seething, but really he’s the same as they are. Hungry for a drop of you.

But he isn’t angry, or jealous. Can’t be. Not when you catch his eye and cordially murmur your thanks and ‘excuse me’s before parting the crowd, moving towards his seat at the end of the bar.

Of course, knowing who he is, they don’t pursue you.

He stands as you arrive in front of him, eye locked on yours while he brings your knuckles up to his lips. He notices your painted nails, elegant and manicured to resemble little claws that remind him of cats. He smiles.

The brush on your skin feels innocent, but the shudder you try to suppress is anything but.

“You look beautiful as always.”

Maybe it’s your proclivity for music that makes you so sensitive to his voice. It’s deep and rumbly, awakening a longing for you to place your hand on his chest to feel it.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” you reply back softly. He places a hand on your lower back, guiding you to walk with him, likely to one of the private lounges he has access to. Your stride is in time with his as you walk side by side into the velvet-covered hallway.

You can see a slight quirk on his lips, ornamental sconces bathing dim light on his handsome face as he murmurs words only for you to hear.

“How could I ever miss your show, honey?”

It’s always like this with Patch.

A big bouquet of red roses, as if you just made your debut when you’ve in fact done this a hundred times over. They’re placed in a nice vase before he pampers you with the kind of dinner you used to have once every year for a birthday celebration. The conversation that ensues with him is quiet but easy, despite each word hanging heavily with the hidden prospect for more.

Before he leaves, he’d ask you to drink with him. A small amount of something heavy and chilled. Keeping him company. So far you’ve never denied his request—not because you’re intimidated, but because you’re interested.

Tonight is no different, except the two of you are standing, and he’s so close.

He’s as striking as a portrait, white suit cutting a clear silhouette against the dark mahogany walls of the room. Low lights and a thick door grant a sense of isolation while you’re, in fact, still in a public place. He has a hand on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin, and you know the heat that gathers under his touch is not because of the alcohol.

“You know I’m a patient man, don’t you, honey?” he rasps, hungry eyes taking in your face. God, you’re even more perfect up close.

He feels you nod, the gesture a little timid. Something in his chest blooms at the look in your eyes—when it was steady before, cool under the hot spotlights, he can feel a slight change swirling in it. It’s been there, brewing since he closes the door to this room. Blooming when he pays all of his attention to you while you eat.

Nervous. Just from being with him.

He takes a step forward, slowly cornering you into the wall. Your eyes widen slightly as you look up at him. He sees you swallow, breath hitched, a hand on his chest ready to push him away.

When you don’t, his blood sings.

“Patch—”

“It’s just us, sweet thing,” he purrs, correcting you. You exhale a little shakily.

“...Logan.”

He hums, pleased at the sound of your voice calling his name. What he’d do to make you sing it louder, like you’re begging for him—he’s had plenty of dreams where you haunt him with just your voice, cooing, coaxing him to unravel you, to take you—

“Not sure I can be so patient anymore,” he says, his body brushing against yours. A hand rests on your waist, pulling you close. The other that’s on your cheek slides down to your jaw before nestling at the back of your neck, craning your head so you’re looking directly up at him.

“What do you mean?” you whisper, staring at his chin instead. If you looked into his eyes right now, you’d wither.

Lips press against your ear. The touch is undemanding, but firm, warm breath eliciting a gasp from you. Your hand on his chest catches him tensing at the sound.

“Means I want you. Now,” he answers, voice low. His hand on your waist slides down to your hip, tugging you until your breath stops—he’s hard. Your chest heaves.

Pulling away, he looks at you. You wonder what you look like. You feel feverish.

“Will you let me have you?”

A warm, calloused hand slips onto your naked thigh through the slit of your dress, and your knees are so close to buckling. Heels knock into the wall behind you, but there’s nowhere to run.

…do you even want to?

Madripoor is filth dressed up as a gemstone. The city’s deceitfulness is something Logan is accustomed to. He has seen and studied all the ways people lie.

Except for yours. The moment he takes you to the penthouse of the hotel, kissing you senseless against the locked door before carrying you to the bedroom, he feels it. The unraveling of your own brand of trickery.

Senses it through the way you slot your lips against his, how your hands glide softly down his back. He’s been with enough women to know exactly how different you are just by having you like this, under him on his bed while his mouth devours yours.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t see the woman on stage. There’s no surety in your half-lidded eyes, already glazed with desire, and certainly not in the way they avoid his own gaze, looking away over his shoulder.

Hazel eye rakes down your body. Your dress rides up, slit revealing your leg in its entirety. The cowl neck of your outfit reveals a hint of your breasts as you heave with each labored breath.

You are a seductress, just not the kind people think you are.

While you put on your mask, you feed their imaginations with easy smiles and affectionate touches. The picture-perfect illusion of a siren, dangerously alluring.

That same person is crumbling underneath him only after a few deep kisses. Averting your gaze, eyelids fluttering. Blushing.

It drives him wild.

His mouth waters as he hovers above you, still dressed. An animal wearing human clothes. His deception. He uses his hand, directing your gaze at him, smirking at the lost look on your face.

“So fucking pretty for me.”

A palm presses against your breast, lips latching onto your neck as he gets you out of the dress. As gorgeous as you look with it on, he needs to see you bare. He is slow with it, letting the straps fall first, marking the skin of your shoulders, preening as he feels your hands on his back guiding him close.

Then Logan tugs the silky fabric down, revealing your breasts. You move your arms to cover it. He doesn’t let you, grabbing them and pinning your wrists with one hand to keep you still.

“Don’t stare,” you whisper, twisting your body away from him, but that only makes you look more delicious, tits bouncing.

“Oh, honey,” he hums. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you try to shrink.

Makes him want to ruin you even more.

“I’d do whatever you ask me to, but that’s just impossible.”

He leans down, tongue lapping up a hardened peak before he uses his free hand to grab your flesh and sucks. You cry out, writhing beneath him, looking like you’re close to tears. Pleasure floods his veins, making him impatient. Where he was restrained before, he’s all relentless lust now—teeth, tongue, and lips working together to coax more of those gorgeous sounds out of you. He moves to your other breast. God, your moans…

“Logan,” you cry out, and he just about loses it.

“Fuck, you sing amazing, but that sounds even better,” he laughs, letting go of your hands so he can provoke you with both of his. The sight of your tits under his palms, slick with the attention he’s given you, nipples hard… Logan wonders whether this is a special type of heaven.

“Give me more, baby.”

You find yourself doing as you’re told, all kinds of lewd noises escaping your lips. He makes you, playing your body like some kind of instrument he’s long mastered, despite having you for the first time. When the dress comes off you entirely, you squeeze your thighs together, vaguely aware of the sopping mess that’s coalesced in your center.

Logan’s hand parts you, growling.

“No hiding.” He yanks the side of your underwear down, slipping it down your legs before tossing it. Where it lands, he couldn’t care less.

He smells you before he sees you, and his cock twitches. His good eye focuses on the glisten at the apex of your thighs, visible even in the dim light of the bedroom.

“She’s so wet already, honey,” he smiles, zeroing in at your pussy as two fingers come up to play with your folds. You arch your back, groaning. “Just from playing with your tits?”

“A-ah…”

Your thighs clamp together, but his other hand interferes just as quickly, gripping your knee to keep you spread. Fuck, he’s still fully dressed—

“So it’s all just an act? The sensual songstress,” he breathes heavily, slipping his middle finger in, watching you writhe at the sensation. He almost laughs, not out of humor, but from the way your walls clench onto his digit like you don’t want him to ever leave. “Soaked for me—”

“No, it’s not—”

“When was the last time you had a man, then, honey?” he grits, his middle finger all the way inside of you. His cock strains underneath the tent in his pants, eager to have you.

“I d-don’t remember,” you reply, your voice thin and airy.

Ideas flood his head then and there. All the ways he can make you feel good, how loud he can make you scream for him, how he’ll change you, make you want more, make you greedy—

“You’ll remember me after we’re done,” he rumbles, sliding down until your legs bracket his shoulders, head between them.

When his tongue slides up your cunt, you part your lips in a silent scream, before whines slip past your throat. He’s almost conceited in the way he eats you out, so sure, and he’s not wrong to be. Lips tease and kiss until you’re certain your lungs are short on air, all while his finger stretches your insides, reaching a part so deep you’re sure it hasn’t been touched in a long time.

Then one finger becomes two and they pump, slick sounds of your leaking cunt echoing in the room. Your hand flies to his hair, tugging needily. He moans against you, vibrations racking your body with goosebumps.

As he closes his mouth around your clit, fingers ruining you, you sob his name, cum soaking his digits.

That’s only the first one.

Logan sinks his fingers into your pussy, two fingers scissoring you. He hovers over you, mouth against your ear saying all kinds of obscenities while he stretches you in preparation for the real thing.

“Pussy so tight, baby, relax for me,” he growls, feeling you drench his fingers. The slapping sounds of his hand against you grow louder. You moan as he curls inside of you, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. “Wanna make sure my dick fits inside her, yeah?”

“Fuck,” you cry weakly. He grins.

“It’s just my fingers, honey. My cock’s going to fucking ruin you, I know it. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, you won’t even look at any other guy. That right?”

Your response is an unintelligible mewl. A familiar wave crests, the knot at the bottom of your gut tightening.

“Come on, pretty girl, cum for me.”

How on earth he does it, you’re not sure. Your body obeys his command as if he has some kind of control over it, spine arching high as your hips sway, greedy for his digits, and when his thumb flicks that bundle of nerves you collapse. There’s a long drawn-out moan of his name as you spasm and shake, music to his ears.

He doesn’t waste time entering you, jacket shed, pants hanging low on his thighs—far too desperate at this point. Soon, you’re leaking all over his cock. His hand gently directs your gaze to where your bodies join, holding your chin as he feeds you his inches.

“Fuck, honey, look at that. Taking me so well.”

He moves.

A common sense of decency, the songs you sang in the set earlier, the taste of the drink he poured you—all of these things are forgotten, your mind a clean slate with each thrust of his length inside you. The way he moves is designed to make you fall apart quickly, relieving the ache in your core while making you want more, and you feel that sensation build within you again. Hands grip his biceps as you pant, eyelids fluttering up at him, drinking his expression while he spews filth at you.

“Feels so good, baby, you’re so fucking hot.” His hips snap, a squelching sound between your legs. “Hear that? So wet for me. Want more?”

You mewl a ‘yes, Logan, please’ and he grins in delight, a renewed vigor in his already ruthless pace.

“God, fuck, you’re so tight. Gonna cum on my cock?”

Nodding, you bury your face in his neck, letting out little gasps every time he sinks into you. You feel so full, like he’s all the way in your stomach—

“Tell me. Use your words, baby.”

“I-I’m so close, Logan,” you cry.

“That’s right, let go, sweet thing, let me take care of you.”

The third time your orgasm hits, you’re hit by the reality of everything, your senses honing in to register only him. The way his length drags your walls—fuck, he hasn’t stopped—, his breath on your temple, the rumble of his voice as he praises you—“good girl, doing so good,”—the world stops.

It’s just you, him, and how good it feels.

As the last waves of release begin to simmer down your limbs, electrifying your legs and fingertips, you pant, catching your breath. A gentle hand cups the fat of your cheek. You open your eyes.

Logan looks down at you, studying your utterly ruined countenance. Lips parted, cheeks burning, hair messily splayed on his pillow—the same way he imagined it would when he saw you sing just an hour ago.

That expensive lipstick hasn’t budged, though. He already knows one way he wants to ruin it.

The world spins and you let out a surprised noise as Logan flips the two of you, him on the bed and you sitting on his abs. You whine, feeling the slick smearing his shirt. He all but rips the fabric down the center, yanking it off his skin like it offended him, revealing his bare and hairy chest to you.

Hands are on your hips now, positioning you on top of his length. Your eyes widen. He’s still hard.

Once again, his cock sinks into your heat, and you melt on top of him, hands bracing on his chest, head tilted back.

“Oh my god—”

“Didn’t think I was done with you, huh, honey?” he groans, bottoming out, hand pressing on your stomach. Then his eye snaps up at you, pleased at the hazy look on your face.

“Come on, ride. Gonna fuck the shyness outta you.”

#logan x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #x men #logan howlett #wolverine x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut

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bubalgum · 7 months ago

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⠀⠀𓈒⠀⠀𓏸 ⠀WAiTiNG ROOM : FRUTiGER-AERO⠀𓇼

This isn’t just a place to wait—it’s a place to be. Somewhere that exists outside of time and space, built entirely to serve your desires. The air hums with the soft buzz of infinite possibility as your thoughts shape the world around you. Here, relaxation is an art form, indulgence is encouraged, and everything is at your fingertips. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀໒⠀ ⠀bars that cater to your whims ⠀⠀─── ა ྀིྀི The air hums softly with the clinking of delicate glasses and the murmur of your favourite melodies in the background. The bartender—perhaps a charming stranger, a famous actor, or a friendly AI in human form—knows your every preference without a word. Drinks appear like magic, tailored to your every mood: sparkling fruit spritzers that dance on your tongue, creamy milkshakes topped with edible gold dust, or dark, rich coffees brewed just so. Every sip feels like a new discovery, a little celebration of you. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀໒⠀ ⠀kitchens overflowing with endless delights ⠀⠀─── ა ྀིྀི The kitchen is no ordinary room; it’s a sprawling paradise where the scent of fresh bread, simmering spices, and buttery pastries dances through the air. Counters gleam in polished marble, cupboards stretch endlessly, and every drawer holds a surprise. Say the word and a feast appears—perfectly plated sushi with intricate designs, steaming bowls of soul-warming ramen, and a cake so decadent it could make angels weep. There’s no limit. Want a perfectly nostalgic home-cooked meal like your mom’s? Or a creation plucked from your wildest culinary dreams? Done. The fridge hums happily, never empty, and the oven is always warm. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀໒⠀ ⠀bedrooms crafted for rest and dreaming ⠀⠀─── ა ྀིྀི

Here lies the softest haven in existence, where sleep becomes an art form and dreams feel like journeys. The beds are immense, swathed in silk sheets and duvets that feel like a cloud’s embrace. Pillows mould perfectly to your head, each one cooler than the last, and the air smells faintly of lavender and rain. There’s always the perfect playlist for relaxation—soft whispers of the wind, delicate piano, or the gentle patter of rain against the window. And when you close your eyes? You drift effortlessly into dreams of golden fields, starlit skies, or anywhere your heart longs to wander. Even just lounging here feels like a rebirth. Time doesn’t matter—here, you’re held. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀໒⠀ ⠀rituals of serenity and liquid escapes ⠀⠀─── ა ྀིྀི Step into a realm of ultimate relaxation, where the bathroom and swimming areas blend into a sanctuary of indulgence. The bathroom is a spa-like retreat, with chrome surfaces glowing under soft, golden light and the scent of lavender and eucalyptus in the air. Rainfall showers offer endless settings, while deep clawfoot tubs invite you to soak away every worry. Beyond, the swimming areas unfold like a dream—an infinity pool shimmers beneath a glowing dome of stars, while a hidden heated lagoon nestles among lush greenery. For playful moments, a vibrant pool awaits with slides, waterfalls, and floating loungers fitted with snack trays. Whether it’s the silk-like flow of water in the bath or the crystal-clear embrace of the pool, every corner invites you to escape and rejuvenate. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀໒⠀ ⠀cinemas where anything comes to life ⠀⠀─── ა ྀིྀི

A cinema beyond your wildest imagination sprawls before you: plush seats that recline into near-nests of comfort, buttery popcorn and candy appearing at the snap of your fingers. But what’s on the screen? Anything. You want to watch a book you love turned into a perfectly directed masterpiece? Done. A fanfiction visualized with your dream cast, every scene sculpted exactly to your taste? It’s playing now. Want to relive moments from a DR or watch your favourite actor perform just for you? All here. The screen is endless, the quality so crisp, that it feels like you could step inside. And you can—should you choose, the scenes could stretch around you, pulling you into worlds of your own creation.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀໒⠀ ⠀a phone that bridges worlds ⠀⠀─── ა ྀིྀི Resting delicately on a nightstand or tucked into your hand like a lifeline is the ultimate phone—a device that bends to your will. Its surface gleams softly, showing apps that let you scroll through TikTok or Instagram with ease. Every post feels perfectly curated, and time itself stretches so you never feel rushed. Handle accounts across your DRs, text your CR/DR friends as if they’re right there beside you, and exist on the edge of reality. Call someone who lives in the place you’re headed, or scroll just for the joy of it. This phone doesn’t glitch, doesn’t die—just waits, pulsing softly with endless possibilities.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀໒⠀ ⠀mirrors that let you become anything ⠀⠀─── ა ྀིྀི

Standing like a gateway to wonder, the mirror isn’t ordinary glass—it’s liquid, shifting, alive. Step before it, and the reflection stirs, waiting for you to decide. Want to see yourself with softer features? A bolder wardrobe? Hair like cascading waves of moonlight or skin adorned with radiant tattoos? It adjusts instantly, letting you try on identities and aesthetics without limit. Spin in gowns made of galaxies, suits cut to perfection, or casual looks that feel so you. Every tweak and change feels satisfying, a playful exploration of who you are and could be. The mirror never judges; it just shows you the endless, beautiful possibilities of you. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀໒⠀ ⠀the atmosphere itself ⠀⠀─── ა ྀིྀི Beyond the individual features, the very feeling of this waiting room is enough to make you melt. The air is a perfect temperature—just warm enough to hug your skin, with a breeze carrying the scents you love most. The lighting shifts seamlessly: soft and golden when you need peace, cool and vibrant when you want energy. Windows reveal scenes of beauty that change with your desires—sunlit forests, endless oceans, glittering cityscapes, or galaxies swirling with stars. Time bends and stretches here, never demanding anything from you. Also, the entire waiting room? Edible. Feel free to take a chunk from the floating sofa pod. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

GOD OMG THIS TOOK ME LIKE 3 HOURS. IM SO PROUD :3333

#shiftblr #shifting blog #reality shifting #reality shifter #shifting antis dni #shifting community #shifting realities #shifting #desired reality #waiting room #anti shifters dni #shifting reality #shifting motivation #frutiger aero #old internet #frutiger aesthetic #old web #frutiger aqua #early internet

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ccupcakqs · 30 days ago

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— the light in the lake ౨ৎ✧˚

warnings: minor injury mention, smitten percy pairing: percy jackson x daughter of apollo a/n: for all my apollo girlies :)

you weren’t expecting him.

it had been a quiet afternoon — the kind where sunlight drifted lazily through golden curtains, catching in the dust motes like glitter suspended in honey. most of your siblings were outside, training or writing awful poems for offerings. you’d taken the rare stillness as an invitation to read, curled in a beam of sunlight with a book balanced on your knees.

then the cabin door swung open.

and there he was.

percy jackson. limping. bleeding. looking like he’d walked straight out of a war movie and directly into your life.

“hey, sunshine,” he said, like he wasn’t currently dripping blood on the hardwood floor.

you sat bolt upright, heart skipping. “percy?”

he gave a lopsided, sheepish smile and lifted his hand from his side just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the red. “you got room for one more hopeless case?”

“you’re bleeding,” you said, already setting the book aside, your fingers tingling as your healing instinct surged to the surface.

“only a little.” he wobbled on his feet. “not fatal. probably.”

you crossed the room in three steps and guided him, none too gently, to sit on the nearest bunk. “you are so dramatic.”

“some girls like that in a guy,” he said, wincing as he lowered himself. “you know—mysterious, brooding, covered in blood.”

“if that’s your idea of flirting, you need a full reboot,” you muttered.

your hands were already glowing faintly. warmth built beneath your skin as you peeled back the ripped hem of his shirt. the cut was deep, diagonal across his side, angry and red. a monster had definitely tried to take a piece of him.

“what happened?” you asked, focusing on the wound even as your eyes flicked to his face.

“training gone wrong. very wrong. or maybe I offended a hydra’s mother,” he joked, biting back a hiss as you gently touched the skin around the injury.

“hydras don’t have mothers,” you murmured absently, placing your hand over the worst part of the gash. “they just appear.”

“well, i found the one exception.”

a soft glow bloomed between your palm and his skin. his breath hitched.

your magic wasn’t flashy like some of your siblings. it was subtle—warm and steady, like the sun breaking through clouds. it crept along the edges of the wound, encouraging his body to knit itself back together. slow. soothing. patient.

he was quiet now. watching you.

you could feel his gaze more than see it—an almost physical thing. like sunlight on the back of your neck. you tried not to look up.

tried not to notice the way he softened in your presence.

“you always do that,” he said finally, voice low.

“do what?”

“shine like that.”

you blinked, caught off guard. “i’m healing you.”

“not just the magic,” he said. “you just... glow. all the time.”

your hands stilled for a moment. heat crept up your neck.

“that’s a side effect of being apollo’s kid,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off. “we’re all cursed with photogenic lighting.”

but he didn’t look away. “no, it’s not that. it’s you. you shine like... i don’t know. sunlight on water.”

you swallowed. your heart did a small, dumb flutter.

“you have a concussion,” you said, carefully avoiding his eyes. “you’re talking nonsense.”

he laughed softly. it was a good sound. it made your stomach twist a little.

“maybe. or maybe i’ve just been meaning to say that for a while.”

your fingers lingered at the edge of the wound, which was mostly healed now. the skin had stitched itself clean beneath your touch, smooth and unbroken.

you let your hand rest there just a beat longer than necessary.

when you finally pulled back, you sat down beside him on the bed. neither of you said anything right away. the light through the window had shifted, turning the cabin gold. it caught in his hair, glinting off the edges of his eyelashes.

he looked at you, quieter now. softer.

“i hate that you keep seeing me like this,” he said. “bleeding. wrecked. broken.”

you turned your body toward him, knees touching.

“i don’t,” you said simply. “i’d rather see you like this. real, than not at all.”

his breath caught.

then, after a pause, he said, “do you say things like that to everyone?”

you smiled, small and sure. “no. just the ones i’d stay up all night to heal.”

percy didn’t say anything. he just reached up, fingertips brushing your cheek so softly it felt like a dream.

“you’re dangerous,” he murmured.

“i heal people,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“exactly.”

his thumb traced the corner of your jaw. your breath caught. time folded in on itself, like the whole world had narrowed to this one moment, this one room, this one boy looking at you like you were sunlight incarnate.

then, like a spell breaking, he leaned back slightly and let his hand fall to his lap.

“can i rest here?” he asked. “just for a while?”

you nodded, heart thudding. “yeah. of course.”

he stretched out on the bunk, sighing as he sank into the pillows. you covered him with the blanket, tucking it under his arms with a tenderness you didn’t try to hide.

just as you turned to walk away, his voice drifted after you, low and sleepy.

“you really are the light in the lake.”

you paused, smile blooming slow.

“you say the weirdest things when you’re tired.”

“not tired,” he mumbled, eyes closing. “just in love.”

you didn’t let yourself answer. didn’t let yourself fall into that feeling.

but gods, it would be so easy.

and maybe, just maybe, you were already halfway there.

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unabashegirl · 2 months ago

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Love Island - part 1

AU. Based on the TV show.

Author's note: Hello everyone, I've been meaning to post this on Tumblr. I hope you like this 10 part series as much as my Patreon followers did. This initial chapter is very short but it's on purpose.

⭐️ Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the Love Island villa. Laughter and splashing echoed as the Islanders basked in the afternoon heat, their spirits high. Y/N lounged on a sunbed, half-listening to Tom, her current partner, as he animatedly recounted his latest gym achievements. She forced a smile, nodding occasionally, but her mind drifted. Each day felt like a mirror of the last, a cycle of sunbathing and surface-level conversations that left her craving something deeper.

Then, a sudden commotion pulled her from her thoughts. Georgia, the self-appointed drama queen of the group, leaped up, her phone held high in the air. “I’ve got a text!”

The excitement was palpable as everyone converged around her, eager to hear the news. Y/N's heart raced with anticipation; a new arrival could break the monotony and shake things up in the villa.

With a flourish, Georgia read aloud: “Islanders, get ready to welcome a new boy! Please head to the front of the villa to greet him. #NewBoyAlert”

Cheers erupted, and the Islanders surged toward the entrance, Y/N caught up in the tide of enthusiasm. As they gathered at the door, playful jabs and speculation flew about the new contestant, each guess more outrageous than the last.

When the door swung open, a wave of heat rolled through the villa. In walked Harry, tall and confident, with tousled dark curls that framed his face and tattoos peeking out from under his arms. He was clad only in dark swimming trunks, showcasing his fit physique. The moment he stepped in, it felt as if the air shifted—a palpable energy filled the space.

“Hey, everyone!” he called, his voice warm and inviting. “I’m Harry. I’m 26, a travel photographer, and I’m here looking for someone special.”

As the group responded with cheers and applause, Y/N felt a jolt of excitement at his casual charm. He seemed so at ease, as if he belonged there, and she found herself drawn to his confidence.

“Travel photographer?” Zara chimed in, her tone flirty. “Sounds glamorous! What’s your favorite place you’ve been?”

“Honestly? It’s tough to pick,” he replied, flashing a charming smile that made Y/N’s stomach flip. “But I’d say Greece has its magic. The sunsets there are something else”, He glanced at Y/N as he said this, and for a moment, their eyes locked, sparking an unexpected connection.

As introductions continued, Harry moved down the line, exchanging light banter and laughter. When he reached Y/N, his gaze lingered, a genuine curiosity dancing in his green eyes.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked, his tone sincere.

“Y/N,” she replied, feeling her heart race under his attention. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Great to meet you, too, Y/N,” he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

As the evening wore on, the villa transformed into a cozy gathering spot under the twinkling lights. Y/N found herself outside by the pool, trying to catch her breath from the whirlwind of introductions. The water shimmered invitingly, but her thoughts were consumed by Harry—the way he carried himself, how he seemed genuinely interested in everyone, and that spark in his eyes when they’d connected.

To her surprise, Harry sauntered over, casually lowering himself onto the lounge chair next to her. The warmth of his presence felt comforting, like a breath of fresh air.

“Mind if I join?” he asked, his tone light, but there was a deeper warmth in his voice that made her heart flutter.

“Not at all,” Y/N replied, a smile breaking across her face.

Harry stretched out on the chair, his relaxed posture revealing a confidence that made her feel at ease. “So, what do you make of all this?” he asked, glancing around the villa.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted, glancing up at the stars. “But it can get a bit repetitive. I mean, we’re all here looking for something, but sometimes it feels like we’re just... drifting.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I get that. what’s kept you in here so long?”

She looked up, surprised by his directness. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t strike me as the type who’d settle for just anyone. So, I was curious why you’re still here.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “You get all that just from looking?”

“Maybe,” he replied casually. “Or maybe I’m just observant. Part of the job, you know.”

Their conversation deepened, revealing snippets of their lives. Y/N found herself sharing stories about her childhood, her passion for art, and how she’d dreamed of traveling but had never found the right person to explore with. Harry listened intently, nodding along, his gaze fixed on her as if she were the only person in the world.

“What about you? What made you want to come on the show?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “Honestly? I wanted to step out of my comfort zone.” He paused, a soft smile forming. “So far. I am very interested”.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up at his compliment, her heart racing.

As the evening wore on, they exchanged teasing remarks, laughter bubbling between them. With each shared moment, Y/N felt a connection growing—a sense of camaraderie and understanding that she hadn’t felt in a while.

“Well,” Harry said after a while, pushing himself up from the chair, “I guess I’ll see you around”.

“Definitely,” she replied, her smile lingering as he walked away, a sense of excitement coursing through her.

The sun rises on another day in the villa, and it’s not just the temperature heating things up after last night’s new arrival. Our Islanders may have started with some clear choices, but Harry’s arrival has shaken things up... especially for Tom.

The villa was buzzing with morning energy as everyone moved around the kitchen, filling glasses with orange juice and grabbing breakfast. Y/N sat on a lounger, enjoying a quiet moment with her coffee before the day’s inevitable whirlwind of chats. She noticed Tom watching her from across the patio, looking a bit anxious. He made his way over, rubbing his hands together, as if trying to psych himself up.

Tom might have been Mr. Confident last week, but it looks like he’s feeling the heat now that Harry’s in the villa. Will Y/N’s current couple get through this twist unscathed, or will Tom’s nerves get the best of him?

“Morning, Y/N,” Tom greeted, taking a seat beside her. His usual relaxed smile seemed a bit forced today.

“Morning, Tom,” Y/N replied, sipping her coffee and meeting his gaze. She could sense he wanted to say something, and he looked like he was wrestling with the words.

“Listen,” he began, leaning forward. “Last night, with Harry showing up and all... It’s got me thinking. I just wanted to see where your head’s at.” His voice was steady, but she could sense the nervousness under it.

She nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “I get it. It’s all moving fast, isn’t it? I mean, I didn’t expect someone like Harry to walk in and shake things up.”

Tom shifted in his seat, his gaze flicking between her and his hands. “Right. He’s... yeah, he’s something. But, uh... I just want to know if you’re, well, interested. In him. Like, romantically.”

She took a moment, carefully choosing her words. “Honestly, I’m not sure yet, Tom. Harry’s interesting, and he’s definitely got that confident energy. But I’m still figuring things out. I mean, you and I have had a great connection.”

Tom relaxed a little, his shoulders loosening as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I thought so too. We’ve been getting on really well. I just—well, I know how this place works. It’s all about testing things and seeing if connections are genuine, but…” He trailed off, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m getting left behind, you know?”

Y/N reached over, resting a hand on his knee to ease his nerves. “Look, Tom, I’m here to find something real, and I do want to see where we could go. But I also don’t want to close myself off from getting to know Harry. It’s early days, and I feel like it wouldn’t be fair to either of us to ignore a potential connection.”

And there we have it, folks. Y/N is caught between Tom’s steady interest and Harry’s unpredictable charm. With Tom hanging on by a thread, will Y/N let go or keep her options open?

Tom’s lips tightened, and he gave a small nod. “Fair enough. I can’t stop you from seeing where things go. I mean, you’re right—it is early days. Just… give me a heads-up if you start to feel like it’s going somewhere else, yeah?”

“Of course,” she assured him, offering him a warm smile. “I’ll always be honest with you, Tom. That’s a promise.”

He smiled, though it looked a bit forced, then let out a sigh, looking back towards the villa. “Right then. Just have to up my game a bit, won’t I?”

Y/N chuckled, nudging him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Just keep being you.”

But will that be enough, Tom? With Harry’s arrival in the villa, we might just see if Tom can hold his own—or if his steady confidence starts to crack.

After Tom walked off, Y/N settled back into her lounger, taking a slow sip of her coffee. The warmth of the morning sun was comforting, and she let herself enjoy the peace, though her mind kept drifting to Harry.

Across the patio, Harry was surrounded by a small group of girls, each one caught up in his easy charm. There was Georgia, always the first to get a word in; her dark hair bounced as she laughed at one of his jokes, flashing him a look that said she was more than intrigued. Beside her was Chloe, who toyed with her braid as she angled closer, her gaze fixed on him, and Lila, who had barely left his side since his arrival. They all hung on his every word, their laughter blending with his deep chuckles.

Y/N watched him, noticing the way he seemed effortlessly at ease, making each of the girls feel like they were the only ones there. He was charming, no doubt, and that little smirk of his told her he knew exactly what he was doing. There was something magnetic about him; he was the kind of person you couldn’t help but notice.

Then, as if sensing her gaze, Harry’s eyes lifted, meeting hers across the patio. The moment their eyes connected, a playful glint flickered in his. His smile softened, turning into that cheeky grin she was beginning to recognize. He said something to the girls that made them all laugh again, and then, with a quick apology, excused himself from the group.

Y/N’s heart gave a little jump as she saw him walking towards her, the confidence in his stride obvious as he crossed the patio. When he reached her, he didn’t sit right away. Instead, he leaned forward, his arms resting on the back of her lounger, his face close enough that she could catch the faint scent of the sea on his skin.

“Morning,” he said, his voice smooth, that smirk never leaving his lips. “Didn’t expect to catch you staring.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Staring? I was just observing… thought I’d get a better sense of what all the fuss is about.”

He chuckled, settling himself on the edge of her lounger without breaking eye contact. “Ah, so you were curious, then. Good to know I’ve got your attention, even if just a little.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “I was just checking to see if you were actually as charming as you think you are.”

He tilted his head, feigning contemplation. “And? What’s the verdict, then?”

She shrugged, pretending to consider it. “I think it’s too early to tell. But I’ll let you know if you manage to impress me.”

Harry leaned back, grinning. “Challenge accepted. I’m a big fan of keeping things interesting. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come over here to see if I could learn a bit more about you too.”

“Oh, really?” she teased, crossing her arms as she watched him. “So, the big mystery man’s got questions?”

“Maybe one or two.” His gaze softened, the playful edge giving way to a hint of sincerity. “Like, what exactly is a girl like you looking for in here?”

She held his gaze, considering her answer for a moment. “Honestly, someone genuine,” she said, her tone earnest. “It’s easy to get caught up in all the surface stuff, but I’m hoping to find something real. Something that lasts.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Right. Thought I’d take a risk, try something new.” His voice softened, a touch of vulnerability creeping in. “Been a while since I let anyone in.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade. She felt a spark, a warmth that hadn’t been there before, and she knew he felt it too.

“Alright then, Harry the risk-taker,” she said, breaking the silence with a playful smile. “Let’s see if you’re as good as you say.”

Harry’s cheeky grin returned, the playfulness back in his eyes. “Oh, you’ve got no idea what I’m capable of, Y/N.”

Looks like Y/N’s little morning coffee break has turned into something a bit more steamy than she bargained for. With Tom on edge and Harry moving in, she may have her hands full. So, who’s in it for the long haul? Stay tuned.

--> part 2

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