#wars' scarf gets to be useful

[weepingtalecowboy]

Oracle of ages is my fav for this one single reason

It is the fact that the enemies are throwing time attacks at you every four attacks (the bosses that is) you deflect them back to reveal their weak spots but the cutest thing happens if you get hit

Look at this lil baby

He is perfect

He is itty bitty

My lil guy… getting hunted down by a boss in the arena while a literal baby who can just weakly crawl away from stuff and looks like it is about to start crying

Like that has to be traumatizing for a baby to experience

So Fanfic prompt : considering that linked universe once again has time travel in it imagine what would happen if legend goes baby mode

Like not even because of dink but because wind messed around with the phantom sword and while the rest of the chain stopped in time legend being incredibly vulnerable to time displacements ends up a baby again

And even funnier if wind and legend are separated from the chain during the event and wind gets to be busy regretting everything that led to his teen parent life with a ungodly fast baby that crawls like it was born to do just that (because it would be so much more horrifying if Legend actually turned into a baby during the time blasts… because that way the trauma will be integrated into him from existence on lol)

the baby has an amount of survival instincts that no baby should reasonably have

No baby should have such a feud with adults and knights especially ( wars got bitten by a tooth less baby legend when they reunited… that baby hates him)

He dodges way to well for a mere infant (you gotta be a god because you are exclusively baby link in active combat)

He is incredibly quite and very much wants to hide all the time

He is terrified of being picked up by anyone (that was not fun for wind )

He screams with actual terror when he actually decides to voice any kind of opinions (that wasn’t fun for wind either but at least later the chain got to suffer and go deaf alongside him )

(not the baby crying of mild inconvenience but the one where they actually sound like they are hurting ,the intense one that makes one panic)

He is a minimalist to the core , literally needs nothing to be content with existing (he got strapped to wars via scarf panicked until he realized that everything isn’t ending still… then didn’t give a sound for several hours,….wars was obviously worried…that ain’t baby behavior)

Like only be given a bottle and he never complains about anything afterwards until he is in literal danger of starving or in pain(that one is messed up but meant that wind didn’t have to panic like crazy )

But that really makes one wonder if he wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had been a hero since he was in diapers

And nobody wants to consider it

That doesn’t sound acceptable everyone paled and was sick by this thought

[sparklingblu]

Guess

ft. Wonyoung

“You are always on your playstation!”

Wonyoung’s at it again.

She stands in the doorway like some final boss you didn’t agree to fight - wearing a sleeveless halter-style crop top and denim shorts that let her long legs stretch halfway into your peripheral vision. Arms folded tight across her chest, one eyebrow arched, the full disapproval of a disappointed mom compressed into the expression of your stepsister.

You don’t even bother looking up from the screen. “Didn’t you just spend three hours doing a face mask and dancing in your room?”

She scoffs, walking in like she owns the place. “That was productive,” she declares, brushing past the pile of laundry she’s supposed to fold. “You’ve been in the same spot since, like, breakfast.”

“I was gonna make it to Diamond today…” you mutter, fingers locked around the controller as your eyes scan for movement on screen. Apex Legends. This was supposed to be the peaceful part of your day - parents gone on vacation for a week, fridges stocked, no one to nag you.

Correction: no adults to nag you.

“Ran out of things to do,” Wonyoung shrugs, now leaning against the side of the dining table. Her voice drops into a familiar drawl - the one that says she’s decided her new hobby is annoying the hell out of you. “You’re more fun than TikTok when you’re grumpy.”

“And you’re more annoying than a lag spike mid-fight,” you say, just as your character vaults into a crossfire and gets absolutely shredded. You groan, dropping your head back against the couch with a thud. “Are you serious? You made me die.”

“I breathed,” she says innocently, plopping down on the table. “That’s not a crime.”

You shoot her a look. “You’re a walking distraction.”

She smirks. “A cute one.”

You sigh, tossing the controller onto the table. “Alright, fine. What do you want to do, Your Highness?”

Wonyoung grins like she’s won a battle you didn’t even know you were fighting. “Now that’s the spirit. Let’s play a game.” She says, a mischievous glint lighting up her eyes.

You narrow yours in response. “What kind of game?”

“It’s simple,” she says, rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a scarf. “You blindfold me, feed me some fruit, and I guess what it is.”

You blink. “What.”

“It’s not that hard to understand, is it?”

You stare at her, and then at the scarf in her hands. “Is this another of your weird TikTok trends? Is there a hidden camera? Because I’m not getting cancelled for being a test dummy.”

Wonyoung snorts, rolling her eyes as she tosses the scarf at you. “No, genius. This one’s just something I saw in a variety show. Thought it would be funny.”

You raise a brow. "Funny for who?"

“I don’t know. Depends how bad your fruit selection is,” she says, moving to sit cross-legged on the couch, looking way too comfortable for your liking. “Come on. I’m bored, you’re not ranking up any time soon, and the fridge is basically a produce section waiting to be useful.”

You sigh, glancing longingly at your paused game screen. Yeah. You were really starting to regret asking what she wanted to do.

“Fine,” you mutter, getting up with the enthusiasm of someone heading to a war zone. “But you better leave me alone after this.”

“No promises,” Wonyoung says sweetly, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You trudge into the kitchen, muttering under your breath the whole way. This was supposed to be a peaceful, game-filled holiday. No chores. No chaos. And definitely no blindfolded guess-the-fruit game with your bratty stepsister.

The fridge hums as you open it. Inside, lined up neatly in their little Tupperware containers - probably arranged by your mom before they left - are the fruits of your impromptu challenge: strawberries, blueberries, kiwi, mango…

And then you spot it.

A lemon. 

Sliced and peeled, its bright yellow wedges sitting there like temptation itself. 

You smirk. “Perfect.”

You grab a handful of each and toss them into a bowl, then make your way back into the living room, where Wonyoung is still sitting on the couch like she’s at a sleepover from hell. She cranes her head at the sound of your footsteps.

“About time,” she says. “You pick the ripest mango, or are you stalling?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure I had something special for you,” you reply, holding up the scarf with an evil little flourish. “Alright, come here.”

Wonyoung drops to her knees, her long hair falling down her back as she lifts her chin, blindly obedient for once. You loop the scarf around her head and pull it snug - maybe a little too snug.

“Hey! Not that tight,” she protests, wriggling a little. 

“If you can’t see, you can’t cheat,” you say. “Rules are rules.” 

She huffs. “Like I’d want to cheat. I’m just better than you at everything, naturally.”

You chuckle under your breath, giving the knot a final tug. “We’ll see about that.”

She sticks out her tongue at you blindly, which somehow feels very on-brand. You set the bowl on the couch and lean in close.

“Ready?”

Wonyoung tilts her face up, lips parted slightly in expectation, blindfold on, hands resting neatly on her lap like she’s waiting for royalty to be served.

You pick out a slice of strawberry first - safe, soft, sweet. You gently press it to her lips.

She takes it without hesitation, chewing thoughtfully for all of two seconds.

“Strawberry,” she declares confidently.

You raise an eyebrow. “Lucky guess.”

She scoffs. “Please. That one was way too easy. Try harder.”

Alright then.

You go for a kiwi next. A little tangier, but still nothing wild. You plan the piece onto her waiting tongue, watching as she chews with a smug little smile forming on her face.

“Kiwi,” she says, almost yawning through it.

You lean back slightly, arms crossed. “You sure you are not peeking under there?”

“Maybe you are just bad at picking hard ones,” she shoots back, tilting her chin up like she’s ready for the next round. “This is way too easy. You’ll have to step it up if you want to beat me.”

Your smirk widens. “Oh, don’t worry. I plan to.”

You reach into the bowl, and pick out a slice of lemon. If she wants it to be hard, you will make it hard. You line it up to her lips, and she takes it without suspicion.

The moment it touches her tongue, her whole body jerks.

Her face scrunches like she’s been electrocuted, eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed as she lets out a muffled curse. “What the fuck was that?!”

You burst out laughing. “What? I thought the game was too easy?”

“You are the worst,” she sputters, spitting out the last of the sour pulp. 

“And you’re the one who wanted to play,” you shrug, still laughing. “It’s ok if you want to back out now. I understand.”

She snorts. “As if I would. Come on. Give me another. But you better make it a good one.”

You look down at your stepsister, still on her knees, mouth open and ready for the next “fruit”. And you realize, at this moment, she looks no different from a prostitute waiting for a facefuck.

An idea forms in your mind - why don’t you have real fun with this game? This bratty slut of a sister has done nothing but ruin your holiday. She deserves to be punished.

Slowly, you unzip your pants and pull out your hard, throbbing cock. It has already grown to full length from your not-so-innocent imaginations, the tip leaking with pre-cum. And more importantly, it’s the last thing she expects.

“Here’s the next one for you to taste,” you say smoothly, gripping the base and guiding it towards her waiting mouth. “Open wide.”

For a split second, Wonyoung hesitates at the glee in your voice. Then her lips part eagerly, tongue darting out to welcome you inside. You thrust forward, pushing your cock past her lips and onto her tongue.

She gags a little at the sudden intrusion but quickly adjusts, swirling her tongue around as she takes you deeper, desperately searching for a clue about the foreign object in her mouth. Little does she know that it’s doing more good to you than her. The wet heat of her mouth feels incredible and you have to suppress a moan.

“Mmm, what do you think it is?” you ask, pulling back slightly to let her speak.

“B-bana-na,” she mumbles around your cock, bobbing her head to take you further. Her hands come to grip your thigh for balance as she continues to suck your tip in an attempt to decipher the mysterious “fruit”.

You smirk down at her, amused by her obliviousness. “Wrong,” you chuckle darkly, shoving your cock back into her mouth and down her throat. She gags and sputters, drool dripping down her chin, but you hold her there, reveling in the way her throat constricts around you. 

“Guess again,” you growl, starting to thrust shallowly, fucking her pretty little face. She gurgles, tears streaming down her cheek, then pulls back just enough to gasp out.

“C-cucumber?” she stutters, confused.

You pause, debating whether she’s just acting clueless or genuinely dumb enough not to know a cock is in her mouth. The way her brows furrow in confusion suggests the latter, but you can’t be sure.

“Wrong again,” you say flatly, holding her head steady as you slowly slide your cock in and out of her mouth. “You know what it is, don’t you? Don’t play innocent.”

Wonyoung makes a muffled noise of protest, trying to pull back. But you tighten your grip on her hair, forcing her to take your cock deeper. “Nngh…I-don’t….know…” she whimpers, gagging as you hit the back of her throat.

You snort derisively. “You’re not backing down, are you? Not my little sister, the one who’s better at everything than me.”

There. You have hit her sore spot. You know Wonyoung’s ego is bigger than her head. Even if she’s out of her depth, she’ll never admit defeat.

You take advantage of her hesitation, starting to fuck her mouth in earnest. Wonyoung gags and spatters, hands scrabbling at your thighs as you use her face. Her face is a mess of tears and saliva but she doesn’t try to pull away, determined to endure.

“Good girl,” you purr mockingly, thrusting harder. “Tell me when you know what it is. At least you are getting an A+ for effort.”

Wonyoung just whimpers, drool streaming down her chin as she struggles to breathe through her nose. But she shows no signs of quitting, despite the degrading filth coming out of her mouth and the overwhelming sensation of being choked by your thick cock. Afterall, nothing can be worse than defeat.

You suddenly force your cock all the way down her throat, stretching her gag reflex to the limit. She slaps frantically at your thigh, coughing and choking around your cock as it invades her airway.

But there’s no room for mercy here. You hold her there, relishing in the feeling of her throat squeezing your cock, silencing her protests. Tears stream down her face as she struggles for air, nose pressed firmly against your pelvis.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally pull back. Wonyoung coughs violently, heaving and sputtering as she gasps and retches.

“Giving up already?” you ask, cock still rock hard and glistening with her spit. 

If she isn’t blindfolded, you are sure she would be glaring. “Fuck you,” she rasps, voice hoarse from the abuse. “I’m not giving up. Just…let me try again.”

You smirk down at her, almost impressed with her insistence. “Oh? You want another taste?”

Wonyoung swallows hard, nodding mutedly. You grip her hair, yanking her head back and shoving your cock back into her mouth without warning.

“Mmph!” Wonyoung gasps as you bottom out in her throat, forcing her to take every inch. You start fucking her face again, determined to push her to her limits.

“Take it slut,” you growl, setting a punishing pace. “You wanted to play this game, so fucking take it like the whore you are.”

You have abandoned any shred of gentleness, fucking her face with brutal intensity. Wonyoung claws at your thighs as she’s used like a cheap fleshlight. But nonetheless, she persists. The lack of air can’t be more important than her pride.

Her defiances only spurs your on and you set a brutal pace, fucking her face like a man possessed. Your hips snap forward violently, slamming your cock into her throat over and over. 

“Fuck, your little throat feels so good,” you grunt, holding her head steady as you ravage her mouth. “Take it all, you dumb slut. Let me use your face like the whore you are.”

The filthy wet sound of your fucking fill the room, punctuated by Wonyoung’s muffled gugrles and choking noises. You can feel her throat constricting around you, fighting the intrusion. But you don’t let up, slamming balls deep and grinding against her face. “Fuck, look at you. Choking on my cock like a slut. You are fucking pathetic.”

Wonyoung whimpers, hands scrabbling weakly at your thighs. But you just laugh, fucking her harder. “Oh no, you don’t get to quit now. We’re not done yet until I say we are done.”

You set a brutal pace, pounding into her tight throat like a jackhammer. Wonyoung’s toes curl, her body growing limp as she’s facefucked into oblivion. You can feel your orgasm building, balls drawing up tight. But you hold back, wanting to humilitae her one last time.

You yank her off your cock, letting her gasp for air. But before she can breathe, you slap your thick shaft against her tongue, smacking it obscenely. 

“Come on, stupid,” you sneer. “You really don’t know what this is? How fucking dumb are you?”

“You mother-” But before she can finish protesting, you shove your cock back into her mouth, muffling her curses. She gags and sputters around your length in shock and humiliation.

You fuck her face with renewed vigour, grunting as you near your peak. “Open wide, slut. You are gonna know what this fruit is now.”

With a final brutal thrust, you bottom out in her throat, spurting thick ropes of cum directly into her stomach. She chokes and retches, gagging on the sudden flood of semen, but you hold her in place, forcing her to swallow every last drop. Only when you’re completely spent do you release her, letting her fall back gasping and heaving.

Wonyoung’s throat is red and raw, her lips swollen and bruised. Cum and saliva drip from her chin to the floor. She looks thoroughly used, a broken mess.

You admire your filthy work, tucking yourself away. “Now do you know what it is?”

It takes a while for Wonyoung to catch her breath.

“E-eggplant?”

-

[critterbitter]

The twins and their starters may have grown slightly taller, but their love of shenanigans have tripled, no, quadrupled in size.

On that note did you know Eelectrik has a glow animation?? Perfect nightlight eel. Absolute gold standard for creature. Click here for the masterlist!

Bonus shitpost under cut ft @birdsaretoddlers’s incredible take.

(plus a fanfic drabble that birds did while we were discussing in chat! Check out their funny writing @birdsaretoddlers) “Lam lam pentttt. Lam.”

“Language. I am not calling them that. This is a civil discussion about the capacity of a 284 Berkshire’s firebox, not a playground argument.”

“Lammm Pent.”

“If you possess my phone I will have to put you in time-out in your ball, and neither of us will like that.”

The argument over a literal online flame war was cut short by the door flying open, one of the hinges breaking off with the force and flying somewhere into the aether, never to be seen again. Or at least, not without a strong magnet.

Emmet stood there, proudly, holding his newly-evolved Eelektrik, his grin a mile wide. Ingo picked his heart up out of his femoral artery, where it had lodged itself, and gently removed Lampent from where she hid, hanging over his shoulder. Emmet stood there, eyes twinkling, clearly ready to perform the coveted Bit. Ingo opened his mouth, got halfway through a word, and his twin took the proffered delight of cutting him off.

“I am Emmet and I discovered something INCREDIBLE. INGO LOOK.”

Ingo looked, because what else was he going to do? He would allow his twin to complete his circus act, it was only proper and polite. Eelektrik trilled with delight. Emmet twirled like the best of Nimbasan runway models, clearly wrestling his eel, cooing platitudes to it as he writhed and squirmed to get it into position.

“Me beautiful slimy baby, my beloved pool noodle, my beeesstt conductor!~” Doing something that could generously be called ‘dislocating his shoulders’, Emmet managed to get his eel flipped up and around his neck. He flopped forwards, bonelessly, tipping his hat and giggling madly. He was grinning harder than normal. Ingo was a little scared.

“But now, Eelektrik can do MORE. OBSERVE.”

He threw his shoulders back, standing up as tall as he could, somehow not throwing himself ass-first onto the floor as the fifty pounds of eel he was currently deadlifting remained stationary over his neck. Emmet’s arms flew upwards and out, rocking back and forth in jazz hands. Eelektrik frilled its fans, made another happy little buzz and-

"Eelektrik boa."

“DRAGONS ALMIGHTY. THE EEL GLOWS.”

There it was, clear as day. Eelektrik flashed it’s spots in natural bioluminescence, blinking like a neon sign. Bright beautiful yellow and clearly charged, Emmet’s hair stood on end, pushing his hat an inch off his head. They blinked in a rhythmic, pulsing manner. It was almost hypnotizing to watch, in a way. Ingo snapped back to reality, realizing his mouth had dropped open and Lampent had ceased questing for his Pokedex. Recognizing Emmet was looking for a response, he threw his arm out in a thumbs-up so fast his arm hurt, snapping his suspender against his neck.

“Brrravo! Ten out of ten! Majestic eel scarf!” He praised, Emmet’s expression only growing further full of himself and his achievement, which was well deserved. Lampent echoed the sentiment, flashing back at Eelektrik in response.

Now that both Pokemon could glow, they’d never have a problem in the caves again!

[rosyrosethings]

Snowed in

This is slowwww burn. Enemies to lovers. I love a good slow burn

7k+ words

Y/N’s breath puffed into the frozen air as she slammed her car door shut, the sound echoing across the quiet clearing. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she stepped forward, scarf pulled tighter around her neck, eyes lifting toward the cabin nestled between towering pines.

It was bigger than she expected—three stories of rich timber and stone, with a wraparound porch and smoke curling lazily from the chimney. Warm golden light spilled from the windows, glowing like a promise against the cold gray sky. It would’ve been the perfect winter escape—if he wasn’t coming.

She sighed sharply, her breath fogging up her glasses. Of course Harry Styles was coming. Of course he had to be part of this.

The group trip had sounded great in theory: a week in a mountain cabin with friends, no work, just snow, booze, board games, and long mornings in pajamas. Y/N had needed the break—desperately. And it might’ve been just what she needed, if it weren’t for the single walking migraine that came bundled with dimples and a British accent.

Harry Styles was a menace. A flirty, smug, utterly infuriating headache of a man who lived to push her buttons. He always knew just what to say, what look to give, how to hover one second too long. Every interaction was a tug-of-war—one he acted like he was enjoying a little too much. She swore he only said her name like that—low and drawn out—just to make her skin crawl.

And worse? It worked.

She’d made sure to arrive first. If she had to be stuck here all week, she’d at least claim the best room. Hoisting her duffel bag onto one shoulder, she trudged up the porch stairs and brushed snow from her sleeves. The front door creaked open with a gentle push—unlocked, just like Mitch promised.

Inside, the cabin was warm and still, filled with the soft glow of firelight and the scent of cedar. Thick beams crossed the ceiling, a stone fireplace crackled quietly at the far end of the room, and plush rugs softened the dark wood floors. She stepped in slowly, letting the quiet settle over her like a blanket. For just a moment, it was perfect.

Then the front door flew open behind her with a burst of icy air.

“Don’t tell me you beat me here,” called a voice that made her jaw tighten on instinct.

She didn’t even need to look. She knew that voice.

Harry Styles stepped inside like he owned the place, snow dusting his boots and curls poking out from beneath a black beanie. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, eyes bright and full of mischief. That stupid, irresistible grin was already on his face.

“Unfortunately,” she muttered without turning around.

“Wow,” he said, unzipping his coat. “You came early. That’s cute. Trying to set up booby traps before I arrive?”

“Actually, I came early so I wouldn’t have to see your face for a few hours.”

He let out a laugh that was far too delighted. “God, you missed me.”

“I missed peace.”

Harry strolled farther in, glancing around like he was already rating the decor. “You know, the more you insult me, the more I’m convinced you dream about me at night.”

“I don’t dream about clowns.”

He raised a brow. “That’s weird. I dream about you sometimes.”

Y/N turned slowly, fixing him with a glare. “You’re disgusting.”

“And yet,” he said, gesturing around them with mock innocence, “here you are. Sharing a roof with me.”

Before she could snap back, her phone buzzed so did Harry’s . Then again. Then a third time. She pulled it out and opened the group chat.

Dan: Roads are closing—storm’s worse than they predicted Lauren: They won’t let us past the ranger checkpoint Mitch: They’re putting us up at this little lodge halfway up the mountain Jessica: We’ll have to wait out the storm, prob can’t get to the cabin tonight Dan: You guys hold it down. Try not to kill each other Lauren: Or worse... hook up lol Y/N: I hope the snow swallows you all

She stared at the screen. Then slowly looked up. Harry was already grinning. “You have got to be kidding me.” She said under her breath. 

“Just us,” he said, arms outstretched like it was a dream come true. “In a beautiful, secluded cabin. Four bedrooms. And yet, I know you’ll still find ways to bump into me.”

“In your dreams.”

Harry waggled his eyebrows. “Exactly.”

Y/N groaned and turned for the stairs. “I’m claiming the biggest room.”

“Already did.”

She froze. “Excuse me?”

“I was here first,” he said, smug. “Technically. I parked in the back, took the back stairs. My bag’s already on the bed. Mountain view, window seat, king bed. Super cozy.”

“You sneaky little—”

“Now, now,” he said, holding up his hands like he was diffusing a bomb. “Still three other bedrooms left. Unless, of course... you want to share?”

She turned slowly, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. “I’d rather eat a blue jean jacket.”

He burst out laughing as she stormed up the stairs.

Y/N flung open the second bedroom door with more force than necessary. It wasn’t as big as the master, but it would do—queen bed, soft blankets, a little window with a snow-covered view. Most importantly, it was far enough away from Harry’s room that she wouldn’t have to hear him breathing.

She tossed her bag onto the bed and sat down, still bundled in her coat. Outside, the snow was falling faster now—thick, heavy flakes swirling in the wind. It was almost hypnotic, the way it danced through the air, piling higher along the porch and creeping up the trees.

They weren’t going anywhere tonight. That much was clear.

She had just finished unpacking when it happened.

Click.

The heater cut off.

A strange silence followed—no humming refrigerator, no subtle buzz of electricity. Just the low crackle of the fire from downstairs and the eerie groan of the wind pressing against the walls.

Then darkness.

Y/N paused, mid-step, her pulse skipping as the reality settled in.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, flicking the light switch a few more times. 

Nothing.

From downstairs came Harry’s voice: “Power’s out!”

She rolled her eyes and shouted back, “Thanks, Sherlock!”

She quickly changed into some pjs, looking in bag for some kind of light source besides her phone to save battery. 

Nothing.

Just a book, a portable charger, Yarn,  and her pride.

The wind howled again, louder now, rattling the window beside her like a warning. The room was already getting colder. Upstairs suddenly felt very far away from the fire—and far too close to the storm.

With a grumble, she grabbed her phone and her book and headed downstairs.

The living room was dim, lit only by the fireplace’s faint orange glow. Harry was crouched in front of it, sleeves rolled up, feeding a fresh log into the flames. Sparks popped and danced up the chimney, and the heat slowly returned to the room.

Y/N stopped at the bottom step, arms crossed over her chest.

Harry looked up. “Look who finally decided to join me.”

“It’s freezing upstairs,” she said flatly. “And I don’t feel like being trapped in a horror movie setting alone.”

“Sure. That’s why,” he said, grinning. “Not because you missed me?”

She gave him a look. “I’d rather sleep outside.”

Harry stood and brushed off his hands. “Suit yourself. But unless you want to become a human popsicle, this fire is your best friend now.”

She walked to the far end of the couch and sat down stiffly, curling her legs under her. “Don’t talk to me.”

“No promises,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.

A few moments later, he returned with a cardboard box and a lighter. “Found these in the drawer next to the fridge. Candles.”

Y/N took them wordlessly and began lighting them one by one, placing them across the room—on the mantle, the windowsill, the coffee table. Warm golden light flickered to life in small halos, casting long shadows and softening the edges of the cabin.

The room shrank around them, cozier now, quieter.

She picked up her book, flipped to her dogeared page, and began reading. Harry dropped into the armchair closest to the fire, his long legs stretching out in front of him as he stared into the flames.

For several minutes, neither of them spoke.

Outside, the storm roared like an angry beast, but inside, all was still.

Until—

Growl.

It was faint, but unmistakable.

Y/N froze, eyes locked on the page. She tried to play it off by flipping to the next chapter like nothing happened.

Harry opened one eye. “Was that… you?”

She didn’t answer.

“That was your stomach,” he said, grinning.

“It was the wind.”

“The wind doesn’t sound hungry, Y/N.”

She snapped her book shut. “Do not start.”

Harry stood with a stretch, heading into the kitchen. “Relax. I brought food.”

“Oh good,” she called. “Protein bars and bad decisions?”

“Funny. But no,” he said, rummaging through his bag. “Tonight, we dine like kings.”

He returned with two packs of instant ramen, a small pot, and a grin that made her immediately suspicious.

“You brought ramen?”

“Laugh all you want, but I knew we’d end up needing it. Mountain weather waits for no man.”

“I’d rather starve.”

Harry shrugged and headed toward the stove. “Suit yourself. But when you faint from hunger, I’m not catching you.”

She didn’t reply—but her eyes followed him as he knelt beside the wood-burning stove, coaxing the flames higher. He looked completely in his element, sleeves pushed up, focus sharp, hands steady. It was annoying how competent he looked.

And how good.

She turned back to her book, scowling at the page like it had personally offended her.

Behind her, she heard the familiar sound of water heating. Then the soft rustle of plastic as he tore open the ramen packets.

“Just so you know,” Harry said, “I’m making two bowls. Because I know you. You’ll pretend you’re not hungry, then creep into the kitchen at midnight like a raccoon.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

The scent of ramen filled the room, savory and warm. Her stomach growled again.

“I’m not eating that,” she said, sharper this time.

“Didn’t say you were,” he said casually, pouring noodles into the steaming water. “But I’m placing one bowl near you and walking away. What happens after that is between you and your integrity.”

Y/N didn’t answer. But her eyes flicked toward the stove. The ramen smelled criminally good. Salty, warm, comforting in the way only cheap noodles could be when you’re snowed in, half-frozen, and pretending not to starve in front of your nemesis.

Y/N tried to ignore it.

Harry stirred the pot slowly, adding the seasoning packets like he was cooking for a five-star review. When the noodles were ready, he ladled them into two mismatched ceramic bowls and grabbed a pair of forks.

He approached the couch and, without a word, set one steaming bowl down on the coffee table in front of her.

She glanced at it.

Then back at him.

“It’s not poisoned,” he said, settling into the other end of the couch. “But if it was, honestly? I’d be impressed with myself.”

She glared. Her stomach growled again.

He wiggled his brows. “You gonna eat it or dramatically waste it to prove a point?”

Y/N let out a low groan and snatched the bowl. “I hate you.”

“You say that,” Harry said, twirling noodles onto his fork, “but you’re eating my food. Sitting in my firelight. Basking in my radiant charm.”

“Basking in your delusions.”

They both dug in, the room quiet except for the clink of forks and the soft whistle of wind outside. For a long stretch of time, they didn’t speak. Just ate. And sat. And didn’t hate it.

The silence felt different now.

Not stiff.

Not hostile.

Just… warm.

Y/N leaned back into the couch when her bowl was empty, curling the blanket tighter around her legs. Harry remained at the other end, his posture loose, gaze on the fire.

“You know,” he said, voice soft, “if this storm keeps up, I’m calling dibs on the big blanket tomorrow.”

She didn’t look over. “I’ll smother you with it.”

He chuckled, low and rough. “Sounds romantic.”

They lapsed into silence again, but this time it was laced with something unspoken. 

Something new.

The fire crackled, burning low and golden. The storm continued to rage outside, but inside, it felt distant. Muted.

Eventually, Harry stood and gathered their empty bowls, placing them in the sink before returning to the couch with a heavy sigh. He dropped beside her again, lounging like it was his right.

She gave him a look. “You have your own space.”

“And yet,” he said, propping his feet on the coffee table, “this couch is cozy. Candle-lit. Warm. And you didn’t tell me to leave.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and turned back to her book. She flipped a page, pretending to be immersed in the story—but his presence was louder than any paragraph.

After a few minutes, he tilted his head toward her.

“What are you reading?”

She didn’t look up. “You wouldn’t care.”

“You don’t know that.”

��It’s not a comic or a sports article, so…”

He smirked. “You’re adorable when you’re judgmental.” She ignored that. 

“Come on,” he said, nudging her with his foot. “Read it out loud.”

She glanced at him, confused. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Your voice is nice. And the wind sounds like it’s trying to eat the house. Distract me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No.”

“You owe me.”

“For what?”

“For feeding you. I could’ve made one bowl. I made two. That’s sacrifice.”

“That’s survival.”

“Still counts.”

She sighed, long and theatrical, then flipped back to the top of the chapter. “Fine. But if you interrupt me, I stop.”

He grinned and held up both hands. “Scout’s honor.”

Y/N cleared her throat and began reading, her voice steady and calm. The flickering fire beside them cast moving shadows along the walls, and Harry leaned back, watching her with quiet interest.

For once, he didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t tease.

He just listened.

She wasn’t used to that—not from him. But something about the way he was looking at her made her cheeks warm. Made her voice wobble just slightly before she caught herself.

She read until the end of the chapter, then gently folded the corner of the page and shut the book.

“There,” she said. “Happy?”

Harry blinked slowly, like waking from a dream. “That’s where it ends?”

“Yes. Thats the end of the chapter." 

“That’s criminal. Rachel’s about to ruin her life.”

“You were actually paying attention?”

“Obviously. She slept with Dex, Darcy's Fiance. There’s no turning back now.”

Y/N stared at him. “You know all their names?”

“I’m invested,” he said seriously. “You roped me into a soap opera.”

She laughed before she could stop herself—a soft, reluctant sound that made Harry smile wider. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered.

“And you,” he said, shifting closer, “are kind of cute when you read." 

She scoffed. “You’re pushing it.”

He held out his hand. “Give me the book. I’ll read the next chapter.”

“You?”

“I have a British accent. It’ll be very dramatic.”

She rolled her eyes, but handed it over.

Harry adjusted on the couch, stretching his legs out with the book in his lap. He cleared his throat with exaggerated flair.

“Chapter Nine,” he announced in a mock-theatrical voice. “The morning after, I woke up feeling guilty… but not quite guilty enough.”

Y/N groaned, pulling the blanket over her face. 

“Regret.”

“Shh. I’m reading.”

To her surprise, he wasn’t half bad. His voice, while occasionally dramatic for effect, dipped low and smooth at the right moments. His pacing was steady, and when he didn’t know a word, he rolled right through it like it didn’t matter. And it didn’t—not when he made the story sound like it belonged to him.

She peeked out from under the blanket and studied him quietly.

Harry’s curls had fallen into his face again, his lips moving softly with each line. His brow furrowed a little when the main character said something reckless. His mouth twitched into a smirk when the tension in the story spiked. He was... focused. Softened by firelight. And honestly, kind of beautiful.

Y/N blinked that thought away immediately. Nope. No. Absolutely not.

But then he stopped again—mid-sentence—and raised his brows with that familiar, knowing grin.

“Oh, this one’s good,” he said, holding the book up like it was evidence. Then he read, “‘I knew I was flirting. And I knew he was flirting back. But I also knew I wouldn’t stop.’”

Y/N groaned. “Okay, that’s enough.”

Harry looked over the top of the book, grinning. “You sure? Sounds familiar.”

“In what world?”

“In this cabin. Right now.”

“You are delusional.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling. “Maybe. But you’re smiling.”

She rolled her eyes, trying to hide the curve of her mouth. “Back to reading, pretty boy.”

Harry paused. Blinked. Then slowly smiled—this time softer. More real.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Y/N opened her mouth. Closed it.

There was something in the way he said it—like it wasn’t a joke this time. Like he really wanted to know. And with the firelight flickering behind him, casting a golden glow on his skin and catching in his lashes, she couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t.

She looked away, fingers tightening slightly in the blanket. “Shut up.”

Harry chuckled, but the grin he wore wasn’t teasing now—it was warm. Gentle. The kind of smile that lingered, even after he turned back to the page.

He cleared his throat and read on, but Y/N wasn’t really listening anymore.

Because now she was the one sneaking glances.

And for the first time since they’d gotten snowed in…

She wasn’t sure if she hated it.

She turned her attention back to the fire—but it was no use. Her eyes kept drifting back to him. To the way he absently tapped the side of the book with his finger.

She didn’t realize she was slipping until her head gently tilted toward the arm of the couch. Her eyelids blinked slower. The warmth of the room, the steady cadence of his voice, the way her body had finally stopped fighting—all of it lulled her deeper.

By the time Harry flipped the next page, she was completely still.

He glanced over.

Y/N was curled up in her corner of the couch, her face relaxed, her lips parted slightly in sleep. One hand still held the edge of the blanket, like she’d tried to fight it, but lost.

He smiled to himself and lowered the book.

“You couldn’t hang, huh?” he whispered.

Carefully, he set the book down on the coffee table, then turned back toward her. She looked peaceful—peaceful in a way he’d never seen her. All the snark and sharp edges melted off, just warmth and soft lashes and slow breaths.

Harry hesitated.

Then he reached behind her, grabbed the throw blanket and gently draped it over her. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

He paused a moment longer, looking at her.

He’d spent years getting under her skin. 

Teasing her, pushing her, watching her snap back at him with fire in her voice. And yeah, he’d loved every second of it. But this? This quiet moment, where she trusted him enough to fall asleep beside him?

It undid something in him.

“Goodnight angry,” he murmured.

He considered heading to his room, giving her space—but the warmth of the fire, the soft light of the candles, and her presence just a few inches away kept him still.

So he stayed.

He shifted gently onto his side of the couch, pulling the blanket over himself, careful not to disturb her.

And for the first time since arriving, Harry didn’t feel like pretending he didn’t care.

He closed his eyes, the storm still whispering outside, and let sleep take him too.

//

Y/N stirred in her sleep, the creeping chill tugging her gently out of her dreams. Her nose twitched. Her fingers flexed, brushing against something warm and solid.

That was the first clue something was… off.

The rest hit her all at once.

There was a strong arm wrapped snug around her waist. A warm chest pressed up against her back. A leg—oh god, someone’s leg—tangled over hers. And she wasn’t cold. Not really. Not where they were touching. She was actually kind of… cozy?

Still half-asleep, she nestled into the warmth, letting herself enjoy it for a moment. Whoever it was, they were warm and still and—

Wait.

Wait.

That scent.

Cedarwood. Laundry detergent. Trouble.

Her eyes snapped open.

No. No, no, no.

She shifted her head slowly, heart beginning to race as her gaze dropped to the pale arm curled tightly around her midsection. That was not her blanket. That was a man. And that—

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice rasping out into the quiet.

In one sharp motion, she jolted upright like she’d just discovered a tarantula in her bed. 

The blanket flew off, and Harry groaned behind her, arm flopping where she’d been.

“What the—”

He blinked up at her, bleary-eyed and confused, his curls a mess and his voice thick with sleep. “Why’d you move? We were warm.”

Y/N stared at him like she was trying to manifest fire from her pupils. “Were we cuddling?!”

Harry yawned. “It’s called body heat, sweetheart.”

She scrambled off the couch like she’d been electrocuted. “No. Nope. No, no, no.”

Still lounging on his side, Harry propped his head up with one hand, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For saving your life. It’s called survival cuddling.”

“I’d rather freeze to death.”

“You didn’t seem to mind a second ago.”

Her mouth opened. Then closed. Because damn it, she had liked it just for a second. Before she realized who it was. Before Harry’s obnoxious charm showed up at full volume.

She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders like armor. “I must’ve been sleep-deprived. Or delusional.”

Harry stretched lazily, unbothered and still shirtless. “I’m a great cuddler, Y/N. It’s okay to admit that.”

“You spooned me like a heat-seeking missile.”

He grinned. “You were the one radiating warmth.”

She gave him a flat look. “You’re not cute.”

He shrugged. “You did call me pretty last night.”

“That was sarcasm.”

“Sure it was.”

Before she could fire back, a frigid gust whistled against the windows, and they both turned to glance at the hearth. The fire was completely out. Just ash and cold logs.

Y/N sighed and rubbed her arms. “Perfect. Now we’re actually gonna freeze.”

Harry sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll get more firewood. Don’t go passing out without me.”

“Trust me,” she muttered, stalking toward the kitchen. “You’ve cured me of any desire to sleep.”

As he disappeared into the hall to grab wood from the closet, she watched him go—shirtless, annoyingly tall, and still wearing that smug grin.

She scowled.

And yet, the ghost of warmth where he’d held her still lingered. And for some reason… that annoyed her most of all.

By the time Harry dragged himself off the floor and toward the stack of firewood in the back room, Y/N had wrapped herself in a blanket so tightly she looked like a grumpy little burrito—warm, silent, and very much Not In The Mood.

The cabin was freezing—again. The fire had gone out overnight, and without power, the chill seeped into everything that wasn’t pressed up against the hearth.

She didn’t say anything as Harry disappeared down the hall. When he returned with an armful of logs, she watched from the couch—quietly, like a cat perched on alert. He didn’t speak either, just dropped to his knees and got to work rebuilding the fire.

It only took him a few minutes to get it going again—he was weirdly good at it, crouched low in his hoodie and sweats, sleeves pushed up, curls falling into his eyes as he coaxed flames from kindling like he did this all the time.

And maybe he did.

Which was somehow more irritating.

Y/N pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, biting back the part of her brain that wanted to compliment him. Or at the very least... thank him.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

"Fire’s back," he said finally, brushing ash from his palms as he stood. The fire crackled again, warm golden light spilling across the cabin floor. “You’re welcome.”

She didn’t look up. “Congratulations on fulfilling basic survival instincts.”

"You really know how to say ‘thank you,’" he muttered, walking past her toward the kitchen. “And to think I was sensing improvement.”

Y/N didn’t respond. Instead, she reached into her tote bag and pulled out a tangled skein of golden-brown yarn and her favorite crochet hook—slipping into rhythm the moment the yarn touched her fingers. Hook. Pull. Twist. Loop. Her mind began to settle. A scarf, maybe. She didn’t care what it was. It was something to do with her hands while her brain spun in circles.

Across the room, she heard the familiar rustling of a duffel bag being unzipped. Water clinking into a small pot. The stove creaked open—still warm from last night—and a match hissed to life. No eggs this morning.

Just ramen. Again.

It was weirdly comforting.

She didn’t say anything, but her stomach did.

Harry didn’t even turn around. “Didn’t even argue this time. Growth.”

“I’m reserving my insults for later,” she said coolly, not looking up from her stitches.

“Save your energy,” he called back. “You’re gonna need it to slurp this world-class noodle masterpiece.”

“You mean boil noodles and dump powder in?”

“Gordon Ramsay’s shaking.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but kept crocheting. The crackle of the fire, the bubbling pot, and the smell of salty broth slowly warming the room—it was peaceful, in a weird, very not normal way.

Twenty minutes later, he appeared at the edge of her vision, holding out a ceramic bowl with a fork sticking out. 

She eyed it warily.

“It’s not poisoned,” he said, nudging it closer. 

“Unless you count sodium as a weapon.” Y/N took the bowl with a soft grunt of thanks, still not meeting his eyes.

Harry dropped onto the floor beside the couch, cross-legged, cradling his own bowl. “We’ve officially peaked. Noodles by candlelight.”

“You’re romanticizing instant ramen,” she muttered, digging in.

He slurped dramatically. “That’s because this is romantic.”

She smirked, barely.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the kind of silence that was… not awkward. Not quite comfortable either. Something in between. Something new.

Y/N peeked at him once. Just once.

But of course, he caught her.

“What?” he asked, noodles hanging out of his mouth like a fool.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You were staring.”

“I was judging.”

“Same thing,” he said, swallowing. “But go ahead, admit it. I make excellent apocalypse noodles.”

She considered. “They’re edible.”

“High praise,” he said, mock-bowing his head.

When she finished her bowl, she set it aside and reached for her yarn again. Harry leaned back on one hand and watched her fingers move.

“So… that your new scarf?”

“Maybe.”

He watched a little longer, then added, “You always crochet when you’re annoyed?”

She didn’t look up. “It’s either this or fight someone.”

He snorted. “You’re full of sunshine.”

She kept going, calm and rhythmic. “Crochet doesn’t talk back. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t leave its socks everywhere.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I do none of those things.”

“You flirted with a squirrel yesterday.”

“That squirrel was asking for it.”

Y/N choked on a laugh and shook her head. The moment stretched, softening like dough under a rolling pin. No tension. No snark. Just two people thawing—slowly—beside the fire.

Harry tilted his head, eyeing her half-finished piece. “Make me something?”

She looked at him like he had sprouted antlers. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because I’ll wear it. And think of you every time I do.”

“That’s supposed to make me want to make you something?”

His grin widened. “Come on. I’d look good in something you made.”

Y/N paused, stared at him, then muttered, “A muzzle.”

Harry laughed—really laughed. Not one of his smug little chuckles or sarcastic scoffs, but a genuine, warm burst of amusement that crinkled his eyes and curled his dimples.

She wasn’t used to hearing that kind of laugh from him.

She definitely wasn’t used to liking it.And that unsettled her more than the blizzard howling outside. It cracked something open in her chest, something quiet and hesitant and unfamiliar.

They fell into an easy silence after that. The fire glowed steadily now, golden and soft, casting lazy shadows on the cabin walls. Their ramen bowls sat empty on the floor beside them. Y/N’s yarn moved between her fingers like it had a heartbeat of its own—loop, pull, twist, repeat. Soothing, steady. But her eyes kept drifting, flicking toward him more often than she wanted to admit.

Then Harry leaned forward and picked up the book they’d started the night before—the same one she’d read to him by candlelight. His thumb brushed over the dog-eared corner he'd folded down before he fell asleep.

“I could read a bit more,” he said casually, already flipping it open. “Unless you’re too busy knitting me a muzzle.”

“It’s crochet,” she corrected, without missing a stitch.

He smirked. “Still not denying it.”

“I’m considering gag options.”

“Charming,” he murmured with a grin, already settling back into the couch. He adjusted until he was half-reclined again, legs stretched out and the book open on his lap. The firelight danced across his face and the worn paperback, softening both in a way that made her throat tighten unexpectedly.

Y/N didn’t stop him.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t even roll her eyes.

Instead, she just kept crocheting as his voice filled the room again—low and warm and surprisingly steady, each word threading between them like another row in the blanket between her hands.

The fire crackled quietly, a low hum behind Harry’s words. Outside, the wind pressed against the windows like a whisper, muffled by thick snow. Inside, everything felt smaller. Closer.

Safer.

Before they knew it Time clicked away,  Harry read without pause, his voice dipping with tension, rising with humor. The tips of his fingers tapped the page as he spoke. He didn’t rush. Didn’t perform. It almost felt like he forgot she was there—like he read for himself.

Y/N curled her legs beneath her and tried to focus on her stitches, but her hands were stiff with cold. The blanket wrapped around her wasn’t cutting it anymore. The fire helped, sure—but her body craved something more immediate. Something warm and alive.

Something like the man sitting next to her.

She told herself it was just the temperature. Just comfort. Just necessity.

But her body was already leaning before her mind caught up.

First, her shoulder brushed against his arm.

Harry’s eyes flicked to her, a quiet glance, but he didn’t stop reading. He didn’t flinch or shift away. Instead, he adjusted slightly, tilting the book so she could see the page better. His posture relaxed, the corner of the throw blanket brushing her knee now.

It was a silent invitation.

She didn’t pull back.

A few pages later, her knee nudged against his.

Then the blanket slipped off one shoulder, goosebumps rising instantly along her skin.

Without missing a word, Harry reached behind them, grabbed the thicker throw blanket draped over the couch, and gently, wordlessly laid it across both of them. His hand grazed her arm in the process—warm and steady, grounding her like an anchor.

Y/N’s breath caught.

It was subtle.

Barely anything.

But somehow… it was everything.

She didn’t lean away. Didn’t speak.

She just listened—to the story, to the fire, to the steady, deliberate rhythm of his voice beside her.

And when she finally let her hook fall into her lap, resting her yarn beside her, she didn’t even notice her head tipping onto his shoulder.

She should’ve shifted. Should’ve made a sarcastic quip. Should’ve rebuilt the distance they’d so carefully maintained since the moment they met.

But instead… she let it happen.

Harry didn’t speak. Didn’t tease.

His arm moved slowly behind her back, slipping across her shoulders and resting with gentle weight along the curve of her body. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t pull. Just held her—warm and patient, as if he’d known all along she would fold eventually.

He read on like nothing had changed.

But it had.

Y/N sat curled beneath his arm, blanket pooled around them both, the steady rise and fall of his voice softening into something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time—safe. It wasn’t the story anymore that had her full attention. It was him. The way his chest moved beneath her cheek. The slow cadence of his breathing. The warmth that radiated off him like a second fire.

Her fingers twitched slightly beneath the blanket and—without meaning to—came to rest lightly over his chest.

Harry’s voice faltered for half a second. Barely noticeable. But she heard it.

He cleared his throat, blinked down at the page, and continued reading.

The book was hitting its emotional stride. Rachel was unraveling. Dex was making excuses. Darcy was still in the dark. The drama should’ve made Y/N roll her eyes—but now, it felt different. Like every word was being read not just aloud, but to her.

Specifically.

Intentionally.

And yet, it wasn’t performative. There was no smugness, no smirk on his face. Harry wasn’t playing a role anymore. He was just a boy reading a book, holding a girl who used to swear she hated him.

Somewhere around the middle of the chapter, her eyes started to flutter shut. Not from boredom. Not even from sleep. But from the calm—the peace—that had settled deep in her chest.

Her head dropped fully onto his shoulder. She felt his muscles tense just a little. Then relax again.

She didn’t mean to nuzzle closer.

But she did.

And he didn’t stop her.

His hand shifted slightly, brushing up her arm until it rested at the bend of her shoulder. The pads of his fingers touched her like she might disappear if he held too tight.

She didn’t.

She stayed.

By the time he finished the chapter, the room had gone quiet again.

He glanced down at her.

Y/N was still awake—barely—but her eyes were half-lidded, lashes brushing her cheeks, mouth parted the slightest bit. Her fingers were still resting against his chest. Her body tucked along his side like it had always belonged there.

Harry closed the book slowly and rested it on the table.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t want to break the moment.

Instead, he looked at her. Really looked.

She wasn’t scowling.

Wasn’t rolling her eyes.

Wasn’t biting back a sharp remark.

She just looked… soft.

Warm.

Real.

Like someone he hadn’t fully met yet—but wanted to.

He exhaled slowly and let his head fall back against the cushion. One arm still around her, his other hand drifted beneath the blanket and found her wrist, thumb brushing gently against her skin.

///

The room was quiet now.

Outside, the wind had calmed, settling into a gentle hush as snow drifted steadily from the sky. Inside, the fire burned low—an amber flicker casting long, slow shadows across the wood-paneled walls. The candles had melted into puddles at their bases, the scent of wax and cedar still hanging faintly in the air.

Y/N stirred.

She blinked slowly, breath catching as her brain registered warmth. Not just from the fire—but from beneath her. Around her.

Soft cotton brushed her cheek.

A rhythmic rise and fall pressed against her ear.

She was warm—warmer than she had been in days.

And then… she realized why.

She was in Harry’s lap.

Her entire body, tucked up in the fetal position, was curled over him like he was a makeshift mattress. Her head rested against his chest, right over his heart. One of his arms cradled her back, the other resting lazily on the armrest. Her legs were folded across the couch cushions—but she was definitely on him.

Panic flared first. Sharp and fast.

She jolted upright a little too quickly, like she’d just realized she’d been snuggling the devil himself. “Oh my god,” she breathed.

Harry, still half-asleep, cracked one eye open. His lashes were mussed, his curls a soft halo around his face, and his T-shirt was wrinkled from the weight of her cheek. He looked far too good for someone just waking up.

A crooked smirk curved his lips. “Well, well,” he murmured, voice deep and sleep-slicked. “Look who decided to wake up.”

She stared at him, still trying to get her brain to reboot. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“You were out cold,” he said, stretching slightly beneath her. “Didn’t move when I shifted. Or when the fire popped. Or when I put the blanket back on you.”

“I—” She paused, biting her lip. “I thought I fell asleep on the couch.”

He blinked. “You did. I just happened to be part of it.”

She groaned and flopped forward again, face hitting his chest with a muffled thud. “God. This is humiliating.”

“Disagree,” he said lightly, his fingers brushing her arm through the blanket. “You’re surprisingly cuddly.”

“I’m cold,” she mumbled into his shirt.

“You’re clingy,” he corrected.

“You’re annoying.”

“And yet, here we are.”

His arm was still around her—loose, casual, but firm enough to remind her just how close they’d gotten. Her hand was resting on his stomach, blanket slipped halfway off her shoulder, and she hadn’t even noticed.

She thought about pulling away again. She really did.

But the fire was barely burning, and his chest was warm, and his voice sounded like home in a way it had absolutely no right to.

So she stayed.

Harry didn’t say anything more. Just shifted a little to give her more room, then leaned his head back and exhaled softly through his nose. His fingers trailed slow, absentminded circles on the back of her sweatshirt—barely-there movements, rhythmic and comforting.

Y/N's pulse thudded louder in her ears.

This wasn’t just convenience. This wasn’t just about staying warm.

It was something else.

Eventually, she whispered, “You’re not… what I thought you were.”

Harry tilted his head just enough to glance down at her. “No?”

“I mean, you are. Kind of. But also not.”

He chuckled. “That clears it up.”

She pulled the blanket higher. “I mean… I thought you were all talk. Just ego and flirting and jokes.”

“I am.”

“But you’re also…” She trailed off.

Softer.

Sweeter.

Steadier than she wanted to admit.

Harry smiled lazily. “You can say devastatingly charming. I won’t stop you.”

She elbowed him lightly. “Shut up.”

He laughed again—low and genuine—and this time it tugged something loose in her chest.

For a while, they didn’t say anything. Just laid there, tangled under the blanket, breathing in sync.

Y/N’s eyes began to droop again. Her fingers curled loosely into the hem of his T-shirt. Harry’s hand never stopped tracing her back. The fire crackled, and somewhere between the silence and the comfort, she let herself drift off again

/

The morning sunlight crept in slow and honeyed, stretching long arms across the hardwood floors and casting warm halos around the quiet room. The fire had burned down to ash, leaving only a faint smell of smoke and the chilled hush of a new day. But still, there was warmth.

Because of him.

Y/N stirred, her face nestled against smooth cotton and bare skin. Her cheek rested squarely on Harry’s chest—his shirt nowhere in sight. One of his arms was tucked behind his head, the other curled tightly around her waist, anchoring her to him. Her thigh draped across his, tangled under the thick blanket that had slipped slightly to reveal the sculpted lines of his stomach.

She blinked slowly.

Took in the rise and fall of his chest beneath her ear. The way his hand rested just beneath her ribs. His scent—soap, firewood, and something inherently him.

And for the briefest, most dangerous moment… she smiled.

It was peaceful. Soothing.

Safe.

And then—the creak.

The front door groaned against the cold.

Voices.

Footsteps crunching snow on the porch. A laugh. A loud, familiar one.

Her heart stopped.

She jolted upright like she’d been electrocuted. “Oh my God—”

Harry stirred, a low sleepy groan rumbling in his chest. “What—?”

She was already wriggling out of his arms, panicking, shoving the blanket aside with a flurry of limbs and regret. Her bare foot hit the cold floor. “Shit, shit, shit—”

“Y/N?” he mumbled, voice gravelly and dazed.

Too late.

The door flew open with a ding from the old bell overhead, and cold air rushed in.

Jessica stomped into the cabin first, wrapped in a marshmallow of a puffer coat, cheeks flushed from the snow. “Y/N! You’re still alive!”

Y/N, halfway to standing, scrambled upright and grabbed the nearest throw blanket, hugging it around her like armor. She forced a tight smile, trying not to breathe like she’d just been sprinting across landmines.

“Hey,” she choked out. “Glad you made it safely.”

Behind Jessica, a second girl stepped inside—shaking snow from her coat, eyes bright and curious.

Taylor.

Long, shiny waves of chestnut-brown hair framed her face like a shampoo commercial. Her skin glowed against the cold, and her bright blue eyes immediately scanned the room like she was taking inventory of the space—and the people in it. 

Y/N felt her stomach twist.

Not because Taylor wasn’t nice. But because she was perfect. The kind of effortless pretty that made you question your own reflection. And the way she looked at Harry when her eyes landed on him?

Well. That said enough.

Harry, who was only just now sitting up, blinked blearily, shirtless and still blanket-wrapped. His curls were messy. His voice was thick with sleep. “Morning…”

Taylor stopped mid-step, jaw slightly slack.

Jessica’s brows rose as her eyes ping-ponged from Harry’s bare chest to Y/N’s flustered appearance.

“Did we interrupt something?” Jessica asked, too casual to be casual.

Y/N snorted—too loud, too fake. “No. No! God, no. I was just… up early. Reading.”

Taylor blinked slowly, eyes still glued to Harry like she hadn’t heard a word. “Hi,” she said, smiling. “You must be Harry.”

Harry rubbed his eyes, squinting toward the sound of her voice. “Uh… I think so?”

Jessica smirked. “He’s usually a little more charming once he’s fully conscious.”

Taylor giggled, stepping farther into the room, but Harry’s gaze had already drifted past her—landing briefly on Y/N.

She wasn’t looking at him.

She was looking anywhere but him.

Still, he caught the way her fingers clenched tighter around the blanket at her chest. The flush across her cheeks that wasn’t from the cold.

Y/N turned her back quickly, darting toward the kitchen, mumbling something about tea.

Jessica didn’t miss it.

Behind her, Harry stood, blanket slipping down slightly as he stretched. His skin glowed in the morning light, shadows cutting across his arms and torso like artwork. Taylor’s stare was hungry. Obvious.

“Ohh its so cold in here” Taylor sad sweetly.

Harry yawned and reached for his shirt. 

“Yeah. I’ll go grab some more firewood.”

As he padded past, Taylor turned to watch him, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip just slightly.

Y/N, from the kitchen, poured water into the kettle a little too forcefully.

Jessica leaned against the counter, one eyebrow cocked. “You good?”

“Peachy,” Y/N muttered.

Jessica smirked. “You’re glowing.”

Y/N gave her a look. “I’m actually coming down from high after thinking someone was breaking in to kill us.”

“Uh huh.”

Behind them, the door creaked again as Harry stepped into the back room to get firewood, and Taylor moved a little further just to watch him. 

Y/N stared down at the tea kettle, face tight.

Jessica studied her best friend for a moment, then casually said, “So You and didn't kill each other?" 

[houseofmarcella]

dear god Albus Potter do you utterly haunt my thoughts

Just… Albus in the cursed child, for as mixed as people seem to be on it… Albus as the certified middle child who doesn’t have the cloak, doesn’t have the map, who doesn’t even have a family name?

Can you imagine little Al (not yet Albus because that’s a name he truly goes by once he has Scorpius) tucking himself into the cracks of the door as he hears his parents talking, hears his dad say it would have been better to know they were having two boys so they could have just called him Sirius

Al, getting teased by his invisible brother, yet seeing so distinctly that his father chose James over him for their family legacy

Al, who grew up on the filtered advice of a distant, out of reach mentor who he could never live up to. Not like James with his fun, his humor, or Lily with her love and her girlhood.

(Albus, who will hear Cedric called the spare and understand far too well what it’s like to be of secondary importance)

Al, who out of all his siblings looks the most like his father, a reflection to every family friend of what harry went through and an eternal reminder to himself and the world that he will always be his father’s legacy (he will look in the mirror for most of his adult life and see his father before he sees himself)

Al, age 11, seeking comfort on the train platform as everything changes around him and getting another lecture about bravery that he doesn’t feel he has

Al becoming Albus on that train, when the boy who would become the most important person in his life actually asks him, asks him what he wants to be called

Albus, under the sorting hat, struggling but thinking about who he wants to be outside of his family’s legacy and getting put in Slytherin for it

Albus, who grew up on war stories and hogwarts hyjinks staying up half his first night because he’s afraid of his peers, but doesn’t want them to know that because he so desperately and conflictingly wants to both fit in and stand out

Albus, who is bad at flying, humiliating himself in front of his peers, because he isn’t harry but isn’t Quidditch player Ginny either… Albus, who all the adults see as Harry’s extension; Albus, who struggles with charms like Lily never will, who can barely make his matchstick silver under the blue eyed portrait in the room, who struggles to parse through the moving and unequal words of wizarding textbooks, who attracts bullies like flies and doesn’t yet have his mother’s hexes to fight back

Albus, struggling to write that first letter home, to tell his parents and little sister that he’s different from them; Albus who doesn’t even get to tell them because James tells them first

Albus, who doesn’t get a green scarf and hat until after the first snow, unable to parse if it’s the color, the fact that he’s the second born, or maybe just that it’s him that made it come later than James’ had

Albus, who goes back home for Christmas and faces his father’s disapproval for befriending a Malfoy, his father’s distrust and attempts to assure his morality for befriending someone harry assumes cruel and antagonistic

Albus, having to hold awkward conversation with Rose and Ron and Hermione, because neither of the kids want their parents to know they’re not talking (they find out eventually, and though they’re nice about it, Albus knows they’ll always put Rose’s feelings first)

Albus, who is suddenly assumed more malicious and problem causing than he ever was before, who suddenly is seen as a prime person to scot the blame off to when things go wrong

Albus, who gets chosen after his sister (“just like her mother!”) during the family quidditch match; who gets meaningful looks from his Uncle Percy; whose Christmas sweaters are no longer red but never green; who suddenly cant seem to talk to his uncle ron anymore, someone who used to understand what it was like to be James’ brother

Albus potter who stradles the line of too Potter for Slytherin and too Slytherin for his family.

Albus Potter, who’s ambition has been squashed out by bullies and disregard and distrust, struggling to find his identity in a house and world that is still in the midst of undoing decades as an indoctrination machine…

[cum-aside]

Ok it’s not like I go here really, but I’ve been reading a bunch of DPxDC recently because it’s very good, and I had an idea that won’t go anywhere

The various gangs in Gotham have callsigns/uniforms or something right??? If not, they should, and imma say they do. Anyway. Redhood I think didn’t think too hard about what people in his gang on his turf should wear for identification purposes, but they sure did. And what they came up with was Red.

Wearing red in the vicinity of the ‘Bad Part’ of Gotham?? Part of the red hood gang. Generally head gear is the preferred method of wearing red. Red hats and beanies, red head scarfs and hijabs, red headbands, red masks. The idea has been communicated. To a certain point, wearing red even if you aren’t officially part of the gang is a great way to get an in with them, or be under protection if you’re the right age in the right area, as long as you’re willing to risk getting roped into low stakes gang activity, which can range from working the counter at money laundering sites to community service (guarding clinics and shelters and volunteering) to making deliveries to destroying certain hostile architecture. (Hood saves the real jobs with cops and shootings and turf disputes for actual members, that he knows the names faces and skills of, and who are at least above 18, but preferably over 20, and who wear real gear he supplies them with, not just whatever’s in their closet that’s red) (this does not entirely stop the smaller ‘members’ from getting into their own fights with the cops and turf wars, but Jason has found that giving them Something to do that feels like direct action helps curb those tendencies. And it’s not like those things aren’t things that don’t need doing, so it’s a win win. Mostly)

Danny, bless him, does not know any of this. But has been staying in the sketchier areas of Gotham because that’s where people don’t care how old you are or if your papers are real or not, and he absolutely does not want people looking into how old he is and wether his papers are real or not. He is also wearing an inadvisable and vaguely conspicuous amount of red. His converse are red, his signature baseball tee is white and red, and his hoodie is also red.

Clearly, this kid (he’s like 17) really wants in with the hood gang.

And eventually, they oblige him.

Random people will approach Danny and ask/tell him that them and a couple others are going somewhere to do (insert vaguely/definitely illegal job or act of community service here) and Danny, who is deeply directionless in life currently, and also pretty assured in his ability to eat danger for breakfast, and has never met an institutional authority he doesn’t disrespect at least a little bit, is totally down for some civil disobedience and chaotic good shenanigans.

And then it spirals from there. Like. A worrying amount.

It takes Danny actual months, almost a year, to realize that he’s been low key slow cooked into the criminal underbelly of Gotham, and like… he’s not really mad about it?? Honestly if he had a choice when he came to Gotham, he probably would have picked the redhood gang anyway. He just seems to vibe with them on a… Spiritual Level…

Hm

Anyway

Years go by, and while Danny doesn’t have the most going for him in terms of a normal person life, vis a vis higher education, official employment, health insurance, dating life, or any other benchmark one uses to measure the trajectory of their lives— Danny’s feeling pretty good! Jazz, Tucker, and Sam have all finagled their ways into Gotham, (Tucker has a WE internship, Jazz is working/doing work studies at Arkham, Sam does what she likes now that she is a legal adult and has her inheritance, and what she likes is environmental activism, and occasionally being spotted with fellow activist Damian Wayne, and someone who may or may not be poison ivy, sources differ) and Danny finds his obsession suspiciously well served as a hood goon. Hood hench? Redgoon? Hench hood?? Name pending, who cares.

Danny is also suspiciously good at, well, his job. One of the best runners, even when he gets caught and frisked they never seem to find the goods on him (they never do check IN him, but then why would they) very well liked at every volunteer spot they have, patient, kind, funny, good with old people, kids, bitter people, addicts and the homeless, the sick and injured. And yet also very competent in the field, when they finally let him do actually dangerous things. Act as protection detail to the working girls in the red light district, he’s very respectful, and very good at intimidation, de-escalation, and when push comes to shove, excellent in a fight. Knows when to keep pressing his advantage and when to make a retreat with whoever he’s guarding. Not afraid to fight scrappy, and presses through pain and fear like a true gothmite.

He gets so good at his not really a job job that he becomes essentially, Redhoods right hand man.

The rest of the bats are skeptical of this for several reasons. Because generally speaking, the people in Jason’s turf are not fans of the bats, but Jason does a lot of coordinating with them, and someone so close to him is going to pick that up eventually if they’re half as sharp and useful as Danny is. Other than that, secret identity issues, plus pit rage, plus the fact that Jason trusts pretty much nobody. But Jason has great feelings about this guy, he always feels more clear headed and even keeled when he’s around, and he helps Jason remember the community he’s trying to build, and the community he serves. Also he delegates and mother hens like nobody’s business, but Jason just really can’t seem to work up too much irritation about it.

It is around this time, however, that the past, and shady government organizations come knocking.

Perhaps the GIW has also noticed how ecto-contaminated and lawless Gotham is and decided that they could start doing research and experiments with its live and undead denizens instead of amity, where the portal has closed, and ghost activity is down since phantom disappeared. Or maybe the GIW has finally located phantom specifically and is interested in what they’re always interested in. Or maybe it’s various ghosts harassing Danny to take up the throne, which he’s been avoiding successfully, but having settled into a life routine that suites him his core has finally ‘settled’ (halfa cores fluctuate more than other cores due to the transient nature of being alive, but halfa people settle into lifelong patterns and relationships quicker than other people because of the static nature of being dead) he is mature enough by ghost standards to assume the throne, or at least begin preparing for it.

Regardless, danny is being tracked down for his childhood baggage’s extended warranty, and brings the entirety of the JL and almost all associated sidekicks, hero group spin-offs, and organizations into the thick of it.

Idk. I just got through Secretary Danny by DeathlySilent13 on ao3 and I thought man oh man wouldn’t it be neat if Danny got to be Jason’s second in command instead??? That could open up a lot of avenues I haven’t seen yet. I’m also just very curious about how the Jason’s runs his gang according to the fandom, and I think that with all the ACAB energy Danny has been assigned, he should have a little bit of community focused organized crime. As a treat. Like I said I don’t go here thou, I just needed to put this somewhere and see if it vibed with anybody besides me

[twilightkitkat]

Can we talk about the dynamics of Logan "I eat anything and scarf it down immediately" Howlett and Wade "I only eat the same 10 foods in different fonts" Wilson?

Logan is used to living without. Even as a child, he had to get by when he was sick with the food his family could afford. Once he joined the military, he had to survive on the limited rations he was given. He didn't have room to be picky—he either ate what he was given or didn't eat at all. And in war, he had to eat eventually.

His preferences didn't matter. He was always treated as a soldier, a weapon, and his food reflected that. He'd get enough protein and carbohydrates to fuel his power but that was it. Food was for functional use, not to be enjoyed. It didn't matter if it tasted disgusting, he just inhaled it so the taste wouldn't linger.

He's also an extremely quick eater. He's feral and ravenous when hungry, tearing into meat with his claws and hands. He lived in the army, in the mountains, through the Great Depression, and in dangerous situations where he hunted for himself. To him, food is a scarce resource and if you don't eat it while you can, you might not have it tomorrow. So he takes gigantic bites and tears into food no matter how bland and unappealing it was because that's all he knows. His standards for food are just that it has to have nutrients and not be poisoned.

Wade, on the other hand, is more picky. If he had to choose between eating something he hates or not eating, he'd rather just starve. At first, in the army, he did eat what was given to him even if he disliked it, but it was purely for survival. He choked it down even when it made him vaguely nauseous and disgusted. But later, he'd hoard stashes of his own food that he managed to steal or barter for or bet on. It was better to be hungry most of the time than satiate his hunger temporarily only to fight to keep it down and feel sick the entire day.

The second he has the freedom to pick his own food, he sticks to things he knows he likes. That he feels comfortable with. He's picky about brands and specific types of food and how it has to be cooked or made, but he manages. He can normally find something on the menu he's OK with, even if he often has order a kid's meal. But most places have grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken tenders and macaroni, and people chalk it up to him being childish and silly, so nobody pays much attention.

Wade sees food as one of the only things he can control. He's been devoid of true choice for most of his life. He couldn't control getting cancer or being forced to turn into a horrific mutant. He couldn't save his relationship with Vanessa. When everything around him was collapsing, he hyperfixated on the little things he could control like food or clothing.

The two, together, learn to have a healthier relationship with food.

Logan was the first person to truly pay attention to Wade. To see which foods he liked and which he picked at and grimaced towards when nobody was looking. When Logan abruptly said he'd cook dinner one day, Wade was nervous, but nearly started bawling when Logan made homemade chicken tenders and macncheese. He noticed. He cared.

It was the first time Wade could be open and let someone see he was genuinely affected by food instead of him just playing it up as a lunatic. And Logan took him seriously and didn't make fun of him. He learned recipes to make the foods Wade liked but healthier and more balanced. He helped Wade finally get the nutrients he needed consistently without feeling sick to his stomach.

And Wade helped Logan too.

Logan was never allowed to have preferences. To have a sweet tooth or ask for more. To expect quality. But here Wade was, buying him some apple cinnamon-filled pastry just because he looked at it too long in the store.

Logan was never allowed to have dessert. To have sweet food just for the sake of it even after a meal. His eyes become wet as he clutches the pastry between his shaking hands and takes a bite. He's allowed this. To have the comforts in life. To eat just because it tasted good.

Someone cared about him enough to buy him what he wanted just because he'd enjoy them, not just to keep him functioning as a tool. Wade treated him as human. Like he was precious. Like he deserved the nice things in life.

And Wade reminds him of this. He stocks their kitchen with desserts that Logan likes, because he knows that Logan secretly enjoys sweet things. He sees the way he sniffs the air and wanders close to the fresh-baked goods of a bakery. He keeps snacks around the house, so Logan can eat whenever he want. Even if it isn't a "necessary meal."

And Wade learns to be more comfortable and try new variations of foods he likes that Logan makes. Because Logan knows the textures and flavors he hates and is somehow able to create a few new dishes entirely that he likes. He stops dreading mealtime or trying new foods. And Wade feels comfortable just trying the food without pressure, knowing that he can just not finish it if he doesn't want to and that someone else will.

And Logan learns to let himself enjoy eating again. To see it as less of a chore for the maintenance of his body and more as an enjoyable activity. Wade reminds him that he can eat just because he wants to and that it's OK to have preferences and ask for things. Logan feels well cared for. Pampered, almost. And he basks in the feeling of being wanted and loved and being allowed to express it through cooking and food.

[ladykissingfish]

*Obito waking up at Kakashi's place* Obito: What the -- oh man. Bakashi! Kakashi: *sticks his head in the bedroom door* What, my dearest one? Obito: I can't move! Your dogs did it again! *Kakashi smiles; Obito is buried under a pile of Kakashi's ninken* Kakashi: You should be grateful that they love you so much. They COULD choose not to trust you, you know, what with you being a former war criminal and all ... Obito: *rolls his eyes* No need to bring that every five seconds, is there?? C'mon, help me get them to move!! Kakashi: Mm, it looks like your social skills really need polishing up. You don't just tell respected, noble ninken to "move"; you speak to them politely and ask them nicely. Obito: Seriously ... okay ... Obito: *changes voice to sound "sweeter" Obito: Please, gentlemen. It would be wonderfully appreciated if you could lift your bodies off of mine, so that I can get up and go to the bathroom. Please? Pakkun, not opening his eyes: No can do, kid. You're warm and you smell like "outside". Must be all that Hashirama tree DNA, eh? Bisuke: Not to mention the last time we let you out of here this early, you ate all the breakfast that Kakashi made before any of us could even get any. We had to eat actual dog food that morning ... disgusting. Bull, settling himself more firmly on Obito's legs: An entire two pounds of bacon. What are you, a tailed beast?? Kakashi: Mm, you know what? They've kinda got a point, love. How about you stay still and rest for another hour or so, okay? I want to eat at least some of my cinnamon buns before you scarf down the whole platter again. *leaves* Obito: *incoherent screaming as he gets buried further underneath the dog pile*

[jinuaei]

Yandere Tarn x human Reader

Warning: OOC! NOT COMIC ACCURATE I ONLY KNOW A LITTLE BIT ABOUT THE LORE ALSO IGNORE THE TIME DIFF I KNOW ITS LIKE MILLIONS OF YEARS BETWEEN PRE WAR AND POST WAR. Spoilers for Tarn lore?

Imagine being Tarn’s first ever human he has met when he was still Damus, you being a cute human Liaison that follows around Senator Shockwave who also brings you around the Academy. You are an adorable, curious little thing, always so eager to see the different bots’ outlier abilities and wanting to know how it works, and Damus’ ability was the one that caught your eye. And he too is smitten with you from the very first time he laid optics on you, but he respects the Senator so much that he tends to shy away from actively seeking you out. 

However, you don’t seem to fear the large bots that could squish you with one of their pedes considering you’ve been persistently seeking him out even when he tries to hide away from you. In the end, he could not escape the temptation that is you.How could he? When you are so persistent in getting to know him, even to the point where you would sneak off to find him —He feels honoured whenever you do so, so special that you chose him out of all the students to befriend— He cannot do much to entertain you, but you seem to enjoy seeing him use his abilities to annoy bots by shutting their stuff off, mostly datapads and what not.

Both of you enjoy each other's company so much, sharing stories and knowledge. He finds himself especially invested in human arts, mainly music, it’s much different than Cybertronian music, it’s softer, less robotic, more organic, it’s so…you. He likes to hear you sing, even when you are humble with your abilities, he thinks of it as perfect. He cannot help but adore music that comes out from your mouth. Ah yes, your mouth, your language’s equivalent to the word ‘intake’. He remembers you saying something about kisses and how humans do it to show affection, but Cybertonians never had something similar to that so he does not pay mind to it. But he cannot deny how much he wants you to do it to him, especially when you mentioned something about it can be ‘intimate’ at times.

His days are always bright whenever you come to visit, your small body tucked close to the Senators frame, so talkative and friendly. He also notices the matching colours of your drapes with that of Shockwaves colour of the week, he observes that he enjoys seeing you in purple more than that of any other colour. Gifts seem to be common for you, as you seem to give him lots of small trinkets, but his favourite is a purple scarf that you gave him after he expressed how much he likes that colour on you.

Somehow, you managed to put in a good word about yours and Damus’ excursions considering Senator Shockwave has approached him himself to entrust your safety to the student whenever he is too busy to show you around. And of course, Damus has taken that role seriously, so seriously in fact that the other students you are also close with seem to avoid you all together whenever he is there. Always watching, always looming over your small form.

But then Senator Shockwave got caught, forced to undergo through Empurata and Shadowplay, and he did not find you ever since. He did not find comfort from your presence when he woke up after being subjected to the same fate as his teacher, stripped from his identity as Damus, now Glitch. But even his faceplate has been replaced, forced to be faceless, to be a nobody, his processor still kept the memories of the only person that knows him, the true him, him as Damus and not Glitch. You…You, you, YOU. His dearest human.

He remembers a conversation about your world's religion, about how many there are that exist on your planet, and how anybody can create a religion by just believing in it. And he does, in you. Creating a religion where you are his god and he is your most devoted follower – a religion where only he is to worship you.

Perhaps if he prayed enough, devoted himself enough to you, you will return, just like how yours has 3 days after his death. But you never did. Still, he prays to you daily, even when under Optimus’ care he did not forget to call for you, and while he uses his spare time to read Megatron's manifesto, he always makes sure to pray to you every day, every hour, every minute, that he has.

He even made a small shrine for you that he carries around on his frame via a small box. Inside are everything that you have ever given him, especially the scarf, and a picture of you both that you took with your Instant camera. He keeps that locked tight, like it’s his most valuable treasure — which as a bot who has close to nothing, is.

That habit of praying to you has persisted even when he adapted the persona of Tarn, even after he has stayed with Decepticons, he does not forget to pray to you every chance he gets. The items that he so carefully took care of are slowly degrading, piece by piece, thread by thread, all the cherished objects are turning into dust. Time does not spare anything from its cruel grasp, the picture that showcased you and him as Damus is slowly fading, his claws scraping off its print bit by bit. He fears that he will destroy the remaining memories of you, just like how he destroys every mech that he encounters. So after the scarf has turned into scraps, your face scraped off, he finally kept that box containing everything that you are close to his spark where it would stay until his end.

However, there is one thing that he cannot destroy no matter how much he has desecrated it, using it during his hunts to please him and his comrades. Music. His love of music is also a show of his devotion towards you, to say that yes, he remembers your music and your voice. And at times, when he is especially in a good mood, he would sing the same songs that he learnt from you to one of his victims. Though he would become aggressive right after the last note – realizing that they do not deserve to hear your song. In that case, he does not talk to them to death, instead he would pummel them into scraps, spilling energon all over him.

Millions of years have passed and his devotion only grew stronger, and oh how his prayers have finally been answered! You have returned! Though it was not 3 days but millions of years, he still rejoices as you are now back! His god! His beloved! And now he does not have to stay loyal to the Decepticons as you are now back with him! But the only problem is… he can see you on the other side of the battlefield, with the Lost Light, with Rodimus, with him– Megatron.

And now he realizes why Megatron has betrayed the Decepticon cause, perhaps like him, he has found his true purpose on the side of the good. But Tarn can never be good, he has done so much in the name of the Decepticons, in the name of righteousness, in your name. 

Even so, he can repent, renounce his identity as a Decepticon and come crawling back to you if you so wish. He can start his redemption by killing all of the DJD members right in front of you, or maybe you would want him stripped off of his armour, being laid bare for everyone to see.  Whatever you want, he will do it.

So he crosses the field with new found focus, optics trained on you. He ignores all of the weapons trained on him and keeps his pedes from shaking in nervousness. The more neurotic bots shoot at him, but he did not raise his blaster to shoot back nor did he try to defend himself. He only had one goal, and it was to get to you.

Once he finds himself in front of you, being guarded by Megatron and Rodimus, he kneels, unable to hold himself above you, his chassis lowered until his helm presses against the rough terrain. Energon pooled under him from the wounds he sustained.

When he utters your name, you seem perplexed, as if surprised at how this large bot knows you. And he spills everything, about who he is now, his prayers, his shrine, his millions of years of devotion. As he looks up at you from the floor, your face twists into confusion, baffled at this obsessed mech that you have never met in your human life.

Perhaps it was years of not seeing each other, but you looked…different somehow, still similar to his memories of you, but oddly different, it's small, but noticeable to him who has been so devoted to you and made sure to memorize every single part of your face. Nonetheless he did not care what so ever, what matters is he can finally serve you again, he might not be your Damus anymore, but he can be your Tarn.

The mask that he has worn for so long slipped off from his faceplate, and he drops it unceremoniously right next to him. He does not care if the bots think of him as an embarrassment or weak, all he knows is that you need to know about how much he adores you.

His faceplate lowers towards your pedes– feet, as you have taught him ages ago, and kisses it, just as you told him how one would do it, again and again until you can feel his love for you, his longing, his adoration, and his years and years of worship.

Until he repents, until you accept him back into your life. Until all that he has, and all that he is, is finally yours.

________________________________________________________

Uhhh uhhh I don't know if this is coherent.

[fandomandangstlover]

gives y'all the ARG Trio's Killers counterparts. they're getting jumped by the horrors, like usual lmao. time to info dump /silly

"BRANDON" - NOT Brandonworks. Manifestation of Ozolog1's Guilt from being unable to save his friend. He thinks that he's playing Heli Wars with people n' his fren :'). He's a killer similar to c00lkidd's vibe!

NOSOI - The Tree that I hate. A parasitic Virus that has completely ruined Rochas's life. Can disguise itself as whoever it sees, but chooses to mostly use people Rochas knew(Cappy, 1Dash, 1Dash's friend who i can't remember the name of— i am so sorry, etc) and will only turn into other survivors if they're chasing said survivor/in a round. It's piloting that NPC around like a Toyota. It's a Killer that is heavily based on deception and traps, growing ever stronger the more it kills.

JX1DX1 - BITCH. A Virus that aims to make FaceLULZ's life absolutely Miserable. Egoistic ass motherfucker who i would love to punch in the face. Looks like a Roblox character even when not in that style. The Eyes on his scarf thingy will always be facing the camera, facing you. He's a killer that aims to isolate and disorient his victims, picking them off one by one.

one of his moves... run gurl runn

enjoy!! i. hope

[perryelornitorrinco]

ADORE your drawings, what do you think Time uses as a get-along shirt for Wars and Legend? :3

THANKS A LOT AAAAAAAA, hope you like this doodle!!!!😭😭🩷🩷

Time definitely uses his tunic and Twilight wrote poorly "our get along shirt" on it XDD.

They're having so much fun, just look at their faces 🥰

Legend can't wait to strangle Wars with his long ass scarf XDJSAJH. That thing is massive and bro never takes it off 💀

Deep inside, he appreciated the hug, he needs so many hugs, poor guy. And Wars loves seeing him all annoyed >:·3

[reidmoony-toast]

We Hug Now. ౨ৎ

"The world ended when it happened to me"

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Spencer finally returns from prison, but he isn't the man he used to be

content: no use of y/n, angst (some) comfort cw: sad themes, metaphors of violence an: This is out way later than I thought it would be so I'm very sorry 😭 Anyways this is for the gorgeous @thegloryofliterature ilysm and I hope you enjoy lovely <3

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ───────────── · ·

You paced the room anxiously, jittery hands pressed to your racing heart. The apartment hadn't changed one bit since Spencer had last been inside—you had the irrational fear that if you did, you would lose those little parts of him forever. The pile of books on his night stand stayed precarious as ever, a layer of dust covering his copy of War and Peace in its original Russian—one of his favourites.

His favourite mug sat ready on the counter, as if he would walk in at any moment and pour himself a cup. It would have too much sugar, and you’d tease him for it, before he’d lean across the cool stone and kiss you softly, sickly sweetness coating his lips.

A purple scarf hung on the coat rack by the door, faded with use. It was his favourite. Is his favourite. It was a gift from his mother almost half a decade ago, and he’d cherished it ever since. The stitching on one end had come apart, and you’d sewn it back together. The new thread wasn't the perfect colour match, but Spencer hadn’t minded one bit. He said it added character, and always reminded him of you each time he wore it. You couldn't help but notice the purple scarf adorning his outfits more after that.

You glanced at your phone again for the hundredth time, and found the same text from Penelope, sitting, opened and unresponded, on your screen.

He’s coming home. Today.

Not much else needed to be said. Those few words gave everything you needed to know—except when he would arrive. Thus, you had been wearing a patch into the rug beneath the coffee table with your excessive pacing ever since you received Pen’s text.

When would he be here? You were almost sick with worry. You peered at the text again, then abruptly threw your phone onto the plush couch. It was no use reading it once again. It wouldn't help.

These last few months had been absolute torture. Knowing Spencer was in such a horrible place, getting hurt, and there was nothing you could do about it? It had to be one of the worst feelings in the world. Like you were being stabbed repeatedly with a serrated knife, and every time it was pulled out so slowly, you could feel each and every agonising groove.

Worst of all, Spencer had left you off his visitor’s list. That little fact cut the deepest. Spencer Reid, the man you loved most in the world, the one you had bared your soul to for the past three years, actively didn't want to see you. It was like one big inside joke you had been left out of.

No matter how beyond relieved you were that he was finally out of that hell hole, the pit in your stomach that got increasingly worse each time you thought about that little fact didn't abate, even now.

What were you going to say to him? After all these months without so much as a phone call shared between the two of you. All the information you received came second-hand from his team, and you didn't even get to correspond by letter.

Why had he done it, why? You had lain awake at night contemplating that question for weeks on end.

You understood Spencer, more than you understood yourself, even, but what you couldn't understand was why Spencer felt like he couldn't show all of himself to you, even the most horrible parts. Especially those parts.

With almost divine timing, the door handle turned slowly, and your head whipped to the door. You froze in place, staring with wide eyes as the door clicks, opening cautiously. There was no need for a key, you had unlocked it hours ago, anticipating this very moment.

The door opened fully, and Spencer eased himself into the entryway. You couldn’t breathe. His form was hunched, hair falling limply into his eyes, and you could spy facial hair covering his jaw in a dark shadow.

His gaze shot up, and the door slipped from his grasp, banging loudly into its frame. You both jumped slightly at the noise, but your eyes never left each other. You sucked in a sharp breath. He looked empty. Like every joy and light that once filled him so profoundly was completely extinguished. Snuffed out.

His eyes were gaunt, dark circles of unrest swept under his lower lash. Those eyes—once doe-eyed and hopeful—were haunted. Exhausted. Utterly wrecked and full of anguish.

You both stood there, unblinking and unmoving for what felt like an eternity. The harsh silence is broken with harsher words. “Why, Spencer.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a statement. It resembled more that of a plea. For what, you didn’t know.

He said nothing.

“Why didn’t you let me see you? Why did you shut me out? Do you really think I’m that shallow?” A silent tear tracked it way down your cheek, pooling on your jaw before dropping onto the rug beneath your feet. You weren't even aware of crying in the first place. “Why.”

He just stared.

“Spencer.” Your voice cracked, and your limbs unlocked enough to take a small step forward. He just shook his head slowly, swallowing harshly as he regarded you with his broken eyes, and a lone tear traced its way down the contours of his face, perfectly mirroring your own. It caught in his five o'clock shadow and disappeared, leaving only a shining track of sorrow down his cheek.

Your lip trembled and your eyes softened at the scene before you, and you forgot any prior grievances—you forgot everything, even your name, as you focused your whole being on the broken and bruised man before you.

“Oh, my love, what did they do to you?” The words came out as an almost imperceptible whisper, cracked and crazed, like a window pane just before it shatters into a million lethal shards that bite into your hands and feet—stinging and deep.

It all happened so quickly after that. Spencer's face crumpled completely, a wracking sob crawling out through his throat. He stumbled forward at breakneck speed, straight towards you, like a compass pointing to its true north.

You didn’t remember how, but you were moving too—less fast, but no less determined, and you both ate up the distance, until there was no other option than to fall right into each other.

That was exactly what happened, and he barrelled into you so hard that all the air in your lungs was forced out against your will. Momentum sent you both crashing towards the kitchen, and Spencer cushioned your fall with one arm wrapped tightly around your middle, the other flying out to catch himself on the countertop before he crushed you with his large frame.

A shattering sound punctured through your bubble of consciousness, but you paid it no mind. Everything else in the world was inconsequential compared to the man sobbing violently into your neck, arms holding onto you for dear life.

Your own limbs came up to rest—one around his shoulders, the other threading through the dull curls at the base of his neck. You rubbed soothing circles on his back, whispering incoherent comforts into his ear. He continued to shudder, choking on his tears and tightening his grip to an almost crushing embrace.

Your heart ached for him, deep and painful. You hurt for everything he has suffered. You hurt for what he had to do to survive, for what was done to him. You hurt for the utter loneliness he must have felt with no comforts and no freedom, and all for a crime he didn't commit. You hurt for the relapse that was forced upon him, and for the reason he went to Mexico in the first place.

Spencer poured out every feeling of guilt and inadequacy, of shame and disgust. Every moment he felt scared, and every moment he felt anger so powerful, it made him afraid of his own mind.

But mostly, it was the feeling of helplessness that held him captive. You knew that feeling well, had become close acquaintances with it in the past months—though nothing to the extent of his, you were sure.

He clung to you like you were a lighthouse in a storm, and you let him. Told him to let it all out—every haunting and twisted minute of the past three months.

The longer you stood there, the more you understood why he pushed you away, even as it ripped the stitches open on that wound once again. He never let others see his pain, and to be so vulnerable and so raw, stripped of your self-identity like that, was a scary thing for him to allow others to see.

While it hurt, you knew Spencer, knew his vice. Knew that he thought he was doing the best by the both of you, not stopping to consider that maybe you wanted to be there for the bad. Wanted, because you wanted inside his soul, because you wanted—needed—to be his shining light home; for your souls were intertwined, and he would have to try a lot harder to push you away.

You stayed steady now, for if you broke, you wouldn't be the rock he needed. No, you had to stand strong. For Spencer.

Your neck was sticky with hot tears, and you sent a look at the floor to your left—by pure chance—and a flash of porcelain shine caught your eyes. Then, in stillness, you realised what it was.

Spencer’s mug. The one you laid out every morning. It rested there on the kitchen tile, broken. Smashed. In Spencer's flail to catch the both of you, he must have knocked it to the ground.

You stared. And stared.

And finally, after trying so hard to be the strong one, the calm one, the understanding and soothing one, the damn burst, and a tidal wave washed away the foundations of your resolve.

You cried. Loudly. Painfully. The sobs wracked your whole body, down to your cold feet on the freezing tile. You could feel those shards of glass now.

The pain you felt, so visceral and puncturing, was no longer a metaphor—the glass cut into your feet, legs, arms, stomach and chest, as your eviscerated body sluggishly poured hot and sticky blood onto the kitchen floor in perfect tandem with your cracking heart.

You registered Spencer whispering something over and over again into the smooth skin of your neck, now wet with tears. Your next sob was choked as you realised the words. “I’m sorry.” Over and over, again and again.

You listened to those two soul-crushing words as you stared, unblinking, at the mug on the floor. It was broken beyond repair, and it could never be fixed, not fully. No matter how intricately you glued it back into one piece, it would never be the same ever again.

The cracks would still be there, even if they weren't visible. It would never gain back its strength again, and it would easily chip, easily shatter once more.

As you held the man you love in your arms, letting him sag against you, use you as a lifeline, you realised the unfathomable truth. No matter what, nothing would ever be the same again.

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Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @navs-bhat <3 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[bokettochild]

Just saw the update!

So, first thoughts!

Gremlin Legend and Sky is something I am LIVING for. Sky's little look of approval as he stands between Wars and Legend after that little move is sending me!

(Wild is not impressed)

I also really love that JoJo played with Warriors' cape/scarf being capable of doing that, which is a major risk btw, but I love that we see it's potential now!

Like, Legend's timing is perfect (and I love that this confirms the Legend v. Wars dynamic we all love) especially considering Hyrule was literally talking about the same thing and you'd THINK Captain-War-Hero over here would be more cautious because of it (although the fact this implies Legend doesn't trigger Warriors danger sense is GREAT for the fluff fic writers like me!)

Time and Wars looking like disappointed parents though is brilliant

(Warriors with messy hair is so funny to me, help)

The continued portrayal of Time being too harsh with the boys, all tense after what happened to Twilight, that's great. i'm glad the consequences of past events are following them, it really makes this all feel linear!

I also am ALL HERE for the boys finding their differences! Warriors and Wild both admitting to being new to dungeon crawling and the monsters involved is a great thing we've all been playing with in fics, but making it cannon feels like validation :)

Also, Warriors being defensive of that, and maybe a bit prickly about their judgement, I think it shows a lot of him. he's got his pride,a although he's learned to tame it. He's feeling a bit miffed to realize how different he is, but doesn't want them seeing him as lesser as well (although they never would). I can also hear him using a clipped military sort of tone when speaking here. It's just the way his words are selected and strung together that makes it seem he's being very to the point, direct, and cold in his tone, which really sells the whole difference between a soldier and the "average nobody" that the rest of them were (ironic, since he's trying to act like the difference isn't a big deal but only further accentuates it this way).

Twilight being pleased that Epona is fine and just enjoying a meal made me grin so big though. He's all worried for his girl but she is, quite literally, happy as a horse over there LOL

Also, this bit:

recognition for Sky's right-handedness, my beloved! (JoJo is giving us all the easter eggs!)

The fact that the passage is too small to let them all fight though is a brilliant way of preventing some of our heavy hitters and more skilled heroes from being able to do anything though!

I like how that gives us the chance to see Time one-shot the foe and also gives him the impression that the rest are maybe not skilled enough to do this alone. WE all know they are, but they're a handicap to each other right now, and it's only further cementing in his mind that they're not ready for all this, which will make his overbearing speech and the judgement he casts on them in combat all the more an issue.

I mean, we all know the hero's shade was like that, but JoJo has shown Time acting this way from the start

(Deep Shadows P.2)

(Likelike)

So I guess we're in for more of that now, and most likely someone (probably Legend, as it's usually him, or Wind, who is very aware of judgement from teh rest) is definitely going to have to call him on it soon, maybe in the dungeon. Will that lead to some bonding with Time where he has to admit he cares and worries about them as though they're his own? I hope so!

Anyways, all this to say, we really are seeing how much they struggle to work together, so hopefully this dungoen will teach them all how to do that better, as Time mentioned earlier

(Dawn p.8)

Now, to finish it off!I would like to thank JoJo for giving us so many beautiful shots of Twi this time around. I'll admit it now, he's pretty darn fine <3

That said, I'm loving the Legend content too! i hope we get to see some more starring moments from him going forwards, what with him being the dungeon veteran and all! It's great seeing his childish/playful side these last few updates, but I'm really craving some veteran Legend right now >:)

[bowsnstrings]

Scorsese Baby Daddy!

Onyankopon x Black Coded Character ✌️🏾

Summary: Crashing out might be in the cards for tonight, but when things get hard, and hurtful words are said, how will Milana and Ony find a way to make things right?

Warning MDNI!: Fingering, Praise and dirty talk, Mentions of overstimulation, Mentions of food, Mentions of alcohol, Original character with original descriptions.

Masterlist:🍃

Word Count: 15.4k

Relationships were too complicated to even try at this point. Too secretive, too vulnerable, just too damn much. Especially with the way Ony had Milana so mad that she couldn’t even think, not after the argument the two of them got into first thing in the morning, while getting on campus of all places. A disaster already in the making, which only got worse as the day dragged on.

Things had actually started off so good, Milana’s alarm going off with its usual soft chime, breaking through the silence of her early morning. She groaned, reaching out from under her blanket to silence it. Her room was still dim, the early light creeping through the curtains, and she felt the pull of sleep that threatened to drag her back under. But she had a class to get to, and Ony would be picking her up soon.

With a heavy sigh, Milana pushed herself up, rubbing her eyes as she swung her legs off the bed and planted her feet on the cool floor. She stretched, feeling the remnants of sleep in her limbs, and glanced at the time on her phone: 8:15 AM. There was just enough time to get ready if she didn’t start lollygagging like she usually did, excited to see her man and enjoy his company before she had to actually work hard or study.

She shuffled over to the bathroom, brushing her teeth with an automatic rhythm, the minty freshness slowly waking her up. She splashed water on her face, using a warm washcloth to help her shake off the last bits of sleep, and then turned to face her reflection in the mirror. “Okay, Milana, let’s do this,” She muttered to herself, as if mentally preparing for battle. Knowing the situation going on under her bonnet, she definitely was about to go to war.

Nothing a nice hot shower couldn’t start to fix, shedding her sleep shirt and satin scarf to reveal her tangled curls that fell down her back. The warm steam swirling around as she jumped inside, closing the door behind her, letting out a small sigh as the heat enveloped her body. It felt good washing away the remnants of another night sleeping by herself, her phone calls with Ony being the only thing keeping her sane these days. Falling asleep in front of the screen while he was usually still up, counting money or bagging for customers while he soothed her with his voice.

She missed him, feeling like they’d been a little distant after being so close the first few weeks, nervous that their “honeymoon” stage might be fading away. The thought was only getting swept out of her mind under the cascading stream, feeling it relax her tense muscles. Milana closed her eyes for a moment, letting it all seep into her skin as she shampooed her hair, massaging herscalp with her fingertips, enjoying the way the lather slid through her thick hair. The scent of the shampoo, soft and filled with jasmine, lingered in the air as she rinsed it out.

After conditioning, she let the water flow through her hair, rinsing the curls into their natural pattern. Milana loved how her hair looked when it was wet—shiny and bouncy, but she knew that getting it just right was always a process. She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a comfy towel, the coziness of it bringing solace to her skin. Her reflection in the mirror showed the early signs of a day well begun, a fresh glow from the shower and a peaceful, relaxed look in her eyes.

Milana set to work on her curls next, reaching for her wide-tooth comb, gently working through the damp strands. She’d learned long ago that combing it while wet, before it started to dry and frizz, was the key to avoiding knots. Reminding herself to go slow as she ran the comb through her hair, already she could tell it was going to be a good hair day. The curls felt soft and defined, just how she liked them. She applied a leave-in conditioner, massaging it through with care, and then followed up with a curl cream and gel, just enough to give some bounce without weighing her down.

Once she’d finished applying the products, she reached for a blow-dryer, using the diffuser attachment to slowly work her way through. Gently drying her hair while spending a few minutes in her own world until she was left with a halo of soft, bouncy curls, each one defined and full of life. That had Milana smiling at her reflection, loving how they looked today. Her hair had its own rhythm, and as much as she might complain about the time it took to style it, there was something satisfying about seeing the final result. It felt like a personal victory every time. With her hair, semi dry and perfectly styled, it was time to leave her vanity and start moving faster.

She knew Ony would be pulling up soon, clipping her hair up, and shedding her towel to lotion up. Smoothing a rich layer of body cream onto her arms, the soft, gourmand scent lingering in the air, mixing with the steam still present from her shower. Her hands glided over her skin, and she closed her eyes, letting the lotion soak in while her thoughts wandered off to her boyfriend again. Like that was anything new. But it had been a while since she’d truly stopped and reflected on how he made her feel.

In the quiet moments, when she was alone with her thoughts, she realized that he was a constant presence in her life. Not just physically, but in the way he made everything feel lighter. As she worked the cream into her thighs, she remembered the way he made even the smallest moments special. Ony had a way of being effortlessly kind, the type of person who always seemed to know exactly what you needed without you saying a word. He wasn’t loud or showy about it; instead, he was quietly, consistently present. Milana had always admired how he could make her feel safe, not just physically, but emotionally as well, showing it in both his words and actions.

She felt refreshed after putting some work in to look pretty, taking some time to actually smile at her reflection, brushing a hand over her arms to take in the smoothness. Admiring herself has never been easy, but after that shower session there was no way to bring her down. Opening her closet to scan the clothes hanging in front of her, excited as she jumped into a skirt and tied a knot into the back of her top to show off a little today. Brushing her lashes with her spoolie and swiping on her lip liner and gloss, just enough to feel awake and ready to face the day.

A glance at her phone told her it was already 10:40, meaning she was cutting it close, but that was nothing new. Milana nearly slipped on her hardwood floors as she sped to feed Oreo and grab her own breakfast. Shoving it down while standing in front of her microwave, happy that she at least remembered to pop her vitamins as well. With a familiar honk outside, she was scrambling to close the fridge and hop into her shoes as she snatched up her bag and textbooks, glasses nearly falling off in the process.

Ony picking her up for school was something new that she enjoyed him doing for her, smiling as he pulled up blasting her favorite songs in his “Batmobile” as she dubbed it. The nickname always made him laugh because of how dark his tints were and the expensive black car wrap that covered it. He hopped out and opened the door for her to get in, laying a sweet kiss to her cheek as she did, giggling softly, adjusting the books in her hands as she tried to stop cheesing so hard at his antics. He closed the door and got in himself to lay another kiss to her lips, grunting appreciatively when her hand cupped his cheek to hold him there.

He tried not to deepen it further, but Milana was just too intoxicating to him, his hands sneaking to wrap around her back. “Ah, Ony. We’ve got school to go to.” She reminded him as she pulled away, using her thumb to wipe her gloss off his lips.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled, pulling her in for one more before he took off. As she buckled her seatbelt she observed him, noticing that his mood didn’t seem all the way there. His eyes fixed straight ahead as if he was lost in thought, a worse thought popping up in her head that maybe he was avoiding looking at her altogether.

“Hey,” Milana finally got him to glance at her as she tried to break the ice, her voice soft. “How are you?”

Ony gave a small humm, but it wasn’t a real answer. His movements stiff as he shrugged, the silence between them thick and uncomfortable. She frowned, trying to study him more, but he wasn’t giving her much to work with. “You okay?”

He nodded, but the gesture felt half-hearted. “Yeah,” he threw it out, replying flatly. His tone was so neutral that she was racking her brain trying to come up with any answers as to why today was so different. "Just tired."

She didn’t buy it, having known Ony long enough to tell when something was wrong, and this felt like something more than just a lack of sleep. She glanced at him, her heart sinking while her mood deflated a bit, but he truly hadn’t intended on being so cold today, wrapped up in his own emotions while trying to process how he felt.

Things with her were just moving much differently than he wanted, their relationship in a weird place for him in the aftermath of her argument with Sasha. He noticed how Milana had become more withdrawn, more reluctant to show affection in public, and now he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe it was because of him. It had started small, little things like her pulling away when he tried to hold her hand in front of their friends or her quickly changing the subject when their relationship came up. But today, it hit him all at once when he wasn’t even trying to think about it.

Them taking things slow wasn’t an issue for him, if it was better for her, then it was better for their relationship. His only concern was that he didn’t see an end to them being private, and now it just felt like they were borderline secretive. Not going out in public, no dates like they were doing when they first got together, or even acting like a couple when they were out. It was hard for him, having to be stuck inside to receive her affection, and all he wanted was to feel proud of what they had—not like they were sneaking around.

Still, he noticed that his silence wasn’t helping to make the ride any easier, tilting his head to turn towards her. It gave her an opportunity to appreciate how beautiful he looked, light filtering through the window, casting a warm glow on his dark skin, making him look even more striking. The way his jawline looked sharp from the side, making his taper appear pronounced, the subtle intensity in his eyes reminding her of his mood. Sometimes, she couldn’t help how she found him so attractive, even if it was at a bad time, it hit her in waves, like she was seeing him for the first time all over again.

The way she looked at him made him smile, finally cracking through to bring him into better spirits. “You ate? You want me to grab you something before class?” Ony asked, reaching a hand out for her to hold while he finished the drive. The redirect allowed her time to breathe, brushing off his earlier behavior by chalking it up to him being tired like he said.

“I ate at home today, Babe. Had some oatmeal and fruit.” Milana squeezed his hand reassuringly, giving him a sweet smile as she answered.

“Good, that’s good.” He nodded, and she caught herself staring at him for a moment longer than she meant to. Ony turned, catching her gaze. He raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, stopping at a red light and reaching a hand over to pick up one of her curls and inspect them with tenderness. “Did your professor hit you back?”

She rolled her eyes, thinking about how her teacher had sent back her essay saying that she incorrectly cited one of her quotes. They didn’t even double check it to see that she hadn’t, and then had the nerve to not respond to her email for days. “Not yet. I’m more worried about this other class though. The homework is only getting harder.” She smoothed out her hair, sighing at the annoying things she’d have to face today.

“Nah, you’ll make it,” Ony said confidently, shaking his head at how she acted like she couldn’t handle the homework, she was the only person he knew who’d look at a “B” and want to cry. “It’s just class, don’t stress so much, Mama.”

“Just class?” She echoed with a playful glare. “If I don’t pass that class I’ll be casting shame upon my whole family.” Milana dramatically threw herself to the side in a fit of mock despair, holding a hand to her forehead like she was liable to faint.

Ony tried to suppress his laughter, her antics getting the best of him, still making him smile through all the struggle he was facing inside. A reprieve from the tension giving them a second of normalcy again. “You’ll do great. Besides, I’ll be there to help you with everything. Y’know, in case you need tutoring later.” He turned to her with a wink, his mischievous smile telling her that studying isn’t what he really wanted to do.

Milana shot him a sideways glance, humming as if she wasn’t sure, as she replied. “Tutoring, huh? Well, how qualified are you?”

“Oh, I’m more than qualified,” Ony said, putting on his smoothest face, making her turn away before she’d burst into laughter. “In fact, I’m thinking of giving private lessons, just you and me. No distractions.” He reached a hand over, letting his fingertips skim up her bare leg to tickle her, she couldn’t help but to laugh now.

“I’ll pass on the tutoring, I already know someone for that. That way I can be free for some alone time.” Wiggling her eyebrows up and down in a way that had him rolling his eyes at her silliness, she finally felt at ease without the awkwardness filling the car.

“You for real got a tutor? Who?” His question was innocent enough, just genuinely wanting to make sure that she was covered in school. He knew how hard she worked in order to do good, and wouldn’t want her to feel like she was slipping up when her semester was almost over.

“Just a friend, my super smart one. We’re going to meet at a cafe or something so he can help me out.” Ony’s eyes narrowed just slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching with a mix of curiosity and something else, an unmistakable hint of jealousy.

It hadn’t meant to creep in the way it did, but the fact that she was so casual about going out with some random guy he'd never met instead of him made his feelings bubble back to the surface all over again. This time coming back tenfold. Maybe it was his mood, or his exasperation with their situation, but he just couldn’t bite the sarcastic jab that left his mouth.

“Damn, you going out with him like that? I don’t got to worry do I?” His voice laced with simmering aggravation that he just couldn’t seem to tame. He couldn’t help but be a bit fed up, tired of tiptoeing around the issue. He’d rather just bring it out and lay it all on the table, but he also didn’t really know the right words to say at the moment.

“What?” Milana responded immediately, brows scrunching in confusion at how he flipped so fast. The air thickened all at once, sucking up the joy that was once there and replaced it with unspoken frustration. “Okay, Ony. What’s up with you?” She finally asked, turning to him with a huff, arms crossing over her chest as she started to feel an attitude creep in. He couldn’t expect her to just be cool with how he’d been acting, especially when he was throwing random jabs.

“It’s nothing.” He tried to brush her off once again, but when he saw that she wasn’t going to let up about it he continued. “I just.. I don’t think this lowkey shit is gonna work for me.” Ony huffed, trying not to let his emotions take over, choosing his words carefully as he spoke. He knew this wasn’t about her friend, it was about them, and how much he wanted to change the way they were right now.

As cautious as he tried to be, it didn’t matter when his delivery still hurt, his tone much less understanding than it usually was. Besides, what did he mean by “lowkey shit”? What was he trying to say? Blindsided wasn’t the word, she felt like something was bothering him lately, but never expected Ony to be upset about that.

“Didn’t you agree when we said we’d keep it private? I thought that’s what you wanted too.” Milana pointed out as she spoke defensively. It wasn’t like she had anything to hide, she just felt like she had made the right choice. They were doing them, without anyone to criticize how they were doing it, what’s so wrong with that?

“I never said I wanted that, you did.” He tossed back, regretting the fact that he had even agreed to that in the first place. At this point, he was ready to forget it and just drop it. He felt misunderstood, simply wanting the respect of being treated like a partner in public.

“Ony, you’re literally getting all upset ‘cause I don’t want to put our business out there?”

His eyes turned, narrowing in on her intensely. The look made her falter slightly as Ony only heightened the situation. She’d never seen him so… upset, usually always calm and even-tempered like nothing could phase him. “That’s not what I said. I just don’t think it’s going to work for us. The fuck is wrong with that?”

Oh now he was doing way too much. “Wait,” Milana chuckled, laced with disbelief at his tone, his chest all puffed up as he tilted his head, smacking his lips at her. “Why are you cursing at me? You act like I’m committing a crime for not wanting to put myself out there on front street.” Now she was ready to show out, voice as sharp as her eyes that looked like they could cut him down.

Ony tried to take a deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. His voice tightening as he held his composure. “All I’m saying is, I want to be able to be with you without having to worry about other people, and you should want that too.”

Milana’s scoff cut through the air like a blade, her frustration obvious as she rolled her eyes like he wasn’t making sense. He’d been trying to be patient up until this point, but hearing that dismissive sound sent a stabbing spike of irritation through him. It wasn’t just the words anymore; it was a culmination of everything, the way he felt like he wasn’t good enough to be proud of.

“Or are you trying to keep things on the low so you can still fuck around?”

Milana’s chest tightened uncomfortably, all of the air being sucked out of her at once. Her cheeks puffed up as she resisted the urge to ball up her fists unless she wanted to break a nail. The weight of his accusation hit her like a ton of bricks, and she couldn’t see anything past the red hot anger that was clouding her vision. “You know what, you can drop me off here.” Her voice shook as she tried not to spew out every obscenity she was thinking of, ready to just walk to school at this point.

Ony huffed through his nose, wanting to slam his head against the wheel after letting that out. That wasn’t supposed to happen, popping off at the mouth and saying reckless things unintentionally, a bad habit he was still trying to conquer. It definitely didn’t help that whenever he looked at her he had a strange mix of frustration and attraction going on in his head. He’d definitely have to tell her later that her angry face made him want to kiss her, and maybe do a little more than that.

“Are you seriously asking me to pull over and let you out?” Ony asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and a half-amused chuckle. “You’re funny if you think I’d do that.”

Milana’s face immediately darkened, glaring daggers at him. “Nothing about this is funny, so don’t even start with me.” All she wanted to do was scream, hands gripping the end of her skirt, bunching it in her hands frustratedly.

“Ain’t nobody starting with you, so chill.” He clicked his tongue, scratching at his jawline, trying to think of ways to apologize when they both calmed down. Her mouth opened again, ready to fire back at him when he cut in. “And I don’t give a fuck about your lil’ attitude. I’m still dropping you off and making sure you get there safe.” His tone had that finality to it, which meant no matter how she begged or pleaded, he was going to follow through. Her arms crossed over her chest, huffing in annoyance as she sat back and waited.

They each ignored each other on the ride there, Milana suddenly finding the window more interesting, looking at the side of his head each time she looked up, trying not to smack her lips in annoyance. Her body stiff, legs crossed so he couldn’t rest his hand on her thigh, bobbing her foot up and down in her cute wedges as she tried not to look at her anklet with his initial on it.

Did he really think she didn’t want to be with him without having to worry about what people would say? Of course, she wanted the same thing, but how could they have that when her own best friend wasn’t approving of them. She was so mad, even more so when she realized he wasn’t wrong, not exactly. He felt the way he felt, though said it in a bad way, but she also felt this deep, gnawing fear that she couldn’t and didn’t know how to explain to him. Afraid of opening up to the world, of being vulnerable. It wasn’t just about hiding their relationship; it was about protecting it. About protecting them from the harsh judgment that came with it.

Milana couldn’t dwell on it for too long, her campus coming into view as they pulled up, watching as Ony still came around to her side and opened her door, helping her step out once he parked in his usual spot down the street from the entrance. She practically leapt to her feet to get away from him, looking around to make sure no one saw them, the action not going unnoticed by him, only making his anger boil all over again. Milana was just about to storm off in a huff when Ony cleared his throat behind her, gesturing to her forgotten school bag in his hands. Oh great.

With her arms carrying her books, she made her way back to him, avoiding his eyes in a mix of embarrassment and irritation. She reached a hand out to take it back from him when he pulled it out of her reach, a teasing expression to him. “Nah, I think I’ll carry it for you.” Even better.

Ony leaned down, eyes boring into hers as he pressed a small kiss to the corner of her mouth, not able to stay mad for long, sliding the books out of her hands to walk them for her. Milana stepped back, not wanting to be so close to him right now, still feeling the residual emotions from their spat earlier. “Don’t be like that, Ma.”

“And what am I supposed to be like, Onyankopon?” She snapped back, reeling it in when he shot her a look for being short with him, lips pressing together to keep from saying anything else.

They started walking afterwards, Ony carrying all her things while Milana was actively trying to ignore him still, seething silently. People were practically tripping over their own feet trying to get out of his way, seeing the deep scowl he had on his face from not being able to resolve anything and having to leave it there. Whispers going around all by her ears making her want to cry and scream all at once.

Fuck, this wasn’t how he wanted it to go at all. Now she was stomping her little feet all around campus, looking cute as ever, but too mad to let him do anything about it. Ony sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as he tried to shake off the guilt he was feeling. He said all the wrong things, too upset to think straight the moment he spilled out what he’d been trying to avoid all this time.

The path to class was too brief for his liking, but not short enough for hers, wanting to escape and be done with this situation. She turned to face him once they reached her Roots of African American culture class, the professor and some students already gathered to begin. He silently handed over her books and bag, watching her sling it over her shoulder and try and turn away to leave.

“We gone settle this later.” Ony all but declared, stuffing his hands in his pocket, mindful not to put his hands on her to give her some space.

“I don’t think so.” His tongue ran over his teeth, biting down and reminding himself that she had a right to be upset. He knew he’d only rile things up even more if he didn’t reel it in, and he’d never embarrass her by trying to argue right in front of her classroom.

“You don’t get to avoid me forever, gotta talk to me at some point, Milana.” Ony eased out, trying to reason softly with her, but only making her stomach tighten with a mix of emotions.

“Yeah well, you don’t get to say hurtful things then act like you care.” Her voice wobbled at the end, quickly rushing into her classroom before she broke down in an embarrassing scene. She took deep breaths, digging in her bag for some headphones to get through the day, writing notes with hardly any effort or drawings to power through. Instead, her mind was focused on not thinking about her boyfriend.

In the end, Ony still made his presence known everywhere she turned. He had been trying to talk it out all day with endless calls and texts, asking her to at least respond. Having to deal with that was hard enough, especially when she had to practically escape off campus to avoid driving with him again. Leaving class thirty minutes early after sending a text to let him know she didn’t need a ride.

That’s when he started going off the deep end, sending Mikasa, a neutral party, over with chocolates from him, really going all out to get her to answer the phone. At some point his messages started turning from asking to telling her that he was coming over, demanding to speak. There was just no way he was going to let this argument continue on like this, but Milana wasn’t too ready to just give up after she felt like he disrespected her.

“It’s like he thinks he owns me. Like I’m supposed to move when he says to. Just disregards everything I’m saying, and to top it all off, accused me of being a cheater?” She ranted, pacing her bedroom back and forth as she replayed the argument from her perspective.

“Girl, this is why I don’t fuck with men.” Mikasa opened another candy wrapper, popping it into her mouth with a content hum until it was snatched out of her hands. “What-”

“Stop eating my chocolates!” Milana huffed out as she slammed the box closed, tossing it to the other side of the bed with an annoyed eye roll. “Focus! Help me think about what I’m supposed to do when he gets here.”

Mikasa groaned, sitting up and rubbing her temples for a second while in deep thought. She mumbled ideas to herself under her breath, then smiled with a troublesome look, something that made Milana a bit hesitant. “What?” She asked, Mikasa sitting up and leaning close to her ear, playing the little devil on her shoulder.

“You want to show him you can make decisions without him, right? Be your own boss, don’t take his shit.” Whispering to her in a soothing tone, her words twisting something in her stomach, feeling a scheme coming on. “Come with me to this bonfire.”

“A bonfire?” How was a party going to solve her issues with Ony? That only sounded like some payback, like toxic Mikasa was in full effect. She felt a twinge of apprehension until it started mixing in with anger, turning into a desire to get out of the house. A strong sense of pride that made her want to show him that he couldn’t talk to her in any type of way. Mikasa’s advice is starting to sound better and better, and besides, if this were Sasha she’d probably be telling her to just cut her losses with him. What was the harm in hearing out another idea?

“Show him you’re not waiting around for him to decide your life. You don’t have to ask permission to go anywhere, so no harm no foul. You’re just going to go and get your mind off of things.” One gift that girl had was to make anything sound persuasive, and right now, everything was making a lot of sense. “No one from campus will be there. Let loose a little.”

Let loose, huh? Maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what she needed. “Give me ten minutes to get dressed.” Milana smirked, a little eager to get out of the house for the first time in a while. She definitely should’ve said twenty though, since Mikasa was holding her to every second. Impatient as she threw on her makeup and scrambled all over the room. Shimmying into some white capris and pulling on a low cut butterfly cami before picking out her chunkiest bracelets and matching heels. She stood in front of the mirror, her hands shaking slightly as she applied the finishing touches, rubbing in some glittering body oil over her skin.

The argument with Ony replayed in her mind, the harsh words, the silence that followed, and the look in his eyes that made her doubt everything. How could he feel like she would betray him like that? When she’d been actively trying to open up just like he was, letting him in closer than anyone else had ever gotten. The thought of even entertaining someone else was laughable, knowing that she’d rather throw up then have to flirt with a man. Especially when she wouldn’t find anyone else like Ony.

Milana had missed him all day, reading through each text he sent while trying not to cry, so angry with him that she didn’t know what to do. Despite the ache in her heart, she knew this was the step she needed to take. A small act of courage to move forward, even if only for tonight. Who knows when she’d feel like socializing again, and maybe it’d give her the confidence she needed to talk things out. Wanting nothing more than to squash this issue and get an apology, but she couldn't bring herself to reach out first. Not yet, anyway. She took a deep breath, knowing deep down, staying in her room while spiraling wouldn’t help. Shaking out the tenseness she felt, she made her way outside with Mikasa, seeing her smile and admiring her look today.

“You look amazing,” Mikasa said as they walked out to the car. “Bonfire's going to be good for you.” The drive to the beach was filled with light conversation and the crackling sound of the radio. Most of it a blur until they actually arrived at the beach, hopping out to make their way to the pit. It was where everyone went for hangouts, parties getting thrown nearly every day of the week all the time.

The air outside was getting crisp, the scent of burning wood filling their lungs as they approached the group gathered around the fire. She didn’t know them personally, not like Mikasa, but they were familiar faces and always nice when they ran into her.

People laughing, talking, and enjoying the warmth of the flames, spread across the area on lawn chairs and beach towels. This should be the perfect distraction. Milana and Mikasa joined the others, finding a spot to stand near the pit. As the warmth enveloped her, Milana felt a slow exhale escape her lips. She could hear Mikasa already jumping into conversations with multiple people, but her mind wandered again to Ony. He stopped reaching out, going radio silent now, which made her feel more uneasy, checking her phone again and again, refreshing it just to see nothing. Now she felt like she had taken him for granted, that he figured it was a waste of time trying to fix it. Was he even sorry? She didn’t know.

Mikasa was her usual cheery self within the group surrounding them, but Milana could sense her friend’s attention, occasionally drifting back to check on her. It made her feel a little better, but not enough to shake the unease. Her hands stretched out in front of her, warming up by the fire, each one holding a heel that was cute but impractical for the beach. “Hey, you okay?” Mikasa’s voice was gentle, probably sensing that she was sensitive, nudging Milana playfully with her shoulder.

She gave a half-hearted smile, softly kicking at the sand while inspecting the jumping embers. Her lips rubbed together as she tried to appear more calm than she felt. “Yeah, just… not used to this.”

Mikasa chuckled lightly. “It’s just a bonfire, Milana. No one’s going to bite.” This time she reached out and draped an arm over her shoulders, making her feel even warmer. “You want me to introduce you to someone?”

Milana hesitated. The thought of engaging with more strangers made her feel even more self-conscious. She glanced around at the group, hearing snippets of laughter and conversation, but felt too shy to join in. It was easier to stay quiet, to stay in her shell. “I don’t know,” Her voice low, quietly dropping her gaze to the sand. “I’m fine here.”

Mikasa nodded understandingly. “Alright, but if you change your mind, I’m right here.” Milana gave a small nod, appreciating the support. She stayed there, watching the fire, feeling its warmth but still battling the uncertainty inside her. Now she was wondering how her friend got her to agree with this. She didn’t get the chance to find out, an entire hour in and she hadn’t done much but feel like an imposter amongst everyone else.

The night alive with the pulse of music, the scent of saltwater in the air, orange and yellow light illuminating the beach. Mikasa making her laugh, hearing it mingle with the sound of waves, but her thoughts were far from relaxed. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy being there, but there was something gnawing at her. Something about being here without Ony, without him knowing, felt wrong. Her nerves creating a tight knot in her stomach.

Milana excused herself to get a drink, needing some time alone for a second to just process everything. Some of the faces around her became unfamiliar, their energy high and free, something she struggled to mirror as she walked carefully to the cooler. Rummaging through it, she found a spiked lemonade that hadn’t been taken, celebrating her win with a smile as she cracked it open. The taste was heaven, cooling her down and giving her a little buzz to get through the rest of the night.

Mikasa approached her, noticing her expression was a little more serious than usual as she glanced up, sensing something was going on in her friend's mind. “Hey, Lana,” She said, taking a deep breath before sitting down in an empty chair next to her. “I need to dip for a second, my ex is here.”

Milana’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait, what?” She immediately sat down too, shocked to know that her ex girlfriend had showed up. They did know the same people, but usually she was always trying to stay away from Mikasa, keeping her blocked for months now.

“Yeah.” Mikasa’s tone was careful, almost hesitant. “I know, I know. It’s a bit of a mess, but she’s here, and I think I need to clear the air, you know?” Her eyes softened as she glanced at her friend. “I’ll be back soon. I just need to do this for myself.”

Milana blinked, processing the sudden shift. She didn’t realize Mikasa still had unfinished business with her Ex. Her friend, usually so confident and composed, was showing a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. Mikasa wasn’t one to really talk about their relationship, maybe it was painful to bring up, but tonight it seemed like she was ready to lay it all on the table. “You’re sure?” She asked, trying to keep her voice low. “You want to do this now?”

Mikasa nodded, her lips curling into a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. When you love someone, you have to make it right.” That caught her attention, Milana’s head poking up at her friend's words, taking in the subtle advice. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but she wasn’t sure what words would be helpful. Instead, she just nodded.

“Okay. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

Mikasa stood, giving her a quick, tight hug. “Thanks, Lana,” She whispered before walking off away from the group of people who had gathered near the bonfire. Milana watched her go, feeling a strange mix of emotions. There was a sense of loneliness creeping in, but also a strange respect for Mikasa’s courage.

Her mind drifted back to the way Ony had looked at her, distant and hurt, and the words that had spilled out between them like a tidal wave. Maybe it had hurt him, just as much as it had torn her apart. Was she brave enough to fix it though? To apologize? Milana’s gaze dropped to the sand, tossing her shoes down beside her, huffing as she tried to ignore the tears welling up, her anger dissipating slowly. The idea of approaching him, of letting her guard down enough to admit her mistakes, made her feel nauseous.

But, then she drifted away again, her heart fluttering uncomfortably as a few memories of happier times with Ony flickered through her mind. Images of them laughing together, sharing quiet moments, the way he’d always held onto her like a lifeline, keeping her grounded. They’d built something together, something that felt like it could last, and yet, here they were, on the edge of something fragile.

Maybe Mikasa was right, and it was time to face the hard conversations. But how? How could she find the courage to repair what had been broken? Her fingers gripped the edge of her seat tightly, a small but defiant gesture. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to go to Ony yet, but the thought of letting everything slip away without trying seemed even harder to bear.

The sight of someone nearby pulled her out of her reverie. Milana turned, and a guy she didn’t recognize was standing beside her, dropping down into Mikasa’s old seat. He stretched out, getting a little too close for comfort as he decided to speak. “You look like you could use some company,” The man said with a sly wink, the kind that made her uncomfortable. “I’m Nate. What’s your name?”

His grin was confident, his eyes wandering over her as if she were a prize to be claimed. Milana forced a smile, but she wasn’t really interested. Her mind was still rushing in different directions. “Lana.” She shrugged out, lips pulled into a tight lipped smile as she went back to sipping her drink.

Milana looked uneasy, shifting back a little, but the man didn’t seem to take the hint. Instead, he scooted in closer, eyes gleaming when his hand brushed a bit too close to hers. “Silent type, I like that. You’re far too beautiful to be sitting here all alone though. Want to go for a walk?” She felt her stomach turn, but before she could come up with a polite excuse, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“The fuck is going on here?”

She whipped around to see Ony, his face stormy, jaw clenched tight like he could shatter his teeth right now. His eyes looked past her, locked on the man beside her, and for a split second, the world seemed to freeze. Milana’s heart dropped into her stomach. She hadn’t even seen him pull up, but there he was, furious with defensive fists clenched at his sides.

When he had stepped onto the beach, the sound of the party was already buzzing in his ears, his feet hurriedly stomping towards the prettiest girl there. He hadn't wanted to come, not in the mood to be there, or around anyone for that matter after the argument with Milana. Yet, somehow Mikasa had convinced him, practically begged him, persuading him with the promise of being able to finally see his girl. Her presence was so magnetic that it almost hurt to look at her, and even from a distance, she commanded him towards her.

There, in front of him was everything he couldn’t seem to get out of his head. Her skin, so deep and rich that he practically wanted to sink his teeth in, glowing softly in the firelight. He watched the way her curls framed her face, a halo of beauty, each strand alive and full of life. The way her lips parted slightly when she smiled, the apple of her cheeks full with life just like her eyes. They held a shade of brown that always seemed to catch the light just right, making everything else around him blur.

For a moment, the anger, the confusion, the words they’d exchanged earlier melted away. All that was left was the woman he loved, standing in front of him like an image of pure poise and beauty. Then in an instant, it all turned sour.

Nothing could prepare him to see her sitting next to some guy. Ony quickly telling himself that he was overreacting, it’s nothing. He had no right to feel jealous, no right to feel this sting. They were fine, not broken up. Convincing himself that they were just... in a rough patch. But something about the way the guy leaned in, way too close, made something twist painfully inside of him.

Milana could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, embarrassment mingling with all her other unresolved feelings. She hadn’t expected him to show up, and now she was stuck in the middle of something that felt like it was spiraling out of control. It seemed like the only one who hadn’t gotten the hint was Nate, smirking at Ony like this was funny to him. “Hey man, relax. We’re just talking.”

Ony was already tall, but when close by the fire, it made his shadow loom over the two sitting down. His posture made him seem even bigger, broad shoulders squared, obviously not playing around right now. He was moving with a controlled intensity, like a man who knew exactly how to command space, how to make himself noticed without uttering a word.

He glanced briefly at the guy again—still smiling, still leaning in too close, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing Ony had to say to him, turning his attention to who he came for. “Let’s go.” Was all he said, the sharpness in his tone made her flinch. Milana hadn’t expected him to react like this, he had never been possessive, or so angry. She opened her mouth to explain, but the words wouldn’t come out, realizing she hadn’t even considered how this might look to him.

There was nothing to say, instead that would have to come later. Milana pushed up from her chair to stand, solemnly bending down, ready to grab her shoes when a cold hand reached for her wrist. It took her brain a second to register that it wasn’t from her boyfriend, who was now looking like he could commit murder. No, that random dude was holding onto her, making her turned to him confused as he opened his mouth. “Hey, I don’t think so man.”

“Excuse me?” In an instant, Ony stepped forward, his hand reaching for Milana, pulling her firmly toward him. The movement was almost instinctual, like a predator ready to strike, body strumming as he tried not to blow this up for everyone to see. There was no way he’d let another man get away with putting their hands on his girl though.

“Look man, I don’t know who you are, but I’ve waited like forever to talk to her. Just go back to where you came from and let the girl live a little.” The guy just wouldn’t let go, too busy squaring off with her boyfriend to notice how she wasn’t even interested. In fact, she was wondering what part of their short, barely there conversation convinced him that this was okay.

Ony didn’t know what he felt first. Rage, possessiveness, maybe something even darker. He didn’t like the way the guy was looking at Milana, didn’t like how her body language had shifted from her usual demeanor to someone a lot more tense, still trying to politely escape the situation. He for sure didn’t like this creep’s fucking hands on her either, and if he didn’t let go soon then he’d probably have to learn how to use it again in the hospital.

Nate seemed to not get that little bit of information Ony was conveying, instead deciding to fill the tense atmosphere with his grating voice. “Aye, I don’t usually fight for chicks, but she’s so fine I might have to take her from you.” That might’ve been the biggest mistake of the night, sending everyone involved into a silence that stretched on uncomfortably.

Then, out of the blue, amused laughter left Ony’s lips, heavy and uncomfortable. It was scary sounding, so loud that it pierced everyone’s ears, his lips curled into a dark, humorless smile. Uneasy wasn’t even the word to describe how this felt, watching him descend into madness, shoulders shaking slightly with actual mirth. He tried, he really did try not to let the words sink in, but he could only laugh as the thoughts swirling around in his head took a turn for the worse.

“Alright then.”

Ony’s laugh died quickly, but the effect lingered, his voice falling into a chilling calm as he spoke, low and guttural. Milana jumped immediately, heart dropping to her feet, sensing that the dark edge to her boyfriend’s tone was a red flag in the making. His hand reached underneath his hoodie, dipping into the waistband of his jeans to pull out a gun.

“Ony!” Her surprised yelp caught the man up to speed, the guy’s smile faltered as he realized the shift in the atmosphere, finally making him react in the face of danger.

“Woah, man.” The guy obviously didn't know whether to run or stay there, and she didn't think it'd matter anyways. He let go of her hand immediately, allowing her more range to be able to get in front of Ony, trying to push him back from the situation that was quickly unfolding. Nate had been all cocky smiles and bravado when he made his initial comment, trying to make a show of his casual flirtation with Milana. Yet, now that the confrontation was real, and he was facing Ony, standing just a few feet away as he towered over him like a force of nature, it was clear that the guy’s confidence had begun to evaporate.

“Nah, fuck all that. What happened to taking my girl? What happened to all that shit you was talking?” He looked downright unhinged, his words so calm and cool, but his eyes were wild and so scary that she couldn't even recognize him anymore. Her heart seized in her chest at the realization, getting pulled out of the way in her lax state. Nate backed up as Ony stepped forward, her hands reaching out to clutch onto the back of his hoodie and keep him under control.

“Stop, Ony! He didn’t do anything!” That had him turning, looking at her like she was the crazy one, as if he wasn’t the one up in arms over another man simply interacting with her. It looked like he was gearing up to fire back at her, but it gave the guy an opportunity to take a step back, and then another. His body language shifted from brash to something else. Fear and uncertainty, a realization that he had overestimated himself. Without missing a beat, he ran off in the complete opposite direction of the party, the parking lot, and the city for some reason. His footsteps kicked up the sand as he bolted, weaving through the crowd, desperate to put as much distance between himself and the man who was threatening him. Honestly Milana sighed in relief for him, for a minute she thought that it was over for the poor guy.

“Fucking Dumbass.” Ony’s tone was bored as he shook his head, watching him go before looking side to side briefly as he tucked his gun back. The guy hadn't even gotten close enough to warrant a swing, yet here he was, running away, knowing he’d lose badly.

The crowd around them had gone silent. Some of them exchanged confused glances, others looked at Ony with a mix of surprise and wariness. But he didn’t care, he wasn’t there to prove anything. He wasn’t remorseful, had no guilt or even embarrassment at his actions, simply treating the situation like a simple inconvenience that he got out of character. The guy had made his choice, and now, with his back turned and his footsteps fading in the distance, the message had been delivered loud and clear.

“Ony, you’re acting like a psycho!” Milana whisper shouted to him. Her voice cracked with frustration, hands trembling slightly as she gestured at Ony, who stood there like a wall, his expression unreadable. The words felt harsh, but it was the only way she knew how to get through to him. The way he had stood there earlier, staring down that guy like he was ready to tear him apart scared her.

The tension between them was palpable, and everything that had been left unsaid was coming to the surface, thickening the air around them. He only tilted his head at her, not moving, not even flinching at her words. Observing her like he was trying to see why she would say that, and for a moment, she didn’t think he’d respond at all.

“Oh yeah? C’mere and let’s talk about why I’m acting like a psycho.” Her jaw dropped instantly, and Milana actually thought she’d flash from how angry she was, turning on her feet to snatch up her heels and start walking off, too outdone with him. The sand beneath her feet felt like it was shifting with every step, liable to take her down as the salty breeze whipped her hair across her face. The waves crashed violently against the shore, mirroring the turmoil she felt inside.

There was just no reasoning with him, too out of control, and she wasn’t about to deal with it right now. Milana felt so weighed down with emotion that she thought she’d fall over. The fight wasn’t just about the guy anymore; it was everything. The way he was reacting, the way he couldn’t control himself. This wasn’t the Ony she had fallen for, the one who was patient and understanding.

“Milana, the fuck are you walking away for?” Ony’s voice followed her, urgent, his footsteps heavy as he tried to catch up. But she didn’t stop, feeling a storm brewing from how fired up she felt. All she wanted was to escape the pressure building inside her chest.

“I need a break, Ony!” She snapped, quickening her pace, her frustration cutting through her voice. “I really can’t do this right now!” He was right on her tail though, ready to just pull her off the beach kicking and screaming if he had to. Done with playing these games where she’d leave and he’d have to wait for her to talk.

“You’re not even listening to me when I’m the one trying to make this right?” That had her laughing in disbelief, eyebrows scrunched as her whole face twisted into anger, turning around to poke a nail into the center of his chest, keeping him arms length away.

“Make this right? By following me here and popping up like you own me? Or better yet, by threatening to shoot someone like a lunatic?” Her voice went lower and more aggressive as she tried to get away, choosing a path with no one in front of her, trying to find her friend through the sea of onlookers.

“I wouldn’t have to follow you here and show his bitchass what’s up if you actually acted like you give a fuck. You keep pushing me away like you wanna be single or some shit.” Ony snapped, his words coming out sharper than he meant, venom coating each syllable. He could feel the heat of the argument burning in his veins, and the tighter his grip on his temper became, the more reckless his mouth got. The argument had escalated faster than she expected, each word cutting deeper, and now it felt like the space between them was too wide to bridge.

Milana froze at his words, her heart sinking in her chest. The way he said it sounded like a threat, like he was going to up and leave her. She slowly turned to face him, her face a mixture of disbelief and hurt. His stomach clenched, and for a split second, Ony thought he saw tears in her eyes. Something that made him freeze for just a heartbeat. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Ony. I wasn’t even talking to him. How could you say that?” Her voice was rising now, a mixture of hurt and frustration. “You’re just a self-centered jerk who only cares about his own feelings.”

He couldn’t even be mad at that, her outburst filled with pain that he had inadvertently caused by throwing out accusations he didn’t mean. Ony managed to get in front of her path, going around to stop her from moving again, reaching out to soothe her from his own words when she stepped back. “You don’t think I feel bad?” He genuinely asked, wanting nothing more than to take away everything he said.

“You didn’t feel bad when you disrespected me in your car, Ony!” Milana could feel the shame flooding in, the walls she had carefully built around herself starting to crumble, everything inside her spiraling out of control. The love she had felt, the trust they had built all felt like it was slipping through her fingers, and she couldn’t stop it.

“What are you talking about? I felt like a fucking dickhead, why do you think I sent you all them fucking messages and shit!” Frustrated, he rubbed a hand down his face, holding himself back after that unexpected flash of anger. He saw the way people were trying to get closer to hear their argument, his blood boiling too much to deal with them too.

“Whatever, they don’t mean anything when you don’t even apologize.” She tried to step around him, his feet following hers like he knew every move she was about to make, mirroring her pace to stay close.

“You think I just wanted to talk for shits and giggles?” His arm catching hers before she could turn and walk away after realizing that he was trailing her like a shadow. Her head pounding uncomfortably trying to keep herself from acting crazy in public. “I’m not trying to yell at you right now, but I want you to talk to me.” There was no way he’d let her just go, not right when they were finally talking about what was going on, even if they were attracting a bit of attention.

“I want to go home.” Exasperated, Milana stomped her foot at him, trying to see around his stupidly tall body to find Mikasa. Her lip became wobbly as all her emotions hit her at once, and for the first time in a long while, Milana felt panic and was scared that everyone was seeing her fall apart. Seeing them fall apart. The weight of everything between them finally overwhelmed her. The floodgates she had been holding back all night were threatening to burst, and the anger and hurt mixed into a choking sob in her throat.

Ony felt a sharp pang in his chest at the sound of her voice, the pain in it hitting him harder than any physical punch ever could. “I’ll-I’ll take you. Right now, Baby. Whatever you want.” Ony felt desperate, alarmed seeing her almost cry, hating himself as he feared he took it too far. His hands came to rub up and down her arms, trying to bring her back down, sensing that she was too overwhelmed to think in the moment. “Let’s go, swear I’ll just take you home.”

“No.” She immediately rejected, the sting hurting worse than anything else she could’ve said. “I need..I should be by myself.” The words hit him like a blow, especially when he could see how much this was hurting her, the vulnerability that was hidden behind her anger, and he knew that this wasn’t just about the fight. It was about something deeper, something they hadn’t yet figured out. She wasn’t just trying to walk away from him; she was retreating into herself, and it terrified him more than he cared to admit.

“I can’t leave you here, Milana,” Ony said, stepping closer, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m taking you home.” His eyes softened, trying not to sound like he wanted to control her. He wasn’t trying to make her feel small, the hurt in her voice just stirred something inside him—a need to protect, to comfort, even if he wasn’t her favorite person right now.

Without another word, he closed the gap between them. He didn’t wait for her to protest or argue again. Only gently, but firmly lifting her into his hold, his strong arms encircling her waist and under her knees, pulling her close against his chest. Milana gasped, her body stiffening in surprise, but before she could protest or struggle, he was already walking toward the parking lot, his steps steady, almost calming in their rhythm. The warmth of his body against hers, the security of his hold, made her stomach twist in an unfamiliar way.

“Ony, stop!” She protested weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t-” He didn’t stop. He kept walking, his focus on getting her into the car, away from the harsh winds of the beach, away from the tension they’d created.

“I’m not putting you down,” He said quietly, his voice steady and strong despite feeling anything but right now. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me get you in the car, alright?” Milana went silent, her heart racing as she rested her head against his shoulder, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. The anger from the argument was still there, simmering beneath her skin, but the feeling of being held in his arms, of being cared for in this quiet way, was beginning to break her down.

They reached his car, and he carefully opened the passenger door with one hand, setting her gently inside. As he buckled her in, his fingers brushing against hers, and he looked at her with regret in his eyes. Milana felt a knot loosen in her chest, but there was still that part of her that wanted to pull away, that wanted to hide from him, to protect herself from the hurt that always seemed to come with conflict. But Ony wasn’t giving up on her. He wasn’t giving up on them.

He closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side, his movements slow, deliberate. As he started the car and pulled away from the beach, the quiet that settled between them felt different from before. It wasn’t filled with anger anymore. It was filled with the weight of things unsaid, but also with some flickering hope that they could repair what had been broken.

Milana stared out the window, the city lights shining brightly as they drove, her thoughts tangled in confusion. The warmth from his earlier embrace was still with her, but so was the ache from their words. Ony had carried her physically to the car, but emotionally, she wasn’t sure where they stood. The road ahead felt uncertain, but for the first time in what felt like a long while, she didn’t feel completely alone, they were hurting together.

He kept his focus on the road, his eyes steady, but every so often, he would glance at her, his gaze full of quiet concern. He didn’t know exactly what she needed right now, but he knew she needed him whether she admitted it or not. She could tell that he cared, that he was more than just a man filled with rage. Yet, somehow they’d both lost sight of that, getting wrapped up in hurt feelings and they didn’t know how to fix it. What happens if they couldn’t? If the way they felt for each other wasn’t enough, if she wasn’t enough to fix it.

Milana’s face was soft in the dim light of the car's interior, but there was an unmistakable distance in her eyes, an emotional gap that made him fearful for the first time in forever. Ony kept his hands on the steering wheel, his grip a little too tight, his knuckles constricting as he tried to find the right words.

He just blew up on the beach, too angry to be anything but stupid, careless— reacting without thinking, and she had only been quick to call him out to protect herself. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly as he tried to relax. He hated this, all of the fighting with Milana. Not just because it hurt, but because it made him realize just how much he valued her, how deeply he cared for her. Thoughts running to the sound of her gentle laugh, the way her eyes would light up when she talked about something she loved, and how she always made him feel like he was enough, even on his worst days.

He thought of the way she cared for him too, how she always seemed to know when he needed her, someone to lean on with kind words and even kinder touches. She had been a steady force in his chaotic world, and he wanted to be that for her too. It was the little things that made him realize how deeply he loved her, how much he wanted to make her feel seen and heard even if he wasn’t always good at that.

But right now, he had failed her. He hadn’t been the understanding, patient boyfriend she deserved, letting his own frustration spill out at the wrong moment in all the wrong ways, and now Ony didn’t know what to think. He couldn’t just let the day end like this, with a wall between them. He wasn’t perfect, and he never claimed to be, but what he did know was that he loved Milana. He loved the way she made him laugh, the way she pushed him to be better, and the way she accepted him, flaws and all. He wasn’t going to let one argument overshadow everything they’d started building.

When they reached her apartment, Ony pulled into his parking spot and turned off the engine, the car’s soft hum fading into the night. The air felt heavy, thick with the weight of their unresolved emotions, his body turning towards her, trying to be as open as he could. “Milana...” He started, his voice quieter now, more calm than earlier, making her ears perk at the change. “Look- I know we might need time, but... can we talk? I don’t want to leave with this hanging over us.”

Ony’s earlier words still echoed in her head, each one a painful reminder of how much he had hurt her. The guilt in his voice now, the way he had insisted on taking her home, only made it worse. It felt like he was trying to fix things, but she wasn’t sure how to let him anymore. Her heart twisted, the pressure building up behind her eyes.

She wanted to scream, wanted to shout that it was too late for talking, that the words had already done enough damage. Instead, she felt a lump form in her throat, too big to swallow, too thick to push down. The tears were coming, she could feel them in her chest, in the tightness of her throat, and she knew she couldn’t let him see. Not now. Not like this.

Milana’s hand trembled as she reached for the door handle, the sound of it clicking echoing in the quiet night. “I’m sorry,” She whispered, not looking at him, her voice breaking. “I just… I can’t. I can’t talk right now.” Before he could say anything, before he could even try to understand, she swung the door open and nearly stumbled out of the car.

Her body was moving on instinct, driven by the need to get away from him, away from the suffocating weight of the argument. Away from the pain that had settled in her chest. Ony’s voice followed her, soft but panicked. “Milana, wait-” But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Closing the door made her heart race, like she was shutting down bit by bit. Her pace quickened, almost frantic, her footsteps loud against the pavement, each one echoing in the quiet street.

Milana reached the door to her apartment, fumbling with her keys before pushing it open with trembling hands, and practically running inside. As soon as she was through the door, the floodgates opened. The tears came, hot and fast, as if they had been waiting for her to finally break. She pressed her palms to her face, trying to muffle the sobs that shook her whole body, but the sound of her own pain only made it worse.

Milana didn’t even care if anyone heard her, if the neighbors could hear her breaking. She just needed to feel something besides the emptiness that had taken over her. She didn’t want to talk to Ony right now, didn’t want to face him, because deep down, she wasn’t sure she could forgive him yet. The wounds were too fresh, and the words still felt like scars on her heart.

Oreo approached her with comforting meows, and she scooped him up into her arms, holding him close as though his small, wiggly body could absorb some of her pain. She made her way to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her as if it could block out the world, and held him tightly to her chest. Sinking to the floor, her body folded in on itself as if the weight of the world had crashed down on her. And for a moment, it felt like she was drowning in it all, burying her face in the soft fur of her cat, trying to find some comfort in the familiar warmth.

Meanwhile, Ony sat in his car, his hands gripping the steering wheel, staring blankly at the dashboard. His mind raced with all the things he should have said and done, but it felt like every time he tried to work through it, every word he thought of just made everything worse. He had crossed a line tonight, and the damage was already done. This was probably the hardest thing he’d ever done, going in blind with no experience in making up like this. Usually, a gift was good enough, send some flowers, candy, maybe a new bag depending on how bad he messed up. To make things better with his words seemed like an impossible task.

Cursing to himself, he cut the engine, not able to shake the fear that if he tried to apologize now, he’d just make it worse. That somehow, his words would fail her again. But… she needed him. No matter how many times he told himself he was the last person who should be near her right now, the fear that this was it drove him forward. It gave him the kick he needed to muster up the courage to get out of the car and approach her apartment. Her front door unlocked still, probably in her rush to get inside, locking it for her and stepping in further.

Ony noted that it was dark except for the light pouring in underneath the bathroom door, his feet planted outside of it, making sure that when he spoke now it’d only be to comfort her. He sucked in a breath as he knocked softly, getting no response. He knocked again, this time more urgently, calling her name. “Baby? Let me see you, Ma.” His heart raced, and a feeling of helplessness swirled inside him. What if she wasn’t ready? What if she just wanted space? He couldn’t leave without telling her, at the very least, that he was sorry. That he cared. That he was here. If there was even a chance he could make it right, he had to try. She deserved better than what he had given her tonight. She deserved honesty, and respect, and a love that didn’t cause pain.

Inside, Milana heard his voice, but it didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, it made her cry even more. She didn’t know what to say to him. She didn’t know how to put all the emotions she was feeling into words that wouldn’t come out wrong. Instead, she buried her face deeper into Oreo’s fur, as if hoping the cat could protect her from the hurt that still stung. The soft, rhythmic purring of the black-and-white cat was the only thing grounding her, a nice presence in the midst of her emotional storm. Her fingers absently stroked his back, trying to find some sense of calm that seemed just out of reach.

The knocks on the door continued, and finally, Milana stood, wiping her face as best as she could. Her makeup had tear streaks down the sides of her cheeks, and her nose was a bit runny as she tried to clean herself up in her mirror. Ony’s words filtered through as he continued talking to her, hearing the water running for a few seconds and her bracelets jingling as she moved around, giving him a bit of comfort.

After a few minutes to collect herself, she opened the bathroom door, not quite ready to face him but knowing she had to. Oreo slinked his way out through the other side as Ony stood patiently, his expression full of concern, guilt, and something else she couldn’t quite place. He sighed, deep and heavy with emotion, one that made her want to cry all over again. “Baby,” His voice hoarse with raw emotion, hands clenching again, but this time to keep himself controlled.

He knew that there were going to be more hard times, moments when things won’t go perfectly, but he was still willing to fight for her. He’d always fight for her, he’d acknowledge his mistakes and decide to do the work to make things right, because at the end of the day, she was worth it.

“I’m sorry,” Ony said quietly, a bit shaky, unused to having to apologize. “I should’ve never said those things. I should’ve never let it get out of control. I—I should’ve never said that mean shit to you. I just got frustrated, and I didn’t know how to fix it in front of everyone.”

Milana’s palms came up to press over her eyes, taking a trembling breath in and out. Her breathing hitched as she finally let her arms fall to her sides, the tension in her body slowly easing, though the rawness of everything still clung to the air around them. She didn’t look away from him, but her lips quivered as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was h-horrible, Ony. What we said to each-each other-”

Her words cut off, trying to stay in the moment with him, forcing herself to stand in the uncomfortable feeling to get it out. “I f-felt like I was losing you, like… like nothing I did mattered.” He had apologized, had bared the weight of his regret, but what were they going to do moving forward?

He swallowed, nodding, her words settling in. “I know. I messed up, I said things I shouldn’t have. I hurt you, and that’s the last thing I ever wanted. I need you to know how sorry I am.” The words were rough, but honest. Ony wasn’t trying to dress it up, wasn’t trying to make excuses. He just needed her to hear him, needed her to understand that he was afraid of losing her.

Milana stood there for a moment, her face unreadable, and Ony thought she might just close the door and walk away. But then, she stepped aside, just enough for him to come in. He didn’t move immediately. He stood frozen for a moment, his heart thudding in his chest, at what it meant. However, seeing her standing there, the hurt still clear on her face, he couldn’t hesitate anymore. He stepped inside, slowly and cautiously, giving her a bit of space even though his body was a little crowded in the small entrance.

Ony took one step closer, willing his hands to not tremble as he reached for hers. “Please… don’t shut me out. Let me try to fix this, I don’t want to lose you. Not over something stupid.” She didn’t answer right away, but she didn’t pull her hands back either. For the first time that night, there was a softness in her gaze, just the faintest glimmer of hope that maybe, she wasn’t ready to give up on them.

“I’m so sorry too,” She paused, taking a breath, trying to find the words that could make him understand how apologetic she truly was. “I never wanted to hurt you, just wanted to protect us from everyone. I’m just scared.” He listened intently, brushing her curls away from her face, his fingers lingering on her skin, grounding himself in the softness of her.

“Y’don’t have to be scared, Mama. I’m here.” Milana took a shaky breath, then another, before finally taking a step closer to him. Her hand, trembling slightly, resting it on his chest, over his heart. She met his eyes and nodded, as if she were finally beginning to believe him. Her shoulders softened as if allowing herself to be held by his presence.

Ony’s heart surged in his chest as he reached for her, pulling her into his arms, his hands gentle but firm around her waist. She didn’t resist, didn’t pull away, and as he held her close, her arms wound around his neck, her body finally relaxing into his embrace. In that space, they were closer than they had been in hours. Their breaths, shaky and soft, seemed to synchronize, the silence between them holding more meaning than any words could.

Milana pulled back slightly, her forehead resting gently against Ony’s, her breath warm against his skin. The space between them felt like the whole world had contracted into something small, intimate, and undeniable. Everything else felt inconsequential. The hurt, the words, the distance they’d felt earlier seemed to vanish in the quiet of the moment. It was just the two of them now, and for the first time that night, it felt like things were right again.

His fingers gently cupped her face, thumb tracing the soft curve of her cheek. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed, the tenderness of it overwhelming her. The tension that had been coiled so tightly inside her, that heaviness that had weighed on her chest since their argument, slowly began to release. She felt safe here, in his arms, even though they were still picking up the pieces of their love.

As if they both couldn’t stand the distance any longer, Ony leaned in. It was slow at first, like they were both testing the waters, unsure if the kiss could bridge the gap that had formed between them.

Then his lips brushed against hers in a way that made Milana’s heart skip, reassuring her that everything would be okay. It wasn’t a grand, sweeping gesture, but it was everything they needed. It was forgiveness, and love, and the promise that they would always find their way back to each other, no matter how lost they might get.

But soon, the kiss deepened, moving faster at a steady pace, the kind of kiss that said more than words ever could. The kind that had him gripping her tighter, pushing her backwards until her back touched the bathroom counter, holding her still there. Needy pecks starting to smack together feverishly, kissing harder than they ever had. Their hands getting tangled in each other, pulling intently to bring the other closer.

“Wait-” Ony pulled back, wanting to step away, but her hands wouldn’t let him. Her eyes getting misty again as she tried to keep them there, needing him to touch her more desperately than she realized. “We’re going too far, I should...” Milana couldn’t stop pressing kisses all over his jaw, distracting him so much that he was having a hard time stringing together his words.

“Please?” She asked, his eyes widening at the implication. He hadn’t done anything since their first date, keeping his hands as respectful as possible, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. But, now she was giving him the green light he needed to satisfy her in all the ways he wanted to. “T-Touch me, please? I need it-”

He spun her quickly, facing her away from him and towards the mirror instead, his head dropping down into her neck to hide how heated her words made him. Gently, he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, his hips trying to stay away from pushing into her unless she wanted to feel how hard he was getting. “Need me that bad, Mama?”

Milana gasped softly at the sudden touch but relaxed almost immediately, leaning back into him. Ony rested his chin on her shoulder, pulling her a little closer. The warmth of her body, the softness of her hair, the rhythm of her breathing—all of it felt so right, so natural.

His hands circled around her hips, dropping down to where her carpis covered her belly, his fingers skimming over the jewelry underneath. Ony was eager to get his hands on her again, having to bite his lip to keep from revealing the smile he was sporting, happy to help her feel everything he’s been wanting to give her. “Want me to touch you here?” He made sure to ask again, massaging her reassuringly in case she needed a break.

“Mhm.” She mumbled out, rushed as she wiggled, grinding slightly against him. Their eyes locking through the mirror in a flash, his boring intently into hers, holding her a bit tighter.

“Say it, Mama.” Ony urged, watching amusedly as she huffed impatiently, Her gaze bouncing every which way now, cutely pursing her lips in thought over his request.

“Need you to-to touch me, please?” Milana could barely look at him while trying to string that sentence together, but it came out truthfully nonetheless. He smiled at how shy she was acting, pressing a nice kiss to neck right under her ear, letting her take a few deep breaths before he did anything.

Slowly, a hand slipped down her pants, easily finding its way into her panties to touch her skin, making her jump. She lifted off of her soles, resting on her toes as she braced her hands against the countertop in front of her, shuddering as he went lower. His other hand left from around her middle, lifting higher to wrap around the top of her chest, just under her neck. Pulling her back into his him as he kept his lips to her ear.

“Fuck,” Ony groaned, smooth and heady, making her whine as he stopped for a second, just resting against her. She was warm, and the further he went the more fiery hot he felt. He settled his nerves, wanting to make this moment special for her, the weight on his shoulders resting on the fact that this was her first time doing this. “You’re doing so good, Baby.” His voice easing her as he whispered, his eyes locked on her face through their reflection. “So, so good.”

“Ony~” Milana moaned out as his middle finger dipped, sliding down her slick clit, her legs shaking as he went up then back again, making her cry out at the ticklish feeling creating pulses of pleasure deep within her belly.

“I’m right here,” She was quickly getting wetter right between her legs the more he explored, his finger dropping to massage at her entrance then rubbing the wetness against her swollen bud. He pet at her nicely, rubbing smooth circles into her to get her to relax. Ony’s slender middle finger was long and thick, the pad touch at and prodded at her open hole, beginning to push in all at once to rip it off like a bandaid. “You’re alright, you’ve got it, Ma.”

“Ahh!” He was careful as Milana squealed, squirming in slight pain from the discomfort. Her hands coming up to grip his forearm where it rested around her, closing her eyes tight as he moved around slightly, filling her up until it touched a part of her no one had ever been before. With how wet she was, it was easy to move. His finger curling, moving left, then right, turning to the middle when Ony heard a different moan pour out of her glossy lips, one that had his dick springing to life.

He delved deep, moving at a methodical, leisurely pace, the tip rubbing into her warm, spongey walls, favouring her g-spot especially when it made her gasp and squeak. He pressed against it and he knows he’s found it when Milana’s arching her back, trying to push her hips away to escape the jolts of pleasure. She had nowhere to go though, not with his body pressing right behind her, keeping her planted right where she stood.

“Take a breath, Baby.” Ony’s words commanding enough to break through the haze clouding her mind. Her head dropped down, clenching her teeth together as she tried to breathe like he said, exhaling a long whine as he pushed up harder.

Milana’s legs could barely hold her, his other hand retreating to slide under her arms to hold her up himself. “So gorgeous,” He said as tears formed at the corner of her eyes, involuntary whines filling up the cramped bathroom. The pace fastens, his finger curling with every stroke, her orgasm coming embarrassingly early while he hits her g-spot over and over again. Her pussy gushing as she clenched and unclenched erratically, walls convulsing around him. “So perfect, all for me.”

“Mhm,” She pinched her bottom lip between her teeth as he hit deep strokes and massaged his fingertip into her gummy walls. Her sticky juices all over his hand, his palm coming into contact with her sensitive nub, introducing the added stimulation just as she began falling apart. The touch had Milana gasping, fingers clenching around the sleeve of Ony’s hoodie, one hand gripping his wrist for leverage. “C-Cumming!” Milana gasped out, body trembling from the sensitivity she endured, his eyes watching as he waited for it, wanting to see the look on her face when she came.

“Eyes on me,” He grunts, reaching up and grabbing her face, chubby cheeks squished in between his fingers. Drool dribbles down her chin as she’s moaning louder, forced to stare at him through the mirror. “I’m right here, Baby. Just keep looking at me.” With Ony’s praises and kisses along her face, he throws Milana over the edge, making her cry his name, trying to keep the contact he asked for but finding it near impossible.

Her body felt electric, every muscle tightening at once, clenching down on him to tight that he wondered how he’d even fit at all, snugly nestled deep to keep petting at her soft spot inside. Her hips couldn't stop moving, full out grinding back against the bulge in his jeans, making him groan as he watched the pleasure take over her. Pretty pink nails digging into his arm as she rode it out in waves, wobbling back and forth into his hand, which he took as a silent plea for more.

Ony smirks, finally having Milana at his mercy, his ring finger dropping down to feel around her entrance as well. Adding another finger felt like an impossible task, yet somehow as she released all over his waiting hand, she was able to lube him up enough to glide the tip in next to his longer one. She nearly screamed at the feeling, legs going haywire as he forced her head back, standing at his full height to get leverage over her.

“It’s alright, Mama. Just gotta make sure you feel me.” He growled down at her, their eyes locked together as he pushed the rest of the way in, settling both fingers next to each other. His hand curled itself so deep that it was lifting her off her feet entirely, starting off with a slow stroke to get her acclimated. The sigh from her throat made her breathless, like she could pass out from the sensations overwhelming her body.

“‘S too much,” Milana panted, wiggling her hips away, but to no avail since he doesn’t let her. The rush of mind numbing pleasure made her hands scramble to hold onto him, his low chuckle causing more slick to escape. Tears rolling down again, this time it wasn’t because of their argument, but he was still causing it nonetheless.

“You’ve got it.” Ony’s words of encouragement were the only option she could take at this point. The whole room filling with the squelching sound of his fingers working her inside out. His arm arches, and his muscles flex under his top as he goes at it with more intensity, her mouth not able to shut up as he drove her closer and closer all over again.

“Wa-Wait!” She rushed out, whining in a strained voice as she clenched her teeth, bracing herself through the slight pain of overstimulation. Her belly winding so tight, so fast again that she could tell this one was going to wreck her. Milana tried to pull his upper arm away from her face, shaking her head as her other hand tried to pry his wrist from her pants.

“That’s a good girl. Let go for me, Baby. Shhh, that’s it, just cum. Want you to soak my whole fucking hand.” Ony felt how her pussy contracted and squeezed like crazy around his middle and ring fingers, wetting him so badly that it was showing through the cotton of her capris. He felt like he could bust in his boxers right where he stood, watching in awe as her knees tried to close around his hand to stop the inevitable, speeding up just to see how much more she could take.

“ONY!” The scream Milana let out was perfect, eyes rolling back so far that all he could see were the whites, mouth open as she locked into a deep arch, his fingers stopping their pumping to instead stroke her inside, churning her body into nothing but mush. He’s pushing his fingers up deeper, feeling around in slow motions, savoring her tight grip and the warm home she provided for them. She shuddered in his arms, sighing out in relief that she came, whole body spasming as her toes curled.

“Still with me, Mama?” Ony asked gently, pressing another kiss to her face, her chest heaving as she tried to calm down. Her heart felt like it could beat out of her chest, and her breathing was all over the place trying to regain all of her hearing back through the high pitch ringing in her ears.

“Mhm…” Milana mumbled, noticing the grip on her face was much looser, helping her head to stay up now. She looked up at him, feeling lovey-dovey because of his sweet tone, and how good she felt. He smiled down at her, withdrawing his fingers with a sloppy squelching little pop noise, and her hole missed him immediately, the feeling his fingers left behind still affecting her.

They quickly went up to Ony’s lips, watching in astonishment as he opened to push them into his mouth, groaning in delight at the taste. His eyes mischievous, catching the way her legs clenched together before shaking again, all her weight slumped into him as he held her up. If he wasn’t the one keeping her stable right now, she would’ve covered her face, scolding him in embarrassment.

“Gotta clean you up, Mama. Get you ready for school tomorrow.” He reminded her soothingly, pulling his fingers from his mouth, looking down at her as he leaned down to kiss her lips. She moaned again, trying to get closer but fumbling slightly, still trying to get her bearings. Their lips moving together so passionately that Ony thought about giving her one more just to really drive it home for her. But, they have a lot to do to prepare her for tomorrow, and that included cleaning up the mess he left behind.

Together, they took a second to bask in the moment they shared, turning his head slightly to let his cheek brush the top of Milana’s hair. His fingers gently let go of her cheeks to wrap around her again, tracing the curve down her torso to her hip, feeling the warmth of her skin, the delicate rise and fall of her breathing. He didn't rush it. There was no need to fill the space with noise, because in it, everything that had been said and unsaid already existed.

Without breaking the silence, Ony reached up and gently tucked her curls behind her ear. Milana’s smile was small but full of warmth. She didn’t need to say it. He already knew. And in that knowing, in the silent understanding they shared, everything felt right. It was a love unspoken but felt in every glance, every touch, every quiet moment. It was a love that could weather the hardest storms, not because it was flawless, but because it was real. And tonight, it was enough.

15.4k words???😵‍💫 Chat, what’s going on rn??? This was supposed to be like 7-8k words at most! Wtf? Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to top it next chapter. 😏 Hope everyone enjoys this craziness and I can’t wait for you to read the next one! xoxo - Bow 🎀

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@chosokamos

[slayfics]

Katsuki and Hitoshi fight over you.

Warnings: characters aged up, NSFW themes, angst

1k words

Explosions went off atop the building's roof as Katsuki continued to detonate his quirk. He thought it was his lucky day to run into Hitoshi. Until he realized what this fight would consist of.

Unable to expel his frustration in his usual insults and vile comments, due to Hitoshi’s quirk, Katsuki focused on setting off explosions.

Yet, Hitoshi had come a long way since his time at UA. Expertly bouncing around and using the capture scarf to swing and avoid the explosions.

Katsuki had wanted to knock the lights out of Hitoshi’s eyes for some time now. Ever since he found out about you two. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wrap his mind around you giving a hero like Hitoshi the time of day. What did you see in him?

So, when he ran into the brainwashing hero, he thought his wish was finally granted. However, now amid a spar with Hitoshi, the bitter realization sat in. He wouldn’t be able to say all the nasty words he saved up for the hero.

He wasn't able to tell Hitoshi that he wasn't a worthy enough hero to be with you. That he was a pathetic punk boy, Grimace-looking, Eeyore mother fucker. If he said any of the things he desperately wanted to, Hitoshi would brainwash him, and the fight would be over. Katsuki let out a huff of air and another explosion that Hitoshi dodged.

"We can talk like adults instead," Hitoshi said sliding across the roof.

Katsuki ignored Hitoshi's pleas and came at him with another attack that Hitoshi barely evaded.

"Trust me Bakugo, you don't want to do this," Hitoshi warned him. Katsuki's eyes flashed with fire, challenging Hitoshi. Despite Katsuki's continued silence, Hitoshi could understand his declaration of war clearly, and he wasn't lucky enough to dodge the next attack. Katsuki landed a blast on Hitoshi sending him flying and knocking against the roof railing.

"Fine, have it your way," Hitoshi said recovering from the blast and pulling on the railing to stand up. Finally, being pushed to his breaking point, Hitoshi decided to fight back. The only difference is that Katsuki's quirk worked with blunt power, while Hitoshi's focused on a psychological level. Hitoshi only had to break Katsuki into saying something, and he wasn't afraid to play dirty.

Hitoshi turned the dials on his voice modulator as Katsuki prepared his next blast.

"I want you to hear how she sounds for me," Hitoshi said, turning one last dial on his mask, as Katsuki lunged at him again.

That's when it happened, the sound that took the breath out of Katsuki's lungs. Your moans came from Hitoshi's mask. They were sweet and sexy as hell; the problem was you were moaning Hitoshi's name.

Katsuki fumbled for just a moment letting go of his blast, giving Hitoshi plenty of time to avoid it. Your moans came louder and faster from Hitoshi's mask, "Toshi... Toshi... Toshi~"

Katsuki bit his tongue biting back curses and rage, blood rushed through his mouth. The taste of copper dripped down his throat from the deep cut now on his tongue.

This was just an imitation of your voice. Yet, it sounded so real, and Katsuki knew it had to be true. Hitoshi had to have heard your moans himself to imitate you so perfectly. Worse. It meant he heard them more than once. Studied them.

Your moans increased to what Katsuki recognized so perfectly to be you reaching your climax, and it all came crashing down on him. You had cum for Hitoshi.

Katsuki lets out another blast, it's strong, too strong. Hitoshi barely gets out of the way. Katsuki huffs, fists clench. What's worse is you sound so fucking hot, and he can't help but feel the heat that runs through his body at hearing you again.

"We can stop this," Hitoshi offers, but Katsuki's frustration peaks, as more blasts fly. Katsuki's wrath and jealousy start to boil over into something he doesn't recognize.

Hopelessness.

Someone else is pleasuring you and there's not a damn thing he can do about it. The scene that flashes in Katsuki's mind makes his stomach sick. He can see the lavender-haired bastard on top of you, thrusting into your heat and the fucked-out expression on your face.

So much resentment and nowhere to put it, not even a damn word he can say for himself without losing this spar. He feels the lump in his throat form, and he can't stop it. His tongue almost bit in half, the tears finally form and cascade down his face.

Hitoshi notices this and gives Katsuki one last chance, "I'll stop if you do."

Katsuki keeps going, but his blasts aren't the same now. There is less passion behind them. It's sad to watch. Hitoshi barely has to dodge anymore. Katsuki's knees are weak, and his movements are slow and shaky.

"Not giving up, yet? Fine, hear what she said about you," Hitoshi speaks, changing his mask once more to imitate your voice.

Your voice breaks through Hitoshi's mask again. This time it’s your ugly cry that Katsuki knows so well. You're gasping for air as the words pour out, and it’s so clear it sounds as if you’re really here, “I loved him, but it wasn’t enough. He was always going to choose to be number one over me,” your voice cries and hiccups.

You had cried to Hitoshi about how Katsuki failed you, and now this was the outcome. Then comes the image in Katsuki’s mind, Hitoshi has his arms wrapped around you comforting you through your tears. Katsuki wants to rip you out of Hitoshi's arms, but he can’t because he drove you there.

Katsuki's knees give in, and he collapses to the floor. Gasping for air, his body racked with panic, fire extinguished. Taking rapid shallow breaths, he tries to regain himself.

Hitoshi walks over to the man he's brought to his knees without laying a finger on him.

"You done? Maybe next time we can talk like adults," Hitoshi mocks. Then departs, leaving the blond hero alone on the roof.

sinners: @izarosf1833 @stoned-anime-babe @lees-chaotic-brain @lunathewonyoungstan @sebsvertigo @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @peachsukii @reneinii @pastelbakugou @abadbitchblogs @deluluforcarlos55 @pinkpurpledreams @that-one-fangirl69 @dreamcastgirl99

[happybunny999]

(Dangerous monster!) Neglected Omnipotent fem reader x Yandere Batfam

Prologue

-

Gotham….a place known for its crime, drugs, poverty, corruption, violence and vigilantes and villains and how people in the city know the rules. Keep head down,don’t get involved,and if you see a group of vigilantes or the Batman fighting someone you pretend you didn’t

But that didn’t matter to you at all because any normal person would be scared of Gotham but you weren’t normal not in the slightest in fact you are not fully human and not a normal 4 year old either since your mother is a powerful meta human with so, well almost every abilities you could think of and that if you try and named them all it would take years to describe them all

You took after both parents with your hair being one side pink and the other side black just like your eyes that you were told by your mother to hide since as she said that if people found out about my powers and how I looked they would hurt me and only show your face to people you trust and you believed her. how could you not?

Your mother is a kind, caring and beautiful woman who never use her powers outside the house and who you know had gotten lucky with the one and only Bruce Wayne aka the Batman and after just one night she had you and never told Bruce about you since he already had sons and daughters

And well Gotham was a city that was cruel an everyway which is why she always kept you close to her when ever you and her go out for groceries and the bare minimum and you were happy with that and your mom because despite her never talking about your father or his other children you still loved her because you could always play with her and she was the one who was there for you

But the happiness was cut short when the day she told you that she would be right back from the store and gave me a small smile and before leaving she told me something that you will never forget

“Sweetie I want to know that mommy will always love you and remember to please stay in control of your powers”

(That was the last time you would see and hear from her)

Because remember how you said that she had almost every ability….that excluded her ability to heal and reviving herself too(guess you must have gotten more power then her) so when she want out for food and got in the middle of a gang war by accident and the end result was her getting shot in the head and chest while you were sitting at home waiting for her until realizing that she was gone when a couple of police officers came to get you from your home and take you to the police station with you cry the whole time

After that you were sitting on a chair holding your plushie and your mother’s scarf as well as the cloak she made for you as a man called Jim Gordon comforted you and after running some test and they found out Bruce Wayne was your father you are taking to the manor where a butler was waiting for you and greeted you with a warm smile as you held his hand as he led you inside the manor

And so your new, terrible life began.