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itneverendshere · 19 hours

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how would the cameron family react to rafe dating a pogue

found a girl my parents love - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) Ps: ward's not a monster in this, just an asshole sometimes, bc my boy rafe deserves a better father figure. also, didn’t know if this request was for this couple but i felt like it fitted them perfectly so here we are again 🫶🏻🤗

Rafe selfishly wanted to keep you a secret for as long as he could.

Not because he was ashamed of you—not even close. You were his, the only person who actually got him. That part of him he never let anyone see, not his family, not his boys.

It was complicated, though, and his family didn't do "complicated" well. Especially not with a pogue. His dad would flip if he knew he was dating someone he hadn’t been personally introduced to before.

The bartender from the club, of all people. The one they’d see serving drinks to them all summer, like you didn’t exist outside those moments. That was the thing though, you did exist, more than anyone he’d ever known. You were real. That’s why he wanted to keep it just for himself. It was his one thing that no one else could touch, could ruin. Topper knew, sure, but he wasn’t going to run his mouth to Sarah after she broke his heart.

So yeah, he held on to it, kept you away from the world that would tear it down before it even had a chance to really breathe. Until Weezie stumbled into your date at the ice cream shop.

He remembered the way his heart stopped when he saw her walk in. Of all places. Of all the people. She looked at him with wide brown eyes, then at you, and then back to him like she’d just walked in on something she wasn’t supposed to see.

And honestly? She did.

“What the hell are you doing here, Weeze?” he snapped, more out of panic than anger.

"Uh? Getting ice cream?" Her face lit up, a huge grin stretching across her cheeks. “What are you doing here? And with her?” She looked at you, her excitement bubbling over before Rafe could get a word in. “Oh my God, this is so cool! You’re dating her? Like, for real?”

You smiled awkwardly, sensing the tension rolling off him. He looked like he was seconds away from shitting himself. He could’ve killed Weezie right then and there. But instead, he just sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, well… don’t tell anyone, alright?”

“Are you kidding?” Weezie practically bounced. “I won’t say a word. Scout’s honor.” She shot you a smile before turning to leave. “But like, this is so cool.”

He scowled at her, “Stop being creepy.”

You slapped his chest, scolding him “Be nice.”

“Oh, I like her!”

She kept her word. For a little while, at least.

A few weeks later, they were all sitting around the dinner table—Ward, Sarah, Rafe, and Weezie. Rose was out doing whatever the fuck she did with her friends. Everything was going fine until Weezie, mid-conversation about nothing important, let it slip.

“I saw Rafe and his girlfriend the other day,” she said, just like it was no big deal.

Girlfriend.

Rafe froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Sarah looked like she’d just been smacked in the face.

“Girlfriend?” Sarah’s voice went up an octave. “Since when do you have a girlfriend?”

He shot Weezie a look that could shove her ten feet under, but it was too late. She slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing her mistake.

Ward raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “You got something to share with the family, son?”

Rafe cleared his throat, putting his fork down, already working up a sweat. He knew he couldn’t lie his way out of this one. And honestly?

Maybe it was time to stop hiding. He glanced at Sarah, who still looked at him like he was from outer space, then at his dad. He’d always given him shit about girls, all these big speeches about how none of them were ever worth bringing home unless he was serious.

Well, he was serious.

“Yeah,” Rafe muttered, meeting his dad’s eyes. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “Who?”

“She’s a pogue!”

Rafe closed his eyes, sighing as Weezie blurted the most important piece of information out. She really just dropped the biggest bomb in the most casual way possible. His dad’s expression didn’t change much, but Sarah? She was fully in shock, her jaw practically hitting the table.

“A Pogue?” Sarah repeated, like she couldn’t believe the words even existed in the same sentence as Rafe. “Are you serious? In this lifetime?”

He shot her a glare. “Yeah, a Pogue. What, is that some kind of crime?”

“What?” She shrieked, “You gave me so much shit when I dated John B!”

He clenched his jaw, his patience hanging by a thread. Of course she was going to bring up John B. She couldn’t let anything go. “That was different,” he snapped.

Sarah scoffed, folding her arms “Different? How exactly?”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “Because John B’s a dirtbag who had you sneaking around doing God knows what. This is—” he stopped himself, trying to find the right words. “This is different, okay? She’s not like him.”

“So, it’s okay when you date a Pogue? Got it.”

“To be fair,” Weezie chimed in, “John B smelled like shit.”

He couldn’t help the snort that escaped his lips, even though the last thing he wanted to do was encourage her. Sarah shot Weezie a death glare, clearly not amused.

“Language,” Ward warned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How many times do I have to tell you girls? No swearing at the table.”

The room fell silent, everyone looking at Rafe like they were waiting for him to say something. His dad didn’t even look mad—if anything, he looked weirdly intrigued.

“So,” Ward said slowly, his gaze locking onto Rafe’s. “You’re serious about her then? Serious enough for me to meet her?”

Rafe swallowed. “Yeah. I am.”

“Alright. Let’s make that happen then.”

He blinked, completely thrown off. “What?”

Ward’s response was calm, almost too calm. “If you’re serious about this girl, then it’s time I meet her.”

Rafe just stared at him, unsure if he’d heard that right. His dad wasn’t angry? Was he impressed? Or was this some kind of setup?

“You... wanna meet her?” he repeated, like he needed the words to make sense.

His dad’s expression wasn’t the usual stone wall of judgment. “I’ve always said if it’s not serious, don’t bother bringing her around. You’re saying she’s important to you, right?”

“Uh, yeah…” Rafe’s voice trailed off, still half-expecting this to somehow turn into a lecture or some Ward Cameron test. “She is.”

He nodded, like he was already planning it. “Alright then, set it up. I’ll meet her.”

He couldn’t tell if this was a win or if he’d just walked into something he wasn’t prepared for. His whole plan was to avoid this exact conversation. He looked across the table, expecting Sarah to be just as blindsided as he was, but she was still stuck on one detail.

“You’re dating a Pogue,” she muttered, shaking her head like she couldn’t get past that fact. “I just… wow.”

Rafe shot her a glare. “Get over it.”

Weezie, always the little instigator, grinned. “She was cool.”

“Okay, so… when do I get to meet her?” Sarah’s brown eyes widened with curiosity. “Is she cute? What’s she like?”

This wasn’t how he thought the night was going to go at all.

An hour later, he was lying in bed, staring at his phone, his mind still spinning from dinner. He pulled up your contact, hesitating for a second before hitting the FaceTime button. The screen flashed for a moment, and then there you were, all cozy in your own bed, unaware of what was about to hit.

“Hi baby,” you chirped, clearly happy to see him, “What’s up? You look stressed.”

Rafe rubbed his face, letting out a long breath. “Yeah, well, uh—something happened at dinner tonight.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion, tilting the phone closer to you. “What? Did Sarah say something dumb again?”

“Nah, worse,” he muttered. “Weezie... Weezie kinda let it slip. About us.”

Your eyes widened immediately. “Wait, what? She told them?!”

“Yeah,” he said, letting out a low chuckle at the memory of the whole dinner spiraling out of control. “Just dropped it casually like it was no big deal. Sarah freaked out, and my dad—" He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “He wants to meet you.”

For a second, you didn’t say anything. You just blinked, processing his words.

“Wait... Ward Cameron wants to meet me? As in, your dad?”

“Yeah,” He mumbled, almost sheepishly. “He’s all, ‘If you’re serious, I should meet her,’ or some shit. Like it’s no big deal.”

You sat up straight, your heart racing. “Rafe, that is a big deal! What the hell do you mean he wants to meet me?!” Your voice rose, panic starting to take over. “Oh my God, I didn’t even think about having to meet your dad. I figured we’d just— I don’t know—figure it out later!”

Rafe winced, knowing this would freak you out. He tried to keep his voice calm, even though he wasn’t exactly calm himself. “Baby, it’s not like tomorrow or anything. We can plan it out.”

But you were already spiraling. “Your dad’s gonna take one look at me— What if he hates me? What if he tells you I’m not worth it, and then—” you paused, your voice breaking slightly, “What if you start to believe him?”

His stomach clenched at your words. He sat up, the phone now held closer to his face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there. What are you even talking about?”

You bit your lip, your thoughts running wild. “I mean... what if he convinces you that I’m not good enough? What if you start seeing me differently? You know how your dad is—he could talk you out of this, talk you out of us.”

Rafe shook his head, almost angry that you’d even think that way. “Are you serious right now? No way in hell is that happening. I don’t give a shit what my dad thinks. You’re the one I’m with because I want to be with you.”

You sighed, your nerves still rattled. “But what if he tries to get in your head? You always talk about how much pressure he puts on you. What if he—”

He cut you off, his voice firm, assertive. “Look, I’m serious about you. I told him that tonight. It doesn’t matter what he says, because you’re the one I love. No one’s changing my mind about that. Not even Ward fucking Cameron.” His eyes softened a little. “I already met your sister. This is just the next step, yeah? It’s us. We’re solid.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

He hated this—hated that the idea of meeting his dad was making you feel like this, but he couldn’t blame you. Ward was intimidating even on his best days, and this was not going to be one of those days.

“You’re not gonna throw up,” he said, trying to calm you down, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure you or himself.

You shook your head, running a hand through your bed hair. “What if I say something dumb? What if I screw up, and he hates me, and then everything goes downhill? I’m not, like... your people. You know that.”

His jaw clenched, hating the way you thought of yourself like that. “Don’t say that,” he scolded, “You’re exactly my people. You’re my person.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No ‘buts.’” He cut you off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Listen to me. My dad’s opinion doesn’t change anything. He’s not gonna make me see you any differently. You’re still gonna be the same girl I’m crazy about, no matter what he says or doesn’t say. Got it?”

You took a deep breath, trying to believe him. “It’s just—I don’t know, Rafe. I don’t fit into that world, and what if he sees that right away?”

He hated that you felt this way, hated that his dad had this kind of power hanging over the two of you. “You don’t need to fit into his world, okay? You fit into mine, and that’s all that matters.”

Your lips quivered, and for a second, he thought you might start crying. He could feel the panic rolling off of you through the phone, and it hit him hard—he hadn’t realized just how terrified you were of this.

“What if he really doesn’t think I’m good enough for you?” You whispered, almost like you were scared to say it out loud.

Rafe’s heart clenched, and without thinking, he shot up out of bed, pacing his room like he needed to burn off the frustration

“You’re more than good enough for me.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away for a second like you were trying to compose yourself.

“I just don’t want him to—I don’t know? To make you feel like you have to choose between me and your family.”

He stopped pacing, his grip tightening on the phone. “If it ever came to that? I’d choose you. Every fucking time.”

You blinked, taken aback by the intensity in his voice. “Rafe—”

“I mean it,” he said, cutting you off again. “I’m not letting my dad, or anyone else, get in the way. I don’t care if he’s Ward Cameron or the president of the United States. He’s not gonna run my life, and he sure as hell isn’t gonna ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you. And nothing my dad says or thinks is gonna change that. Ever.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall over. Not because you were scared anymore, but because of him. Because of how much he cared. How much he loved you, even when you were spiraling.

He was staring at the screen, concern written all over his face, brows furrowing, "Wait, are you crying?" His voice softened, like he wasn’t sure how to handle you like this, but he knew he wanted to. He needed to.

You quickly rubbed at your eyes, laughing to try and cover up the tears, "No, no, I just— got something in my eye." Your laugh was shaky, and you knew you weren’t fooling anyone.

He didn’t say anything for a second, just watched you with that loving look of his that made you want to bawl your eyes out even harder. He saw right through you. He always did.

“You know,” he finally said, “You don’t have to worry about all that shit. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

And that’s when you almost lost it. Because wow. No one had ever said something like that to you before, not until him. Never like that, like he really meant it, like you were the most important thing in his world.

You sniffed, trying to laugh it off again, but it just came out all soft and broken. “I’m just—” you paused, not even sure how to explain how you were feeling, “I’m not used to this. Like, you... caring this much. Loving me like this.”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and he leaned a little closer to the screen, “I’m not stopping.”

“I know. I love you too.”

It was real now.

Meeting the Camerons wasn’t something you could avoid anymore, but at least you knew you had Rafe, a hundred percent.

“You still freaking out?” he asked, though his tone was lighter, like he knew the answer.

“Yeah,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’ll get over it.”

“Good,” he said, his smirk returning. “Because I kinda need you around.”

“Kinda?”

He grinned, dimples framing his face, “Okay, a lot.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Rafe hadn’t said a word the entire drive, which was already freaking you out more than you wanted to admit. His knuckles were white, tight around the steering wheel. His jaw was locked, teeth grinding together and you’d caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye at least three times in the past minute.

Your heart was hammering, stomach in knots, and you were starting to wonder if you might actually throw up by the time you got to Tannyhill.

“Baby, seriously, if we crash into a tree ‘cause you’re having a silent meltdown over there, that’s not gonna help either of us.”

He blinked, finally loosening his grip on the wheel. “Sorry. I’m just—fuck, I don’t know.”

You tried to smile, but it felt weak. “Yeah, me too. I feel like I’m walking into some kind of corporate job interview I didn’t apply for.”

Rafe snorted. “Yeah, except the CEO’s a control freak and the company’s, I don’t know, cursed or something.”

That made you laugh, a short, nervous laugh, but still. You appreciated the attempt at humor, even if the nerves in your stomach weren’t going anywhere.

“So, uh... game plan?” you asked, half-joking, but mostly serious. “Am I supposed to shake his hand? Call him Mr. Cameron? Or is it more of a ‘hey, what’s up, Ward?’ situation?”

Rafe finally cracked a grin, shaking his head. “God, I don’t know. Don’t call him Ward; that might send him into some power trip. But definitely don’t call him Mr. Cameron either, ‘cause that’ll just make it weird.”

“Great, so I’ll just go with ‘Hi’ and hope I don’t trip over my own feet.”

“Perfect,” Rafe deadpanned, glancing over at you, “Just be yourself. He’s not as bad as you think. Mostly.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Mostly?”

Rafe’s lips pressed together. "He's not gonna throw you out or anything. And if he does, we’re leaving together. But Sarah...”

“Sarah,” you groaned, leaning your head back against the seat. You’d barely met Sarah, and from what you could tell, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about Rafe’s choice in girlfriends.

“Just don’t let her get to you,” Rafe muttered, his hand reaching for yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “She’s just mad because I used to make John B’s life a living hell.”

“Define hell.”

Rafe smirked, his fingers still interlaced with yours. "I mean, I threw him off a boat once," he said casually, like that wasn’t one of the most insane things you’d ever heard.

You blinked. “You what?”

He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road, like it was no big deal. “He was running his mouth about me."

You stared at him in disbelief, “And you think I’m the one who needs to be worried?”

He laughed, finally loosening up a little, “Relax, baby. I’m not throwing you off anything.”

“So she’s not mad about me? She’s just mad about the double standard?”

“Yeah.”

That made it a little easier to breathe.

The silence settled back in for a moment as you pulled up to Tannyhill. The sight of the massive estate took your breath away. You couldn’t help but feel like you were entering a completely different world now that you were here—a world that wasn’t exactly built for you.

Rafe must’ve noticed the way your hands gripped the edge of your seat a little tighter because he let out a long breath.

“Hey, it’s just a dinner. We eat, we talk, we leave. It’s not like they’re gonna put you under a microscope.”

You gave him a side-eye. “You know, I wasn’t nervous until you said that.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Shit. Sorry.”

The car came to a stop, and you could see the flicker of lights through the windows of the house. The pressure in your chest was building, but Rafe turned toward you, his hand cupping your face.

“Listen,” his blue eyes locked on yours, “I don’t care what happens in there. You’ve got me. If anyone makes you feel like you don’t belong, we’re out. Promise.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you leaned into his touch. “Okay.”

“I’m serious,” he continued, stroking his thumb across your cheek. “One word and I’ll get you out.”

You kissed his palm, “I know.”

“Okay.” he muttered, then pulled away, giving one final deep breath before turning off the ignition. “Let’s get this over with.”

You both stepped out of the car, Rafe knocked once, and within seconds, it swung open to reveal Sarah standing there in all her kook-with-pogue -tendencies glory.

“Well, well,” she smirked, eyes narrowing at you two.

Rafe shot her a sharp look, “Knock it off.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping aside to let you in. “I’m kidding. Kinda.” She turned her attention to you, and you could feel her sizing you up, looking completely unfazed as she led the two of you further into the house. "Dad’s in the study. He’s waiting."

Your heart skipped a beat at that. Waiting? What did that even mean?

Rafe must have felt your nerves spike because he reached for your hand again, squeezing it as you followed Sarah down the long hallway.

The house felt even bigger on the inside, with its high ceilings and fancy decor. You felt out of place. But then you peeked over at Rafe, and something about the way he held your hand made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you did belong.

At least to him.

Sarah finally stopped outside a large wooden door, turning to you with an exaggerated sigh.

"Good luck.”

Rafe hesitated for a second, his hand still gripping yours tightly. "You ready?"

No. Absolutely not. But you nodded anyway. "Yeah. Let’s do this."

He pushed open the door, and there he was.

Ward Cameron, sitting behind a massive oak desk, looking as powerful and intimidating as ever. His eyes flicked up from whatever paperwork he was working on, settling on you with a sharp intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Rafe," Ward said, his voice smooth and controlled, before turning his gaze to you. "And you must be... her."

You swallowed hard, trying to muster up the courage to say something, anything. "Yeah, that’s me. Hi, Mr. Cameron."

You immediately regretted it. Mr. Cameron? It sounded too formal, too awkward.

Ward didn’t seem to mind, though. If anything, he looked amused. He stood up, coming around the desk to get a better look at you. His eyes scanned over you briefly, but it wasn’t the cold, judgmental look you’d expected. Instead, it felt more like... curiosity.

"So, you’re the girl my son’s been so serious about."

You nodded, wanting to be anywhere but stuck in that claustrophobic room despite its size, "That’s me.”

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he looked between you and Rafe, “I hear you’re working at the Country Club.”

It wasn’t really a question—more like he already knew everything about you. Oh. You didn’t like that, knowing that someone else was snooping around for dirt on you. At least it sounded like that was the plan.

You managed a nod, trying to keep your voice from sounding too hushed. “Yeah, I’ve been working there for a while.”

His expression didn’t really give anything away, but the way he looked at you, was unnerving. Rafe’s hand squeezed yours, reminding you that, no matter what, he had your back. One word and you were out.

“Good,” Ward finally said, “I like that you work.” He sneaked a stern look at your boyfriend before turning his attention back to you. “He could use some of that drive.”

Wait. What?

You hadn’t expected that. You thought maybe he’d grill you or give you the whole ‘what are your intentions with my son’routine. But no, he was... complimenting you? It had to be some kind of set up.

“Dad—” Rafe started, clearly not expecting that either, but Ward cut him off with a raised hand.

“No, seriously.” His eyes were back on you, and there was almost a smile there, like he was actually impressed. “It’s a good quality. I respect people who work hard, people who don’t just expect things to be handed to them. And from what I’ve heard, you’re one of those people.”

You didn’t even know what to say.

Ward Cameron? Complimenting you? Was this real life? You’d walked in here prepared for a full-on interrogation, and instead, he was... encouraging.

“I just hope some of that rubs off on my son,” Ward added, shooting Rafe a look, and you swore there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “He could stand to work a little harder. He’s always been a bit lazy.”

You bit back a laugh, glancing over at Rafe. He was glaring at his dad, but you could tell he wasn’t really pissed, just...embarrassed. You found it endearing.

“Thanks, Dad,” Rafe mumbled.

“I like it. Maybe you’ll inspire him to work a little harder.”

You blinked. Wait, was this actually happening? Did Ward Cameron, of all people, just say he liked you? This whole night felt like it was gonna be a disaster, and now... maybe it wasn’t gonna be so bad. You hoped so.

You really wanted his family to like you, you felt like you owned him at least trying.

“You know," Ward began, "I wasn't always the man you see standing here today." His voice took on a reflective tone, and you could sense the change in the atmosphere as he prepared to tell his story. "I grew up on the Cut, just like a lot of those kids you see around he, like you,” Ward said, almost casually, but you could tell it wasn’t a casual thing for him. "Back then, I didn’t have much. But I worked my ass off to get out of that place. I didn’t have a name, no wealth behind me. What I have now? I built that from the ground up. No one handed me anything."

Rafe, who had been quiet up until now, let out a small, barely audible sigh, shifting uncomfortably beside you. You took a quick glance at him and caught the unmistakable eye-roll he tried to hide.

Clearly, this wasn’t the first time Ward had given this speech. But at the same time, you could tell he was relieved that his dad wasn’t tearing into you. That had to count for something, right?

Ward, oblivious or perhaps just unfazed by his son’s reaction, continued, his voice gaining momentum like he was giving you some kind of motivational speech. "It wasn’t easy. There were plenty of times when I could’ve given up, but I didn’t. I pushed through, made connections, took risks. That’s how you get ahead. You have to be willing to do whatever it takes. Now look where I am—" He gestured around at the lavish room, the estate itself practically a testament to his success. "I built an empire. Something real. Something that can last."

You nodded politely, unsure if you were supposed to say something. Rafe’s obvious eye-rolling and silent huffs of frustration beside you made it clear that he’d heard all this a hundred times before. He shifted in his seat, crossing his arms, clearly waiting for his dad to wrap it up.

But Ward wasn’t done yet. He turned his attention back to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The point is," he said, his tone softening a little, "I respect people who are willing to work for what they want. I see that in you. It’s not about where you start—it’s about where you’re going."

Rafe let out a short, quiet breath that you might’ve missed if you weren’t sitting right next to him. He shot you a small, knowing smile, almost like he was apologizing for the speech but also relieved that Ward wasn’t being an asshole.

You squeezed his hand under the table. At least his dad wasn’t tearing you down.

"Thanks, Mr. Cameron," you said, finally finding your voice. "I really appreciate that."

He nodded, seeming satisfied with himself. "Just remember," he added, his voice lowering as if he was giving you some kind of life lesson, "Hard work pays off. You keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll get somewhere. Don’t ever settle, not even for him.”

“Thanks again.”

Rafe looked like he was about to explode from how much he was holding back, but he just gave you a quick wink as if to say, Yeah, this is typical dad, but hey—he likes you, so we’re good.

Ward clapped his hands together, the moment of sincerity quickly passing. "Alright, well, I think dinner’s ready. Shall we?"

He strode ahead, leading the way out of the study and toward the dining room, leaving you and Rafe a few steps behind. The moment he was out of earshot, you looked up at Rave, “You think we’re good?”

He smirked, leaning down slightly to meet your eyes, his tone all teasing. “Baby, I think he might build you a pedestal.”

You couldn’t help but snort, trying to keep your voice down as you followed Ward. “Really? After that ‘self-made empire’ speech?”

He rolled his eyes dramatically, giving you a knowing look. “Trust me, if you got through that and he didn’t start questioning your entire existence, you’re golden. The man sees himself in anyone who works hard enough to breathe without permission.”

You bit back a laugh, gripping his hand as you walked down the long hallway. “Yeah, I was getting that vibe.”

His grin grew wider, his thumb skimming over your knuckles. “And look, usually, it’s a full-blown interrogation by now. You’re good.”

You raised your eyebrows, slightly surprised. “Really?”

Rafe nodded. “Oh yeah. Sarah’s brought home guys before and it was... rough.” He shook his head, “He actually likes you. That’s rare.”

Maybe things with the Camerons were actually going to be okay.

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sserpente · 1 day

Text

Checkmate

“You know, maybe we should play strip chess instead. I think I would be motivated to win if I could get you naked!”

“Strip chess?” Sylus’ eyebrows shot up. He blinked, observing you wordlessly for a moment. “Very well. Let’s take this up a notch. You lose one piece of clothing for every piece you lose in the game.”

A/N: What’s this? Another red-eyed, pale-skinned and silver-haired morally grey man? Might as well.

Words: 1386 Warnings: smut

You made it a point to sigh. Loudly. With your chin propped up on your elbows, you were sitting across from Sylus on the bed in your pyjamas, a chessboard in between you creating more distance from him than you wanted.

“Are you going to hyperventilate, kitten? This is the third time you’re sighing like this.”

“This is boring, Sylus.”

“Ah, you didn’t hear me complaining after ten long rounds of Kitty Cards, now did you?” He didn’t look up as he spoke. His crimson eyes were fixed on the chequered game board but his voice was not without that teasing tone that always drove you mad and never failed to turn you into a horny mess. Especially now, with how casually he was sitting on the bed with crossed legs and clad in comfortable clothes.

“The chess pieces aren’t meowing at me, it’s not the same. You know I’m bad at chess.”

“Then you’ll get better.” He made his move—and unfortunately, it didn’t mean much to you. You barely remembered the names of all the different pieces but you hadn’t wanted to turn him down when he asked for a round. Time spent with him was rare due to your different sleep schedules, and your visits to the N109 zones were even rarer. Things would change soon. But until then, you’d soak up every minute you could get with him. Even if he wanted to play chess. Even if it was boring as fuck.

“It’s your turn, kitten.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m thinking.” Another sigh. This time, Sylus chuckled in response.

“How do I move this piece again?” You pointed at the chess piece resembling a horse, tilting your head innocently.

“Kitten…” Oh, now that was a reproachful kitten.

“I forgot! I’m sorry, I can’t help it but chess is so boring.” You paused, thinking. “You know, maybe we should play strip chess instead. I think I would be motivated to win if I could get you naked!”

“Strip chess?” Sylus' eyebrows shot up. He blinked, observing you wordlessly for a moment. “Very well. Let’s take this up a notch. You lose one piece of clothing for every piece you lose in the game.”

You frowned and looked down on yourself. Perhaps you should have thought this through first. Sylus was wearing a light jacket, socks, a shirt, a pair of trousers, and likely underwear. You on the other hand had only two pieces of clothing on you—a silk pyjama set with the night sky and embroidered stars on it, a gift from him the first time you returned to the N109 zone to stay with him for a few days. It had been waiting for you on the king-size bed in the guest room. You almost chuckled. You’d never slept in that bed until this day.

“Having second thoughts?” he mused.

You shook your head. “No. Let’s keep playing. It was my turn, yeah?”

He blinked once as if to say yes, his expression so amused you wanted to sigh yet again. This time, however, you really did put some effort in. If you beat him, he’d be sitting across from you naked. So if you moved your pawn over there…

“I’m done.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean ‘are you sure’? Don’t make me second-guess myself!”

“Very well…” He moved another piece himself and chuckled. “There goes your knight, sweetie.”

“Ugh! What?”

“Come now. You set up the rules yourself.”

You glared at him and aggressively took your pyjama top off to throw it at his face where it landed with a thud before falling into his lap. His amused grin was even more irritating than the complexity of this silly game. He had the reflexes to catch the piece of clothing. He could have. He simply decided not to. Ugh.

“There. Happy?”

You had hopes that sitting in front of him topless would distract him enough to make a mistake but who were you kidding? Even if he did make a mistake, you were nowhere near skilled enough to beat him at this game. Sylus knew that very well. You’d just hoped that you could snatch up enough of his pieces to see him naked again.

But the stern leader of Onychinus was nothing if not composure personified. He didn’t even bat an eyelash at your half-naked form even though you could clearly tell it did not leave him unaffected. His crimson eyes raked over your breasts and your hardening nipples due to the cool temperatures in his bedroom.

A few moments later though, he moved another piece. Sylus chuckled. “Checkmate.”

You gasped, your eyes darting back down to the chessboard. “What? How?”

“You’ve been focused on your queen too much. Now your king has nowhere left to go. See?” He pointed at the two pieces that cornered your white king. How annoying.

“That’s not fair! You tricked me!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You backed me into a corner!”

“You didn’t pay attention.”

“That’s impossible considering I’m topless and you’re still wearing all of your clothes! Was there even a way out?”

“There was.”

“But…but…ugh!”

Sylus raised an eyebrow and gave you a toothless grin. “I’m waiting.” He gestured at your pyjama bottoms.

“For what? The game is over, you’re still wearing all of your clothes and I’m still bored.”

Sylus laughed. “And you lost yet another piece. Don’t be a sore loser, sweetie.”

“I’m…not!” Cursing him under your breath you leaned back and shrugged off your pyjama bottoms without taking your eyes off him. It wasn’t nearly as sexy as you had hoped for it to be but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “This really didn’t go according to plan…”

“Your ‘plans’ never do, kitten.”

You scoffed. “Now what?”

“Now? You let me admire the view and revel in my triumph.”

“You’re impossible.”

Sylus chuckled. “You’ll find I’m very much possible. Come here.”

Now that was something he didn’t need to tell you twice. You crawled over to him fast, ignoring how the remaining chess pieces fell off the board in the process and made yourself comfortable on his lap. Sylus cradled your naked form in his arms as if you were a fragile porcelain doll. Your eyes fell shut almost automatically when he kissed your forehead.

His hands were less innocent. They ghosted over your exposed skin raising goose bumps where they went. It was sheer luck he didn’t tease you for how quickly your legs fell open when one of them travelled lower and lower, over your breasts and your hard nipples, your stomach and eventually…between your legs to where your body wanted him the most.

“Naughty little kitten, have you been this wet for me the whole time?”

You hummed in agreement, rubbing your nose against the crook of his neck.

Testing the waters, his long fingers started rubbing and caressing your outer lips until they slid between them with ease to tease your clit. Probing and exploring, working you up for him until he had you gushing and whimpering in his lap.

“Why…why were we playing chess if…if we could have just done this…the whole time…instead?”

“As much as I enjoy our…intimate moments, I do place value on spending intellectually stimulating time with you too, kitten.”

“Now you’re…making it sound like I’m…sex-crazed…around you…” Your panting increased, an all too familiar knot tightening in your lower belly.

Sylus laughed. “You’re not. Although…I wouldn’t blame you after getting that first taste.”

“You’re impossible,” you breathed out again. The words were followed by a moan. Sylus slid two fingers into your slick warmth, curling them inside you all the while his thumb kept caressing your clit. Shit, you were so close…so close…

“Sylus…”

“What is it, kitten? Tell me…”

“I’m…I will…oh shit…”

“Come for me,” he growled into your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You let go and fell, your orgasm rippling through you like pure electricity. Your wet walls tightened around his long fingers as he helped you ride it out and relish the taste of every last wave of pleasure consuming you. You kept clenching around rhythmically as that feeling of pure bliss slowly ebbed away again, leaving you breathless in his arms.

“Next time…” you choked out of breath, “…we’re playing UNO.”

Sylus chuckled. “As you wish, kitten.”

#sylus imagine #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #sylus lads #love and deepspace #lads

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verstxppen33 · 2 days

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this wasn't meant to happen

summary: oops, you left your diary at his house... | autumn special!

genre: a sprinkle of fluff

warnings: use of y/n

pairing: lando norris x reader // friends to lovers

a/n: super cliché, i know, i know

The raindrops dropped gently against your window, creating a soothing sound. As soothing as it was, it didn't really comfort your anxiousness of your diary being gone. You rummaged through everything and everywhere, even in the bathroom. But it was nowhere to be found.

Unless you've taken it to Lando's house...you took it to Lando's house?!

Meanwhile, Lando found a scarlet-coloured notebook on his bedside table. Out of curiosity, he picked it up and opened it.

"Dear Diary,

Today, I had to take care of a drunk Lando. He kept mumbling about me being so precious and pretty? I didn't quite take it seriously, but the way he spoke was just too affectionate. Not to mention, he was very clingy too."

Lando's eyes shot wide open, as he remembered the morning after "the incident". It was your diary. He quickly shut the diary, a slight blush on his cheeks. He didn't want to invade your privacy, even if all of your thoughts and feelings could just be opened right here and now. It'd be a bad thing to do, right?

He resisted the urge only for a few minutes, letting out a slight giggle and opening up the book and sliding to the next page. He looked around his bedroom like if someone was watching him, then sitting against his headboard and reading curiously.

"Hey there,

Something's going on with my mind, and I don't even have the energy to write anything. Quick and short, I might be in love? With Lando, perhaps? I have no idea. He's just too cute! It's wrong to fall in love with my bestfriend, isn't it? Nevertheless, I have some things to do:"

What? In love? Lando stopped immediately stopped reading. He didn't really care about the other pages now, definitely not your To-do list.

He silently cursed himself for invading your privacy like that and letting his curiosity win over. He closed the book and thought about giving it back to you.

Still in slight panic, you were drinking a cup of tea, leaning against the countertop, wondering where your damn diary was. You almost never wrote into it, but it still felt so damn important. The rain already stopped pouring, leaving an earthy smell in the crisp of the autumn air.

A ring on your doorbell could be heard and you put your cup of tea down, wondering who would it be. As you opened the door, you smiled at Lando's sight, but as your gaze darted over to the scarlet notebook he was holding—your diary, your smile faltered.

"I think it was yours." Lando spoke up sheepishly, holding the diary out for you to take. You rapidly take it from his hands.

"Did...Did you read it?" you ask nervously, even though you had no idea what was in it anymore, since the last time you wrote in it was months ago.

"Maybe, y/n, Maybe." he responded with a faint smile. "I got too curious. And I've think I've read enough." You raised an eyebrow. Was that a good or a bad thing? What the hell did you write into that notebook?

"What did you see, exactly?" you asked curiously, leaning into him unconsciously.

"You're in love with me." Lando responded bluntly with a slight chuckle, noticing your cheeks heating up immediately. "No, it's fine. It's fine. I maybe I am too, and I'm maybe just figuring it out."

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. He responded to it quickly and wrapping his arms around you as well, grinning widely. He gently lifted his hand to run through the strands of your hair, his hand slightly cold from the autumn breeze.

You two have a lot to figure out.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #lando norris #f1 x reader #lando x reader #lando x y/n #f1 fluff #lando norris x reader #friends to lovers #f1 fic

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wtftaylr · 2 days

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I love Companion Benny. I love the idea that he gets huffy-puffy and “just a little” jealous if you switch him out for another companion. He simply cannot cope with the fact that you’d toss him aside like yesterday’s trash for… what, some scribe in rags? A boring-ass first recon guy? A vaquero ghoul? (ok he thinks Raul is kinda cool actually but he won’t openly admit that)?? Benny has STORIES, baby. Interest. Intrigue. You wanna know all the juicy strip gossip? Guess what, you CANT now because you DISMISSED him. How DARE you.

Benny is VERSATILE, baby. His tagged skills are guns, melee, and unarmed. Good luck finding another companion that can do what he can. Yeah Craig “Frowns” Boone can headshot a cazador from a million yards away or whatever, *mumbling* show-off, he would’ve seen that cazador eventually *end mumbling* but Benny can shoot, stab, AND punch. Hey courier, watch this. I’m gonna punch the fuck out of this deathclaw. He does it (you gotta administer a few stimpaks) BUT HE DID IT. And he was only at half health. 400+ health honeybaby, Benny can take a few whacks from those deathclaw freaks. What was that? Showing off? Benny doesn’t have to show off, sugar plum. He’s just that good.

He also won’t complain that his feet are getting tired. Yeah he’ll complain about minor inconveniences and wants you to do something about them regardless if you realistically can or not, but at least he’ll walk miles upon miles in a day and not complain. He also won’t complain about going back to the Lucky 38. (he’ll just complain about not being able to get in there before the Courier showed up.) What, no one else complains about their feet hurting? Uhhhh BOOT-RIDERS. Silly name. But that’s how they rode the Mojave, dig? On their feet. He’s done this before. Experienced.

AND ANOTHER THING. how many companions shout words of encouragement during a fight. Go on. He’s waiting.

You’re doing great, baby! Show these punk losers what you got!!

I bet all the caps in Vegas you’ll miss that while getting shot to shit by the Fiends or whatever. Grumble. Benny hopes you come back in one piece, of course. He’d just rather see to it himself that you remain in one piece. Uhh BECAUSE HE’S JUST THAT GR-

(The courier left with their choice of companion hours ago. Swank is trying to work but Benny won’t stop gabbing his ear off. Dear god Benny just go be the Head of The Chairmen somewhere else. Swank is trying to do actual work here.)

#benny gecko #fnv benny #fnv #fallout new vegas #benny fnv #swank #fnv swank #craig boone #veronica santangelo #raul tejada #this post wasn’t supposed to get this long uhhhh #I’m trying to write Sadie and Benny’s dynamic to finally get it out of my head and onto paper #but the Benny brainrot fully took hold lol #wtf.txt #this is INCREDIBLY tongue in cheek btw pls dont think this extreme over the top nonsense is how i see benny SHDHD #though i DO stand behind him being jealous af and complaining to swank about it as if he wasnt jealous (he is)#i just love benny sm i'll write a more nuanced post abt him at some point im sure!#but for now pls enjoy whatever this is

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glaciertea · 1 day

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Tickets for Two

Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader two-shot

Part 2 (coming soon)

This is part one of this story that's been on my mind for quite a while.

Summary: Working the graveyard shift at a movie theater has it quirks. It's not the best thing, and it's not the worst.

Well, there is one thing that keeps you from leaving this job.

The huge, gorgeous man who comes in every Thursday.

CW: Nothing for this chapter, just having a crush on Miguel.

Word count: 1.7k

There was something about Thursday nights in the movie theater that always made you exhilarated.

It wasn't the smell of freshly stale popcorn that stunk up your nostrils or the fact that you were able to score the after-hours time slot on this day. The ones many would kill to have because after 9 p.m., the place is a barren ghost town. Oh, no. It wasn't one of those reasons.

It was him.

Throughout the year and a half you managed to survive working here; you've never seen a man like that before in your life. Yes, you've seen your fair share of attractive people come in and out; of course, this was a place to watch the latest hit-or-miss films. But this one, this one was different.

Tall, high cheekbones, a jawline that could shapren diamonds merely by looking at them, those piercing eyes, and those muscles. You always have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming.

He started coming three months ago for the ‘Traditional Thursdays’ feature presentation. Your theater would show old movies from the 1930's ranging to the 2020's or 2030's. It was a nice addition, as your boss wanted to have that “retro-style feel,” and it was pretty successful… if one were to go at the 9 p.m. slot. That frame usually brought in a decent amount of customers, but you were happy to not deal with that anymore.

You managed to get in the ten-to-one schedule block. It was a ghost town during those hours, especially with the midnight showings. You would lounge behind the concession, eyeing a few nightcrawlers emerge, but you would wait for him.

He would walk through the sliding doors exactly at midnight. Never a minute early, never a minute late. The actual film doesn't begin until 12:10 to showcase the following week's feature and a trailer or two.

So it gives him enough time to head in your direction. He has become a regular for you, always ordering a medium black roast coffee, a small popcorn, and a pack of gummy worms. It got to the point where you realized the items were never going to change, so you made it a habit to have them prepared for him on hand. You barely speak because you don't know what to conjure up, and you certainly don't want to make a fool of yourself, so you stick to the basic “Here's your order” and “Enjoy your film.”

He always responds with a “Thank you” or an “I appreciate it,” and each time, your knees will wobble. His voice was smoother than the butter that you poured on the popcorn. He had you weak. His chiseled profile, his domineering height—he was too good to be true. You want to know more about him, but he's very much to himself. You are intimidated by him; his demeanor can make him seem unapproachable, but that only draws you in more.

There will be a day you will finally find the courage to strike up a conversation. One day.

You just weren't expecting it to be today. You manned the concussion stand, eyeing the time and counting the milliseconds. It was, of course, slow, but you loved it. Easy money to you.

His order was fresh and ready to go; he was going to stroll in less than a minute, and you had to put a lid on your excitement. And like clockwork, he came in and made his way right to you.

Putting on your best smile, you placed the snacks and beverage on the counter. “I got everything ready to go, sir. Piping hot and a new batch of popcorn made.”

“Actually, I want to switch it up. I'm sorry for the inconvenience.”

Your brain practically malfunctioned. Not from the request, but from the fact he uttered more words to you. Your reaction must have given something away as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“If not, that's fine. I don't want you wasting supplies on me.”

Scolding yourself, you shook your head and waved your hands. “No, no! No, sir, it's not an inconvenience at all. I'll gladly ring you up with a new order. Anything for the customer.” You despised saying that phrase as it got so many ungrateful, smug idiots out of problems they decided to cause. But for him? You would repeat it endlessly.

Discarding the usual and clearing the order from the register, you nodded. “What are your taste buds tingling for?” Did you really say those words in that order? Your body suddenly wanted to combust.

The man raised a brow as you chuckled nervously. “That sounded... less dumber in my head.”

His lips turned upwards at that, and your heart stopped. He smiles? He can smile! You never once saw him do that, but if you did, you managed to miss it. He managed to look more radiant; how was that possible?

“Well, my taste buds are craving pretzel bites, fruit snacks, and... can I make my medium roast into a large?”

“Yes, sir, I'll try to get it done before the film starts.”

“No hay necesidad de apresurarse. Take your time.”

“Okay.” You squeaked out, hiding your flustered state from him.

Miguel rested his arms on the countertop and observed the way you moved back and forth, blending new beans and meticulously placing the hot pretzels in a bag.

“Here you go.” You reached down and took a packet of fruits and propped it nicely on the pretzel bag. “Steaming and raring to go.”

“Are you usually precise when making these orders?” Miguel pulled his wallet out and paid for the meal, leaving a nice tip.

“Kind of. Maybe it's because I have more time to do these things, and I like my regulars to enjoy nice treats.” You grinned and went to clean up his usual. “I hope you enjoy.

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Definitely keeping sure. Thank you again.”

You didn't know what meant by that as he took up his things and headed off to catch the film. You put your hand to your chest and calmed your heart rate, going on about your night. You honestly believed that would've been the end of that interaction and that the following week would revert back to the same old, same old, but you were far from it.

The next Thursday, he was there, but fifteen minutes earlier, asking for a new item from the menu alongside the other treats. You were once again thrown off, but that didn't mean you got to be near his presence more, and if not longer.

It started off with small extras. A bag of pretzels, sized up on the popcorn, an extra bag of candy—nothing too extravagant. However, as the weeks coasted by, the orders got bigger. A hotdog, flatbread pizza, sliders—those meals took you longer to make, but you did not mind one bit.

You got to chat with him constantly; when Thursday rolled around, you had that extra pep in your step. The conversations ranged from his tedious office filled with people of the same personality, the many tales of strange movie customers from you, or anything that springs to mind. He was awkward, loveable, and sweet, and your crush for him only grew more with each visit. To the point that it was overwhelming.

And it wasn't blowing away anytime soon.

You were fixing him up a basket of curly fries and chicken tenders casually yapping away when the topic of movie genres popped up.

“I'm into animated movies. They seemingly are able to convey more emotions than actual humans.”

Miguel enjoyed watching you; he honestly preferred looking at you than the film he was supposed to see. “I enjoy them as well. They tend to have moments that resonate with you on a higher emotional level.” He tapped his finger on the glass counter. “Do you have any favorites?”

“Hmm.” You rubbed your chin before moving back over to the fries and dumping some extra salt and pepper on them (they barely had any flavor to them). “I like a good Lixar film. It's funny how they're able to give certain things sentiment. Rather it's inanimate or not, they find a way. I mean, they gave a torso and sweater emotions. A sweater!” You poured the fries into the plastic basket and moved onto the tenders. “Now in particular, I love Bouillabaisse. Up is a heartbreaker, but I can understand the older man's pain. Searching Elmo is so gorgeous, especially for the time it came out. And Coco, that's a tearjerker. That ending scene when he's singing to her? Gets me every time.”

“I enjoyed all those as well.” Miguel took a sip of his freshly brewed coffee. “Especially the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” You grabbed some tongs and flipped the tenders to cook them evenly.

“Sí. A bit of a bias though.”

“A bias?”

“I share the name of the main character.” He stared right into your eyes as he said that.

“Miguel.” It was velvety as it slid off your tongue.

Was that a suave way of him giving his name? It never occurred to you that you actually never learned his name. He knew yours because of the required name tag, but you were glad to know it now and took it with no complaints.

“It fits.” You smiled and finally finished and rang up his meal. “I shouldn't keep you from the movie. I hope everything is of satisfaction for you.”

“You already know it will be.” He paid and reached for his goods when he stopped.

You crooked your neck and looked down to make sure you didn't miss anything. His usual and the new meal were there, so you didn't know what was up.

“Is everything okay? Did I mess up your order?”

“Everything is fine. I only want to…” he snatched up a napkin and scanned, even going as far as peering over the counter.

“Miguel?”

“Do you have a pen?”

“Yes?” You took one from under the register and handed it to him.

“Thank you.” He scribbled down at lightning pace and folded it half, sliding it across to you. “I'll see you then.” He bowed his head, snagged up his meal and left.

You had to wait several seconds to recover from your shock when you hastily snatched up the napkin and opened it up. You drew your lips to your teeth to prevent yourself from screaming.

There were ten digits written in blue.

#miguel fanfic #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x reader #two shot

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erodasfishtacos · 2 days

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Melt Your Cold Heart

prompt: harry’s been alone for years. a bland, bleak life where he needs nothing but his dog then he stumbles upon someone who gives him a purpose…even if for a few hours. word count: 8k

warnings: heavy angst, emotionally unavailable harry, suicidal/depressive thoughts, mental health struggles, mentions of trauma, discussion of sex work

authors note:

There is 3 more parts to this up on patreon (and currently being updated this month!).

I upload a piece of writing every 1-3 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 3 mini one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here!

++++++++

Harry hadn’t wanted to pull over but it was impossible to continue on the highway without potentially causing an accident.

The snow was coming down hard enough that it was a white sheet, the high speed winds were making it to be a tornado of pure smokescreens that made it impossible for his windshield wipers to work.

The semi-truck had eighteen wheels but they were all at risk of hydroplaning or losing grip on the layers of black ice that covered the asphalt without a second thought.

With such a heavy piece of equipment, he didn’t have to only look out for himself but anybody else on the road because one wrong judgment call could turn the semi into a weapon of destruction.

It meant that he was going to be at least twelve hours behind on his delivery which was making him on-edge as it was because he hated having to deal with the dickhead client that he was delivering to.

The town he stopped in was small, nothing to note, and not unsimilar to the towns he had stayed in before in his twelve years on the road.

A small Midwest town that had a truck stop with a twenty-four hour gas station, a diner that was already closed for the night, and a pavilion of bathrooms for truck drivers to clean off.

It was just about midnight when he parked his rig, taking off his baseball cap and running his hand through his hair, it was getting long and he was due for trim next time he was home but fuck, he was tired.

He never really stopped working, constantly moving across state lines and delivery shipments as a self-employed hauler - he was his own boss and he pushed himself like no boss would (who wouldn’t want to be violating labor laws).

This wasn’t one of the nicer stops.

The buildings were outdated, looking like they hadn’t been renovated since the eighties, and that was being generous.

The parking lot lights were flickering like in a horror movie, not that it frightened Harry, he has dealt with his fair on the road, and has seen a lot of things that he would have preferred not to.

It’s why he always carried, just on his hip, in case.

He would wait until the next stop to shower, at one of the more luxurious, updated places where the showers were actually decent, there was privacy, and it didn’t feel like bathing in a back alley.

For now, he just needed the restroom and a drink.

The bathrooms were just as foul as he expected, washing his hands with extra hot water to give himself a sense of cleanliness before he’s trailing over to the gas station next door.

The wind was insane, blowing the snow directly into his face, and sticking to his eyelashes.

His eyes burned with the freezing temperatures, blinking harshly as he tucks his head down until a warm gust of air hits his face as he enters the building. The lights were blindingly fluorescent and he had to adjust for a minute after driving in the dark for hours by now.

There was an older man at the counter, sitting on a stool and watching a static-filled rerun on a small television next to the register, and his skin was a sickly yellow, most likely from working the graveyard shift for far too long.

The man nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

Harry walks towards the back, towards the line of coolers to grab something to drink, a soda that he normally didn’t drink but he was craving carbonation, he hadn’t eaten yet today.

He was definetly a bit too skinny.

Truck drivers were normally the opposite, out of shape, and overweight from lack of movement.

They were sat in trucks all day, every day with nothing to do but snack.

Harry was the opposite, though he was too lean, he took pride in his appearance and maintained his muscle from strapping down, unloading, and all the physical work of the job that he did himself (unlike most drivers).

He did not eat well, he knew that but found it hard to care.

Harry was in a slump, he had been for the last few years.

With being on the road, missing all major holidays, and never sticking around one place enough to settle down - he was depressed, an understatement but no one was around to listen or care.

He was alone, truly, and at some point, that had become comfortable to him.

Harry went through the motions, driving, hauling, delivering, sleeping, and repeating it over and over again.

The only thing he had was a Fire Bird (Birdie) his cattle dog who was named after his favorite car growing up, one that had been in his grandfather’s shed, and was only taken out on the town on very special occasions.

Birdie kept him sane, gave him a reason to get his ass moving every morning, and to take breaks because though he was convinced that his dog was the laziest bag of bones. Every few hours, she required a field, her ball, and Harry throwing it for her for at least twenty minutes before she passed out on the passenger seat for a few hours.

It was his routine.

Their routine.

He had found when she was a puppy.

Some trucker at a stop in Milwaukee had left the pup in the field next to the lot after she’d chewed through one of his seats.

She was malnourished, overheated, and covered in fleas.

Harry had never had a dog on the road, never thought it practical but the first time he had seen this spotted puppy with the saddest brown eyes and its tail wagging timidity on the ground.

Well it was the first time Harry had felt anything in a long time.

That was eight years ago, Birdie was a bit slower now, a gray coating her muzzle, and an attitude of a spoiled queen.

A lot more days than Harry would like to admit, she’s what keeps him going because it’s definitely not work or the money.

Harry had a hefty sized bank account from all his hard work but it sat and sat, he never spent it on anything but bare necessities so it continued to stack and stack which wasn’t a bad thing but it was nothing that brought him excitement.

It wasn’t the dream life of a thirty-three year old.

Harry had grabbed a coke before snagging a bag of overpriced jerky off the nearest display - he can’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t heavily processed.

There was a girl in the store too.

Harry had just caught the slightest glimpse of her as she stood by a cooler on the other side of the store, browsing the energy drinks.

She was out of place.

Harry hadn’t seen a car parked in the lot, only two other semis, and she wasn’t a truck driver by the look of her outfit.

It wasn’t weather appropriate at all.

Not for winter in the Midwest.

The woman had on a fitted black dress, it wasn’t overly fancy but it hugged every inch of her body, and high heels of all things.

Harry wonders if she was with one of the other drivers.

He doesn’t pay much mind to her until she faces him, a purple can in her hand, and she’s noticeably pretty, more so than average.

Harry wasn’t trying to be an asshole but women who hung around these areas weren’t typically most attractive.

This woman was.

Albeit the makeup she had on was too much, thick eyelashes, her blush too heavy, and a rouge lip that contrasted the complexion of her skin in an off-putting way.

Her heels click as she steps over to the counter, putting the drink on the counter, along with a protein bar, and rifling through a small purse on her shoulder.

“Eight thirty-three,” The cashier announces after scanning it, his eyes crudely running up and down the woman’s body before focusing on her face again.

The woman is rustling through her purse, pulling out crinkled bills that had been shoved carelessly in the clutch.

Harry stands a safe distance behind her, in line, watching as she smooths out the one dollar bills hastily as the cashier looks completely unamused.

“I only have five,” The girl mumbles embarrassed after she comes up empty with no more money to be found, “Can you please take off the protein bar?”

Harry doesn’t feel much often.

Tonight, he does.

A little glimmer of compassion.

But very much like himself, the girl is too skinny, not eating enough, and from what he can infer - not being able to afford food to feed herself.

“I got it,” Harry interrupts, stepping up next to the woman, and putting his stuff down aside hers, taking his wallet out of his back pocket to pluck out his bank card.

It’s the first time they make eye contact, “Oh, you really don’t have to. I’ll be okay with just the drink-“

“I’m not asking,” Harry replies curtly, tapping his card to the screen when the total rings up before tucking his wallet away and grabbing his items.

“Here,” She insists, trying to hand him the crumpled bills that she had laid on the counter, five dollars that she needed much more than him.

“Keep it,” Harry waves her off, refusing the money before walking towards the door without another look her way.

He was drawn to her.

He wouldn’t offer most, really anyone a handout - he never got one.

Harry can feel the woman’s eyes on his back as he stalks out of the station, hugging his jacket tighter against his body as he walks back to his truck to sleep for the night.

“S’fucking cold, Birdie,” Harry had complained as he locked the doors, placing up all the blinds to keep wandering eyes out.

Birdie was currently dead to the world, unbothered by his words as she snores softly from her fluffy dog bed on the floor of the cab.

Harry had just tugged off his winter jacket when he hears a knock at the driver’s side door - for a moment, he’s convinced that it’s the wind but then a few seconds later, it comes again.

“Fucks sake,” Harry grunts with annoyance, he much prefers when people leave him the fuck alone, and he has a hunch it’s the gas station cashier or another driver.

However, when he opens the door, after unlocking it, and having to use a good amount of effort to push it against the force of the wind - it’s neither.

It’s the girl from the gas station.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle.

Her lips were quivering as she tried to prevent her teeth was chattering, blinking harshly through the wind up at him.

“What?” Harry asks, it wasn’t overly friendly or friendly at all.

“Are you looking for company?” The woman replies but she’s the furthest thing from confident, eyes darting around but not meeting his, “I…My rates are reasonable.”

And oh, this is what she was doing here.

Harry couldn’t tell you the amount of times that he’s had a knock on the door and been propositioned for ‘company’.

Most drivers indulged in it, they were lonely and usually away from their spouses for long spurts of time that led them to pay for the replacement.

Harry had never.

Nor did he plan to now.

As he said, this woman was fucking gorgeous, would be even more so without the cakey makeup and slinky outfit.

But he wasn’t ever going to be that lonely.

He grew up with a mom in that line of work, he felt like it was disrespectful to put a monetary price on a woman’s worth, and he had never been into casual hookups.

So yes, he would absolutely love her company but not ever under these circumstances, where she’s offering out of need and not desire.

Harry can’t remember the last time he’s had sex but the depression had killed his sex drive for the most part anyways.

He didn’t seek it out.

“No,” Harry responds flatly, not indecisiveness in his voice at all, “Not interested.”

Typically when Harry turned a proposition down, the woman wouldn’t be too thrilled whether she delivered him a ‘fuck you’ or spit on the door of his truck - that was normal response.

However, not for this girl, her face drops in a twist of embarassment and shame, and it’s also the first time someone apologizes for offering.

“I’m sorry to…to bother you. Um, have a good night. Safe travels,” She stutters out, it was obvious that she was flustered and mortified which again, made him feel just a twinge of empathy.

Harry’s about to assure her that it wasn’t a big deal but she was already turning in her heel, walking briskly back to the pavilion and disappearing inside.

He shuts his door, slumping down in his driver’s seat for a second as he rubs his hand across his face with a groan, he was too tired for this shit.

However, the thought of that girl offering her services to the other drivers or having to sleep in that dirty, run-down building wasn’t acceptable to him.

“The fuck is wrong with me,” Harry mutters to himself as he tugs his jacket back on, he never cared about any before.

Why now?

Harry’s body detests being lured back into the frigid weather, missing the warmth of his cabin instantly as he shuts the door behind him.

By the time he’s walking toward the building, the girl had disappeared inside, and wasn’t visible to him anymore.

What was he even doing?

He should turn around and go back to his truck.

But he finds himself tugging open the door, it was warmer than the outside but not by much, the heater must be in its last leg, and it was sticky - almost humid.

Harry’s nose twitched in disgust at the smell of cheap disinfectant, a half-ass cleaning job, and garbage that hadn’t been taken out soon enough.

He doesn’t see her right away, figuring he may have to go towards the women’s restroom - he follows the sign towards the back of the building.

Harry finds her, tucked into the corner of an alcove, resting against the side of a row of vending machines - smushed and hiding.

She had taken off her bag, bundling it up, and pushing it between her head and the machine to create a makeshift pillow.

Harry wishes it didn’t make his chest ache, he was so used to not feeling, and it was pissing him off that he wasn’t feeling numb to it.

Her eyes were closed but her body was tense like he knew shouldn’t couldn’t full let herself relax because she wasn’t safe.

Harry clears his throat, standing in front of her with his hands in his jacket pockets.

She startles as she hadn’t heard him approaching, bumping her head off the hard plastic of the machine covering and wincing as she tenses.

“Let’s go,” Harry waves his hand impatiently.

Yeah, his communication skills were not the best.

The woman blinks up at him in confusion, reasonably nervous as she shuffles off the floor, stumbling as she pushes herself up on a knee, uncoordinated and clumsy as she tries to get re-oriented.

Harry sighs impatiently, sticking out his hand for to take, and when she very gingerly puts her freezing cold one in his, he yanks her up to her feet with little effort - she couldn’t weigh much.

”Did you…uh,” The girl’s voice is shaky as she grabs her purse, a backpack, “Did you want to know my rates?”

Harry stops, turning back towards her, and starting to unzip his heavy, down winter coat as he shakes his, “Don’t need ‘em. I’m not interested in your services.”

The girl pauses too, swinging her backpack over her shoulder, “Why did you come get me then?”

Harry doesn’t make eye contact as he shoves his jacket unceremoniously towards her, “Put this on.”

She accepts it but doesn’t move to, “Why?”

Harry grunts out an annoyed huff, shoving his hands in jean pockets, “S’not safe for you to be sleeping in a place like this. It’s freezing in here, you’re not dressed for the weather. You can stay the night in my cab before I head out.”

YN swallows anxiously, weighing out her options before there’s a banging noise.

Someone barging through the front doors of the pavilion, a large middle-aged man that had dirty overalls on, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a scraggly graying beard.

When this trucker sees the woman, he smiles like a cat who just got the cream, and doesn’t hesitate to ask in a raspy, smoker’s draw, “How much for the night, sweetheart?”

Her eyes widen in unwelcome surprise, lips twisting as she struggles to find a response.

”Um…”

”I already got ‘er,” Harry gives the man a hard, faux-possessive look (maybe it wasn’t as fake as he thought it was because he really did feel a protectiveness over her for some reason), “Tough shit.”

”Let me know if you finish with her early,” The man laughs, his gaze was predatory and foul, it made even Harry feel unsettled to just see the way he was looking at her - like an object.

“Fuck off,” Harry dismisses the man easily, though Harry was skinner than he’d prefer, his muscles were still prevelant and enough to intimidate, especially the out-of-shape man.

The girl tugs the jacket on hastily, the other trucker clearly motivating her not to stay in here.

”That’s why you shouldn’t try to sleep in here, you think he would think twice before dragging you to his truck?” Harry scolds as he steps forward, without thinking, he zips the jacket for her because the zipper can be finicky at the best times - it was old and needed replaced three winters ago at least.

”I know you could lie,” She says softly, the most she’s really said thus far, “But you’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

It was dumb question, on her end.

Why would anyone tell her the truth if their real intention was to cause her harm?

Harry really should be questioning what he’s doing.

Never once in the past has he ever taken it upon himself or felt the need to do what he was doing for this girl.

He should mind his own business and realize that she isn’t his responsibility.

“No, I’m not going to. You can get warm, get some sleep, and tomorrow at five in the morning I’m kicking you to the curb,” Harry informs her, trying to maintain the coldness that he normally keeps in his tone but he feels guilty even talking to her like that.

“Okay. I…Thank you. I’m YN, by the way,” She tells him, still shy as ever and really a contradiction to how a sex worker is - outgoing and assertive.

“Harry,” He replies as he walks them towards the exit, not looking forward to having the freezing temperatures hit the bare skin of his arms nor have the wind throwing icy clumps on snow in his face but he would take it if it meant YN stayed a bit warmer.

YN’s face pinches up when the door opens, the cold hitting her aggressively enough that her hair goes flying behind her in the wind, every which way as it tangles into a bird ‘s nest.

Harry is lucky he turns around to check on her because right as he does, she slips on a patch of ice which has her nearly falling backwards.

He grips her forearms tightly, a gnarled frown on his face as he gripes, “Who the fuck wears heels in below zero temps?”

He expects a snarky response back.

And he feels even more like a piece of shit when she tucks her chin down, mumbling an embarrassed apology as he guides her, keeping a hold of her arm.

Harry unlocks his truck, swinging open the door, and steps back, “Go ahead.”

YN hesitates for a moment, glancing back at the pavilion and seeing the truck driver from early emerge, winking at her.

She hurries inside as quickly as she can in her outfit, trying to tuck her dress to her thighs to avoid it flipping up and giving Harry a view.

Harry shuts the door behind them, locking it tightly, and double checking both side of the doors before he’s unfastening the blinds - blocking the outside world.

Last step is to put up the privacy screen along his windshield as YN keeps tucked carefully by the corner of the driver’s side.

“C’mon, I have a dog. She doesn’t like anyone but me so just leave her alone and she won’t bother you,” Harry informs her as he pushes back the curtain to his cabin, it was always spotless, and clean which was probably surprising to her.

It was a luxury sleeper, it wasn’t anything extravagant but Harry had put his savings to good use about three years ago.

A small kitchen, a dining room table that folded his bed out, and a television mounted on the wall that was usually on for background noise more than anything.

“This is really nice,” YN stands timidly in the breezeway of the front of the truck, unsure, and looking out of place.

Harry just grunts in agreement, questioning what exactly his plan was, and he grabs fresh sheets out of a small cabinet.

“You can have the bed,” Harry tells her as he strips off his sheets, they weren’t dirty but he had slept on them a few nights, “I’ll take the lounger.”

It wasn’t the most comfortable chair but he’d survive.

“No, no. I can take the chair,” YN insists sincerely with a shake of her head, her teeth still clenched as her body shook from the cold.

Harry ignores her, tugging the new fitted sheet onto the mattress, changing the pillowcases, and the comforter - he’s lucky he had a spare.

He doesn’t say anything else before gathering the comforter he’d just taken from the bed and tossing it on the lounge chair.

“Go to sleep,” Harry signals impatiently because she’s just standing there, shaking with how cold she is and he moves over to bump up the heat.

YN listens, walking slowly towards the bed, her eyes catching on Birdie’s sleeping form (who hadn’t even stirred) - what a shit guard dog.

YN sits on the edge of the bed, her hands were trembling from the cold and nerves, fingers stiff, and when she leans down to unstrap her heels - she can’t get a grip.

Harry watches for a moment before stalking over, kneeling down and wrapping his fingers around her ankle to hold of still.

YN watches him quietly as he slips the shoes from her feet, annoyance prevalent in his words as he asks pointedly, “Why the fuck would you wear these today? Do you have no self-preservation? You’re lucky you didn’t get frostbite.”

She shuts down again, like earlier when he had questioned her clothing choices, and doesn’t respond for a long second, voice soft when she does, “They’re the only pair I have.”

And…well Harry didn’t think of that.

Harry doesn’t have anything to reply with so he makes quick work of taking them off her freezing feet and she needs socks - they felt like ice under his own cold fingers.

He stands up, turning to a built in storage unit to his left as YN nervously moves to lay down, completely unsure as she lift the comforter.

“Not yet,” Harry gruffs as he digs out what he was looking for - a waffle-knit henley, a soft pair of flannel pajamas pants he never wore because he much preferred his underwear, and a pair of thick wool thermal socks, “Here. It stays relatively warm in here but it’s freezing outside. Put these on.”

“Thank you,” YN replies quietly as she stands up, without hesitation she reaches for the hem of her dress and begins to pull it up.

“Jesus,” Harry mutters as he quickly turns, giving her the privacy she deserved, rubbing a hand over the bridge of his nose.

“I’m dressed,” YN tells him after a minute of rustling as she changes into the clothes provided, “I didn’t mean to, um, make you uncomfortable. Most men want something in return, I figured you wanted to see me…change.”

Harry feels disgust seeping through him.

Not at her.

But at the deplorable men she had to be in the company of when at these types of stops.

“I told you, I don’t want shit from you. M’just trying to be a decent human being and I’d rather not see your picture on the morning news tomorrow. This is a horrible part of town,” Harry was too blunt, was constantly scolded for it during his upbringing but he never got better at it.

YN was still nervous, trembling at that as she sat down on the edge of the bed - all of the clothes were hanging off of her, the shirt slipping down her too-thin shoulder.

“I really appreciate it. I haven’t been able to sleep somewhere even half this nice without…you know, working,” YN sniffles as tears start to gather in her eyes, “I’m so tired.”

Harry feels that same tug on his heartstrings, a sensation that reminded him that he even had a beating heart.

“You’re safe. I know you just have my word but I won’t let anything happen,” Harry promises, feeding his own need to keep her safe and also make her feel that way too.

YN nods as she wipes her eyes, the makeup smearing around the edges thay has him sighing and getting up to head to the small bathroom.

He runs a clean washcloth under warm(ish) water before wringing it out.

Harry steps out to walk closer to her again, her chest was heaving as she let out emotion that Harry didn’t understand.

He doesn’t say anything - he wouldn’t even know what that would be because he hadn’t had real communication with anyone other than the other truckers on the radio for years now.

Harry is slow in his motions so that she’s not taken surprise at any point, with barey any pressure, he cups her face with one hand.

He brings the cloth up to wipe gently at the layered, tacky makeup that comes off in a thick muck, wipe after wipe.

When her face is clear of the overdone eyeshadow, harsh blush, spidery mascara clumped lashes - its startlingly how beautiful she is.

Her skin is perfect or nearly close to.

Smooth, clear, glowy in the dim light of the sleeper.

Her lips a puffy, delicate rosé pink - full and pouted.

The clean face takes at least a few years from her, that makeup had accentuated every wrinkle and crevice - aging her more than she was.

Fuck, she was pretty.

Harry tosses the cloth in his hamper, walking towards the lounge chair and kicking off his heavy, steel-toed boots.

He wasn’t obviously going to sleep in his briefs tonight and he had just handed her his only pair of pajama pants.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in his jeans nor the last, some nights he was too tired to strip them off before collapsing in bed.

“Goodnight, thank you,” YN murmurs after a mute snuffle, he watches out of the corner of her eye as she wriggles down into his bed - looking like she fucking belongs there.

“Sleep well,” Harry rumbles as he shuts off the lamp, throwing the cabin into darkness - the only light filtering through the curtains of the neon gas station sign - bright enough to grab the attention of people on the highway.

Harry reclines the chair, he didn’t normally sleep on his back but he would manage for tonight - for her.

The wind was gnarly, scraping against the sides of his truck - the occasional loose tree branch hitting, the sleet pattering against the windows.

Harry didn’t sleep in, his body didn’t allow him.

He ran on five hours of sleep at max before he needed to get up, move around, and get on the road.

When he blinks his eyes open, blearing at clock on his wall - three fifty-four am.

Normally, Harry wouldn’t waste much time.

He’d be on the road within the next thirty minutes after letting Birdie out, getting her breakfast, and popping into the gas station to get the biggest size coffee they had.

However, when he glances at Birdie’s bed, he has to do a double take because she’s not in there, and his heart starts pounding instantly.

Harry didn’t care about much on this earth, really barely anything but he cared about his dog - the snappy, crotchety thing.

She was always in her bed.

Harry sits up quickly, a horrible thought that the girl he let sleep her had stolen her but as soon as he is standing - he hears a telltale snore from the dog.

He follows the noise and to his utter dismay, literal dismay, because Birdie didn’t like anyone but Harry (and she didn’t like him sometimes either).

The mutt is currently being spooned by YN.

It was the most absurd thing he had ever seen.

YN was on her side, facing towards him with her face half-smushed in his pillow, her arm was slung over Birdie as the pup was nuzzled into the shape of her body.

Birdie was relaxed as can be, snoring up a storm, and pillowing her head in the crook of YN’s shoulder like they’d known each other forever.

The dog hadn’t even woke up when YN had entered.

Traitor.

Harry tucks back into his boots, tugging on his winter jacket that YN had discarded on the back of the kitchenette chair.

As he fills the disposable coffee cup, black - no cream or sugar, he tries to map out his course to Washington state.

He had done the trip many times before but having to account for horrible road condition would tack on at least a day of travel - if not more.

Harry had to get on the road as soon as possible if he didn’t want to be later than that extra day.

The weather hadn’t changed, granted, it was only nearing four in the morning but he swears that the temperature dropped even further.

As he steps back up into the cabin, his eyes trail to YN and Birdie, all cuddled up like this was their home together.

Harry needed to wake her up, kick her to the curb like he had told her (and himself) but he couldn’t imagine waking her.

Not when only a few hours prior, she had cried as she told him how tired she was, and fuck - where did his heartlessness go?

He didn’t mess with sex workers, not that he judged the profession but Harry was never a casual sex kind of guy.

And anyways, the depression that was nearly constant killed his sex drive to the point where he rarely got the urge to take care of himself - let alone pay someone to do it for him.

Harry sighs as he contemplates his choices, he was going to be behind, and he couldn’t find it in him to shake her awake.

He decides to shower, even though the rest stop was foul because he had the time and he sure he has showered in worse places.

The water doesn’t get as hot as Harry would like but the pressure get good on his aching back, he’d always had a bad one, and sleeping in the lounger would make him sore for days.

Harry takes him time, washes his hair extra well, shaves off his stubble, and he’s not doing it to be more presentable to YN - he’s not.

By the time that he’s dressed in clean clothes, it has to be close to five in the morning, he refills his coffee on the way back before he’s unlocking his truck again.

Harry’s met by Birdie, who was acting strange, she rarely waited at the door and didn’t often whine like an injured pup.

However, Birdie was clearly upset as she anxiously paced in the small area, these high pitched yowls coming from the back of her throat - head upwards as she howled.

“What is it?” Harry asks her, automatically concerned as his eyes dart to the bed.

She was gone.

The bed had been made as neat as a pin, the clothes she had borrowed were folded on top of the comforter, and it’s like she’d never been there.

Harry should feel relief because he wouldn’t have to wake her up, kick her out but it doesn’t feel anywhere close to relief,

Not when he had this vicious, innate urge to protect her.

He didn’t know what made her so special.

Harry had stumbled upon countless women down on their luck before, it was part of working around the country, stopping as places were those people tended to populate, and he had never felt any desire to help them.

He knows she must have either went to the gas station or rest stop, she didn’t have a jacket so she couldn’t have gotten far.

A sickening thought of her getting into the scumbag from last night’s truck makes him close the door and head back toward the building.

He was just in the gas station to get another coffee, he would have seen her, and when he goes back into the dank rest stop - he walks towards the women’s bathroom.

Outside the door, he can hear the patter of water streaming from one of the ancient showerheads, and knows that has to be her showering.

And so he waits.

He hears the telltale signs of heels clicking and he has to laugh when she exits the bathroom.

Her hair was sopping wet because she didn’t have a towel, her black dress was waterlogged where the ends of her hair were kissing the fabric - all while wearing those god damn shoes.

YN’s eyes go wide, scared instantly as she stutters, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Harry’s replies, brow knit in confusion.

YN’s face contorts, eyes darting away for a moment, “Um, I don’t know? You look upset with me. I-I left as soon as I woke up like you said.”

Was Harry upset?

Yeah, he guesses he actually was.

But not with her, not really.

He was upset that she was in a ridiculously small dress with wet hair (and clothes) in sub zero temperatures.

“What is your plan?” Harry answers instead, watching as goosebumps erupt all over her skin - it was a sticky humid in the cinderblock building but the cold couldn’t be ignored.

“My plan?” YN repeats, he hates how nervous she is around him - he understands but it’s so unnecessary, he wants to keep her safe.

He should leave.

Let her do her thing.

It’s not his business.

“Where are you going? What’s next?”

YN picks at the skin of her thumb with her index finger, chin tilted down, “I am hoping to get enough cash today to get a jacket, maybe a hotel room? That, um, that guy yesterday is still out in his truck and offered me a hundred and fifty so that’s why I was..showering.”

Harry wanted to be sick, his stomach was actually churning the coffee he had chugged down because she deserved better than that.

“No,” Harry says without thinking.

YN’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “I don’t know-“

“Three grand,” Harry interupts her, “I’m going to Washington. I’ll give you cash today to do the trip with me. Five or six days overall. I’ll buy your food, get you clothes, anything you need. On the way back, I’ll drop you off here again.”

YN is rightfully confused, biting at her bottom lip, “And what do you expect of me?”

“No sex,” Harry assures her, “I won’t try anything.”

“But why? This doesn’t make any sense. It’s just wasting money,” YN points out, she was starting to tremble from the cold.

Harry tugs off his jacket once again, this time he holds it out, and YN slips her arms in without complaint - she was freezing.

“You seem easy-going. I’ve been on the road for five years, guess I’m lonely and some company would be nice,” Harry shrugs, a rueful smile as he adds, “Also I’ll be damned if you’re getting in that scumbag’s truck. You deserve better than that.”

YN does something that shocks Harry.

She steps forward and wraps her arms tightly around his middle, her face burying in her chest as she hugs him.

The tips of her hair are dampening his own shirt but he cannot find it in him to complain.

This hug makes him realize just how long he’s been without human touch.

Harry is stiff, still processing, and YN must realize that because she starts to pull back with wide eyes, “I’m sorr-“

He shakes his head, finally moving his arms to wrap around her back, and he pulls her back into the hug - just for a moment.

“I got you, alright?” Harry rumbles as he pulls away, taking a step back, “Do you have a cell phone? Is there anyone you need to let know that you’re leaving for a few days?”

“No to both. I don’t have a cell phone, it broke a while back, and I couldn’t afford a replacement. And no, I don’t have anyone who will be concerned,” YN replies quietly, her voice was soft and sweet and filled with hurt.

“Okay,” Harry responds because he doesn’t know how to put into words that he doesn’t understand why she’s in a place like this, with no one.

She didn’t seem to have a bad bone in her body.

Harry guides YN back to his truck, as he opens the door he tells her, “I’m going to run Birdie for a few minutes. The clothes are still folded on the bed. I’ll get you new ones on the way. There aren’t stores for the next long stretch of miles.”

YN nods in agreement and as soon as Harry opens the door, Birdie is down the four steps and bounding towards YN.

Birdie jumped up on her hind legs, tail going wild as she accepts ear scratches and coos from YN, leaning down to kiss her snout.

And that’s another thing Harry doesn’t get, Birdie doesn’t do that with other people, normally she growls and bristles, bares her teeth and barks to get them away.

Birdie gets her love before bounding into the snow-topped fields, swallowing her up until Harry can only see flashes of black and white as she darts around.

It’s too cold to give her the normal amount of time and plus, he didn’t have his jacket so Birdie only got ten minutes before he whistled for her to come back.

Birdie’s whiskers are ice-tipped, snow dusting her beard, and she races back into the cabin with no issue in escaping the cold.

YN was already changed again, sitting on the bed.

Harry would be okay if he never saw her in a tight black dress or high heels again.

“I’m going to go refill my coffee, do a quick check of my truck, and then we��ll get out of here, okay?” Harry asks as he wipes Birdie off with a towel to get her dry - her fur was coarse and pretty water-resistant as it was, “Do you want food, a drink?”

YN shakes her head, declining as if it’s the polite thing to do, “No, thank you.”

Harry nods before disappearing back out of the truck.

The gas station is as desolate as it’s been the other two times that he’s gotten his coffee but now he had an armful of things.

Juices, water, hydration drinks, granola bars, a breakfast sandwich, a few cellophane-wrapped pastries.

The same clerk is still behind the register, his skin almost translucent from how pale he was, purplish veins contrasted the yellowish tone of his skin.

The man is old, his name tag reads ‘Gary’, and he scans the items with a bored expression, eyes blearing up to Harry at one point.

He had a rough, mid-western accent that made him harder to understand as he spoke, “Never a good idea to fall in love with a hooker.”

Harry is taken aback, startled by the comment as he replies, “What did you just say?”

Gary nods towards his truck out front, he clearly had seen YN going back and forth from the rest stop to his rig.

Then he nods down at the snacks, “M’just saying, son. Don’t put your eggs in her basket. They’re all smoke and mirrors. They’ll say and do just about anything for cash. Remember that.”

Harry is silent as he taps his card to the screen, he wasn’t in love with this girl, he had just met her mere hours ago under weird circumstances.

He didn’t feel anything towards her.

At least that’s what he was going to continue to tell himself so that he can remain headstrong on the promise he made to himself that he doesn’t need anyone.

He’s fine by himself.

Just him and Birdie.

Harry doesn’t give him a reaction nor a response, grabbing the plastic bag, and trudging back out into the cold.

Ready to get the fuck out of here.

YN is still where he left her but Birdie had finished her breakfast and was currently nuzzled up next to her thigh like she was her mother.

Harry unceremoniously drops the bag of items next to her, opposite of his traitorous dog, and doesn’t say anything - awkward and unsure.

YN opens the bag, glancing inside before looking up at him.

“It’s for you,” Harry waves his hand dismissively before moving to rub the back of his neck, why the fuck was he acting like this?

Like he was trying to court her with cheap gas station food and his clothes.

“Do you do this often? For girls like me?” YN wonders out loud, it’s not necessarily judgemental but curiously confused.

“I’ve never had a girl in here before, so no,” Harry shrugs, unable to hold eye contact because she’s pretty and he’s embarrassed.

“Do you…” YN hesitates, glancing down at her hands, “Nevermind.”

“You can ask me anything,” Harry doesn’t have much of anything to hide, “S’fine.”

“You don’t have a wife and kids at home, do you?” YN is timid, like she’s worried about how he’ll react to such a question.

Harry snorts, nonplussed, “No. I don’t have any family and I call this rig my home. No wife or kids.”

“Guess we’re both alone,” YN picks at a loose thread on the pajama pants, it was a fact for both of them, and the air was solemn between them.

“Well, for the next few days we have each other, right?” Harry huffs as he turns to the cabinet, out of sight, he punches in the code to his safe, and takes out the cash he promised, “Here’s the money.”

YN’s eyes go wide, taking it after a moment, running her thumb nail under the bills as they flutter before she’s tucking it into her backpack.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve your kindness but I am so grateful,” YN said earnestly, her eyes were doe-like and molten like heated caramel.

And Harry realizes for the first time since he’d met her that he hadn’t thought about his depression, about how he didn’t want to be here most days, and how most days had been all of his days lately.

She had given him a reason to keep on going for at least the next few days because he had her to take care of, protect.

Birdie was the only thing that had kept him here for the last three years, when it’s started to get really bad because he’d never abandon her.

Even if it meant enduring his own suffering for her - he would do anything for that dog, his lifeline, his lifesaver when he’s drowning.

He’s getting that same feeling with YN and he knows that’s dangerous because she could want to jump ship tomorrow and he’d be alone again.

Despite Gary’s forewarning, Harry might be putting his eggs in the basket of a girl he met less than twenty-four hours ago.

#harry styles writing #harry styles #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader

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fallbhind · 15 hours

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DON'T BE A LOSER.

WARNINGS ✶ suggestive. mentions of drinking. implied drinking. loser!chris. chris gets a boner, only mentions it a few times. some jock named josh dragged reader over to a group of peope (not forcefully). ⭒ @55sturn for their version of loser!chris, as well as the original idea.

you couldn't fathom the fact your friend couldn't come to a fraternity party, she'd always went to the other ones, so you didn't understand why she couldn't come to this one, what was so different? sure, you could talk to literally anyone, practically everyone was there, but it wouldn't be the same. you found yourself plopping down on a couch, without acknowledging the awkward looking boy beside you as you took sips out of your most likely alcoholic punch beverage.

the boy shifted away from you, which of course, it kinda offended you. being the popular girl and all, most boys wouldn't shy away from you, gosh—he really was a loser. the awkward boy was wearing black dirty converses, jeans that had holes at the knee caps, and an overly big hoodie, the seam at the arm holes falling apart from how much he'd chewed at it, mostly during moments of distress or nervousness.

he wasn't your typical boy you'd hang out with, but there’s no harm in socializing with different people, instead of straight jocks. "hi." you blurted out, brushing off your skirt.

"hello." he mumbled, his knees pulled to his chest (take note of the loser behavior). "i'm—" he took a gentle breath before continuing, "—i'm chris." he picked at the torn up seams were his arm holes were, making the seams messier than before.

chris shifted his legs further away from you, being this close in proximity to a girl made him oh so nervous. his heart was practically pounding out of his chest as he let his curly-ish hair fall back in his face. worst of all? he felt himself slowly tighten from the short skirt you were wearing, along with that oh so pretty pink varsity shirt you was wearing (so he's a bit of a perv to!).

he knew later that night he'd be back home, searching up anything he could find about you, because he was just an awkward little loser. he'd probably try the basics first, snapchat. if not there? maybe he'd venture onto insta and x to find you. maybe even shoot his shot and get risky by sending a dm. it wouldn't necessarily be the first time he went all staked mode for a girl, he was just a loser like that. maybe his brain might need some re-wiring, but save that for later!

"nice to meet you chris." you said gently, maybe just a little (a lot) bit giddy that he said something back to you. if being all honest, you thought he was going to ignore you, he didn't have a big following group, nor did he follow a certain group he followed, he was in his own bubble, we’re he minded his own business and didn't converse himself around pretty looking girls.

he nodded nervously, "you too— uh, kid." chris' words came out awkwardly, almost sounded like he forced them out as he gripped his jeans, his hands balling into fists as his hands slowly became more clammy. and the fact you knew he was getting clammy made him ten times just as nervous, he really, really wanted to just crawl in a hole and never leave because a girl never made him feel the things he was feeling in the exact moment. his mouth was watering faster then he could swallow when you tilted your head in confusion.

"kid?" you asked voice laced with confusion, "i've been called all kinds of names but never kid." you started to ramble off about all the pet names you'd been called by new people, from going to sweetheart all the way to an actual animal name. but there was on that stuck out the most, seemed right for you. puppy. it fit you, in a sense. wether it ranged from your sense of style to your personality, it suit you. weirdly enough. "but anyways—" you huffed, "that's enough about me. tell me about yourself."

as if the sight of you wasn't enough to give him a boner, you asked him about himself. as a person, him, what he does— who he was. you were likely going to be the cause of his death. he shifted in his seat slightly, "well— uh." he stuttered over his words, fingers going to push his hair out his face to get a better looking at you as your lips pressed against the red-solo cup, taking a sip of the punch, which had to have been spiked, you'd never felt so dizzy, it could've been. "i have two brothers, triplets, actually." he whispered, "we kinda do our own thing."

you chewed endlessly at your raw, lip-gloss covered lips, listening to him explain, which really put him on spot, nobody ever really just sat and listen to him before, made him feel all giddy. you nodded along with every word, your eye's dilating over him. "nice." you whispered, watching chris' every move.

it was bound to be a long, akward night if you kept asking questions like that. he fell quiet, not sure what else to say, after that, so he just nodded slowly, hoping you'd say something.

after a few minutes of waiting, his fears were definitely confirmed. a jock, josh, walked up to you, "baby c'mon let's go." you nodded, standing up, brushing off your skirt as you walked with the jock. josh gave a gentle pat on your ass, you letting put a giggle-like squeal as you slapped his arm playfully. chris shook his head, knowing damn well it was to good to be true that a pretty girl would be single and not taken by a football player. chris watched you converse with a group of sorority girls, probably talking about boys, that weren't close to him.

#꒰๑ ´` ๑꒱ my works⠀𓈒 #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo

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takeariskao3 · 2 days

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as per usual, i am late to the memegeddon… but here is a lil something based on this meme from @petalsthefish

James stabbed the last carrot on his plate with a bit more violence than the action called for. However, it had no effect on the conversation happening a few seats down at the Gryffindor table.

“I s’pose the library?” Albert Jenkins-Wright prattled on. “Where do girls like her even hang out?”

Across from James, Sirius snorted.

“And she’s never on her own,” one of Jenkins-Wright’s sixth year mates chimed in. “It’ll be like asking her out in front of her whole dormitory.”

The small group of boys all made equal, yet indiscernible, noises of agreement and glanced around to where the fifth year girls had their heads together. James couldn’t help it, he peeked up as well. The girls in his year were all giggling in hushed tones over their pudding. As he watched, the object of their infernal conversation threw her head back and laughed in full merriment. James’ insides twisted painfully and he refocused on his empty plate.

“Valentine’s Day though,” another of the boys chimed in. “That’s a lot of pressure for a first date, isn’t it?”

James had heard quite enough. He shoved back on his bench and snapped, “She has to say yes first.”

Albert Jenkins-Wright glowered at him. Thankfully, Sirius also stood from his seat, albeit less petulantly, and smirked. “Good luck with that.”

Peter and Remus followed, Remus shoveling his last few bites of potatoes into his mouth. A small slice of guilt broke through James’ foul mood, but he stalked away nonetheless.

“I thought you were attempting indifference?” Peter hissed as they reached the entrance hall.

Out of the corner of his eye, James saw Remus grin. “Yes, I distinctly remember that New Year’s resolution too.”

“Let’s be honest,” Sirius sighed, clapping James on the shoulder. “We all knew it was doomed.”

“Jenkins-Wright is a prat,” James said without any real bite behind it.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Every bloke who likes Evans is a prat.“

“Including you,” Sirius added.

Remus covered a laugh with a cough; Peter sniggered.

As they mounted the marble staircase, James ground his teeth together, determined not to be a prat.

He made it as far as the second floor.

“What kind of name is Jenkins-Wright, anyhow?”

His three friends groaned.

Ten minutes, two floors, and a password later, they found armchairs tucked into a corner of the common room. James had exhausted his complaints about Albert Jenkins-Wrights’s name and had now moved on to his intelligence.

“Like she’d ever go out with a bloke who couldn’t even scrape an E in Charms.” James insisted.

“Do shut up,” Sirius grumbled, settling deeper into the cushions.

James scowled, and had just opened his mouth to release a very un-witty retort when an eruption of giggles tumbled through the portrait hole.

“The tea leaves don’t lie!” Anna Perry cackled while looping her arm through Evans’.

Green eyes flashed and Evans shot her friend a flat look. “Your only proof is a lump of soggy Earl Grey and something about Saturn’s anus–“

“Janus,” Anna Perry stressed. “It’s the moon of discernment, and its current alignment with Venus makes tonight the perfect conditions for predicting–“

As the girls walked by their cluster of chairs, James couldn’t help himself. “What’s this about Saturn’s anus?”

“Never you mind,” Evans spat. At the same time, Anna burst, “I’ve just read her teacup. And it’s fascinating–“

“Hardly.” Evans rounded on her friend. “You think my soulmate is at Hogwarts.”

James’ heart lept into his throat.

“Well, obviously,” Anna huffed, clearly exasperated. “It showed they were near! Could be proximity, could be timing, it could be the next person who asks you out!”

Evans looked increasingly unimpressed.

James, however, suffered a temporary bout of insanity. “Hey, Evans? Go out with me?”

“No,” she replied smoothly, without so much as looking at him.

The rejection was expected, and only made James grin wider.

“See?” Evans gestured to where James leaned over the back of his chair. “By your logic, Potter is my one true love. Some prediction that was.”

Anna’s shoulders slumped. “Fine, don’t believe me. But I know what I saw.”

Evans rolled her eyes and yanked Anna toward the rest of the girls, who had settled at a long table and were pulling out homework.

Watching them go, James sunk back into his seat, unable to control the self-satisfied smirk stretching across his face.

He was met with three expressions of equal disapproval.

“What?” he asked with an air of false innocence. “I wasn’t about to let her fall madly in love with Albert Jenkins-Wright.” When none of his friends showed signs of going along with this farce, James continued, “Apathy is overrated, anyway. Whatever happened to going after what you want, huh? Where are the proper grand gestures? Men used to duel for the hand of a lady, you know…”

Silence hung between the four of them for several long moments before Sirius lounged back into his seat and rumbled, “You’re a nuisance to society.”

#jily #jily fic #jily fanfic #mauraders #I JUST WROTE THIS IN MY NOTES APP LEAVE ME ALONE ABOUT THE TYPOS #my edit #my fic

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rems-writing · 2 days

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Cyberpunk's bartender

》 Pairing: bartender!Wooyoung x gn!erader

》 Genre: Fluff

》 Wordcount: 1,800 words

》 Rating: nc-17

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet

Wooyoung chuckled to himself as he saw a group of girls walk inside the club and saw one of them stand out from the others. She looked sheepish and definitely did not want to be outdoors right now. He understood far too well that sometimes, people just don’t like being forced to go out. As soon as Mingi, the bouncer that let these women in, gave a signal and pointed to the incredibly shy girl that flinched at everything, Wooyoung nodded and gave a thumbs-up in return. After all, he was also used to helping introverts like that woman escape.

“I NEED THREE TEQUILA SUNRISES FOR BOOTH 1024!”

Wooyoung heard Jongho’s voice resonate within the dingy strip club and he nodded. He set to work on making the mixed drinks, pouring each amount of tequila perfect into the metal shaker before adding ice and closing it. He started shaking it with one hand while the other gathered three glasses so he could pour the drink in. Once he set the shaker down, he grabbed a strainer and placed it over the opened shaker before pouring each drink into the frosted glasses. He grabbed the tiny umbrellas and stabbed three maraschino cherries before topping the drinks with it.

“THREE TEQUILA SUNRISES!”

Wooyoung’s voice was incredibly loud, even through the booming techno music the strippers were dancing to. Jongho hurried over to the bar and grabbed the drinks carefully before thanking him and walking over towards the booth. Wooyoung sighed and quickly washed his tools so he could prepare for making the next few drinks. He hated using dirty tools when making drinks. He believed that the remnants from the last cocktail mixed in with the new cocktail would make it taste bad. It’s a silly ideology, but to him, it made the most sense. He was currently watching the crowd and observing the different dynamics they got going on here. Soon, he felt a presence in front of him and he smiled brightly.

“Well well. If it isn’t my favorite customer.”

You giggled and playfully rolled your eyes at his compliment. Wooyoung had first met you when you came in with so much stress. You weren’t one to drown your sorrows in alcohol, but you had just about enough. As an event coordinator and a travel planner, it seemed like you could never catch a break. The only upside to your job is that you were self-employed so you were your own boss and you could take as many days off as you want. After the occasions you helped out with, you were definitely taking a month long vacation.

“Do you say that to all your customers?”

“Of course not, doll. They aren’t as put-together as you.”

“Ok ok fine. Enough with your pretty words. You know the drill.”

“So the usual then?”

You nodded and Wooyoung set straight to work. He decided to put on a little show for you since you expressed that you felt fascinated with the way Wooyoung makes drinks. From a simple whiskey on the rocks to the most complicated cocktail (i.e. the cosmopolitan), you believed he had the magic touch. After Wooyoung set your drink down, you thanked him and took a sip. You were surprised. Your usual, which was green apple Crown Royal mixed with Sprite, tasted stronger than usual. Not that you didn’t mind of course. You had a strong tolerance. However, this normally only had one shot of Crown mixed into it.

“Woo. Did you put two shots in this?”

“I did. And before you ask, I didn’t fuck up. I added another shot intentionally. After everything you’ve told me, I figured you’d need to relax a bit more.”

Your heart fluttered at Wooyoung’s thoughtfulness and you thanked him by raising your glass to him. He poured his own shot and clinked his glass with you before knocking it back. He set his empty shot glass in the sink and handed you the menu.

“Order what you want. It’s on the house.”

“Woo, no -”

Wooyoung reached over and put his finger on your lips to shush you. Normally, you would’ve rolled your eyes and shoved his finger off, but for some reason, you felt a bit flustered under his touch today. It definitely wasn’t the alcohol speaking. You weren’t even tipsy yet! Perhaps it’s just the environment you’re in. After all, you were technically in a place where women’s hormones go crazy. Once upon a time, you used to be like them. Now? You had your priorities straight.

“It’s fine, doll. I mean it.”

“Fine… I’ll take the takoyaki and katsu pork bites please.”

“Want to throw some potstickers in there as well?”

“Sure.”

Wooyoung nodded and took your order to the kitchen while you sipped on your drink. While you were waiting for him, you noticed a girl trying to shrink back into the booth she was at with, who you assumed were, her coworkers. You chuckled as she tried her best to be a wallflower in a place such as Cyberpunk. You also felt bad for her as well. Mingi told you briefly about this woman and you honestly wanted to beat those women’s asses. Sadly, it’s none of your business. The most you can do is wish that she smoothly escapes them as soon as possible.

“One order of takoyaki, katsu pork bites, and potstickers for my favorite customer.”

Wooyoung’s voice snapped you out of your observant haze quickly and you turned around to see the food placed in front of you. You were salivating. After weeks of eating nothing but healthy food in your own home, you considered today a cheat day. You grabbed your chopsticks and picked up a katsu pork bite before eating it. Apparently, this was a new thing on the menu.

And you hoped they’d keep it.

“Woo… this is fucking bomb! Tell the chef to keep this on the menu!”

Wooyoung chuckled smoothly and found your love for bar food so adorable. He made a mental note to do that before he left. As he watched you eat, he couldn’t help but stare at you. The way your hair fell in front of your face (he wanted to reach out and tuck it behind your ear), the way your cheeks puffed up as you kept eating (there were a few crumbs stuck to the corners of your mouth and he wanted to wipe them away with his thumb badly), and the way you drank your strong drink with such poise? Yeah this man is in love.

“I NEED A ROUND OF SHOTS PLUS THE STRONGEST DRINK YOU HAVE FOR BOOTH 1117!”

Jongho’s voice broke Wooyoung out of his lovestruck stupor and he sighed deeply. He knew which booth Jongho was referring to. Setting to work, he first made the cocktail since it was a longer process. Once the drink was made, he took out a lot of shot glasses and placed them on the tray.

“WHAT ALCOHOL DO THEY WANT?!”

Jongho asked the customer real quick on what shots they wanted to order before yelling back.

“SOJU!”

Wooyoung nodded and took out some soju bottles before pouring the spirit into each frosted shot glass. Once he was done, he double checked to make sure everything was in order before shouting out to Jongho.

“A ROUND OF SOJU SHOTS AND A STRONG COCKTAIL!”

Jongho walked over and grabbed the tray once more before placing a dollar bill in front of Wooyoung. It was a tip. A generous one at that. Wooyoung pocketed the money before turning back to you. His eyes widened at the empty plate and they trailed up to you, still sipping on your drink as if you didn’t order so much bar food.

“Well I’ll be damned. I’m calling you Kirby with the way you practically inhaled that food.”

“That would require me having a black hole for a stomach though, and we both know I don’t have that.”

Wooyoung laughed at your sassy reply and nodded before pouring himself another shot.

“To our aspirations of becoming Kirby!”

You clinked glasses and knocked back your drinks before setting the glass down. Wooyoung took your empty glass and looked back up at you.

“You want a refill?”

“Nah. It’s ok. I think I’m done for today.”

“Perfect!”

You were confused as to why Wooyoung said that and said it in that tone. It wasn’t until your eyes landed on an empty shot glass that you realized what he was doing. You immediately shook your head.

“I have work tomorrow -”

“What time do your clients come in?”

“Uh… around noon or 2 PM.”

“Great! Now come on. Knock one back with me.”

“Wooyoung, I don’t know -”

“Did you drive here? If you did, I’ll take your decline.”

“Well no. My car’s in the shop so I took an uber here…”

“All the more reason to take a shot! Come on. It’s Friday!”

“Woo…”

Wooyoung took your hand in his and rubbed your knuckles with his thumb. You felt more flustered than before and you couldn’t help but find him so handsome underneath the dim lighting of the bar. His black hair was tied back into a small ponytail while two strands hung in front of his face. His jawline was sharp, his lips looked tempting and kissable, and his eyes were shining with mischief and amusement. There was also a sincerity behind them too.

“You work so hard, Y/N. You deserve this. I’ll take care of you. Like always.”

You didn’t say anything, prompting Wooyoung to continue.

“I’m not going to lie. I mainly just wanted to flirt with you and get a rise out of you. I’m fine with being friends. However, if you’re on the same wavelength as me, then I will tell you right now. I fell in love with you. I’m so in love with the way you talk, move, and hold yourself. I figured someone like me could never be with someone like you. But I’m willing to shoot my shot and give us a try. The question now is… are you?”

You were taken aback by Wooyong’s confession. The bartender that you like also likes you back. You felt your heart hurt when he said that he doesn’t deserve someone like you when in reality, it’s sort of the vice verse. However, seeing as he’s willing to give it a try, you thought “Fuck it.” in the back of your mind. You were independent, made good money, and had a stable life overall. Why not share that life with someone? You intertwined your fingers with his and a small smile appeared on your face.

“Yeah… I’m willing to give us a try.”

With that, you both took your shots, and the rest is now history.

#mirohsaurorasociety #other side outlaws network #illusionnet #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #Spotify

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lumosinlove · 1 day

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Write Me In

Part Five

His office felt weird. New York felt weird. Even being with Cassie felt weird. Leo was so groggy in his real life that sometimes, when he was washing his face or sitting in a meeting or grabbing a bagel for lunch, he wondered if he had just been sleeping that whole time with Finn and Logan. He wouldn’t put it past himself to dream up something like that. Leave it to him to think making dinner for two of the biggest names in the music industry was a daydream. And the kissing, of course, but he spent far more time thinking about salt water in Finn’s hair and the way Logan looked walking around the markets. It was all smeared gold in his mind. And then there were the dirty dreams which he kept accidentally thinking about in meetings.

The article was going to lead this month’s issue, which meant it would come out right as Finn and Logan started up their tour again. A crew was being sent out to Nice for the cover shoot and Leo had been so jealous when he found out that he’d had to excuse himself from the meeting for a moment. He missed them. He probably scrolled through their messages too much.

The thread started when Leo had settled into a cab and opened the app to text them that he’d landed, only to find an incoming FaceTime call interrupting him. Leo had saved their numbers under their initials—as if that would really fool anyone. So, when Finn’s first FaceTime had popped up, he’d been more than surprised to find difficult little rock star calling him instead, complete with a photo that Finn seemed to have taken himself—him and Logan basking in the sun, hair wet from the ocean and cheeks smushed together.

Leo had answered with, “and what’s Logan saved under then?”

Finn had just grinned and ran off screen—presumably to grab Logan’s phone because a second later, Leo got a text of !! from grumpy<3

Leo figured that was subtle enough to keep. He’d pushed his headphones into his ears and let Finn’s voice fill his head as the city rose up and greeted him in its sunset.

Somehow, without so much as a ripple, talking to them had started feeling like talking to old friends. Once a day. Twice a day. Photographs of their lunches and messy work spaces in between. When Leo received his fist voice memo, he’d had to lock himself in the bathroom at work and breathe a few times before hitting play.

“Hi, Le,” Finn’s voice said. “Okay—we’re writing today. Lo, hello, say hi.”

“Hi, hey,” Logan said, then let out a wicked cough. “Sorry, Finn made me do one of those ginger shots and I’m in hell.”

Leo covered his laugh with his hand.

“Shut up, it’s good for you,” Finn replied. “Okay, anyway. So, this is called—oh, I’m gonna be on the piano. But this is—and I’m gonna try to play it straight through.”

“Stop interrupting yourself,” Logan said, then it sounded like he got closer to Finn’s phone. “It’s called Neon Signs and it’s off of the new album, and we know your editor wanted you to hear one more song for the piece so—ouais. Go, Finn.”

“I was going to say I’m on the piano and on the album it’s also piano. So. There.” He laughed and played a few chords. “Okay. It’s about one of the times when we almost got together, but we didn’t. We were at a bar that we weren’t old enough for.”

“And Finn got us stuck outside because they wouldn’t let us back in,” Logan said.

“Fool them once, and all that,” Finn cut in.

“It was freezing.” Logan’s voice, then a pause. “And I kissed him.”

“Again,” Finn said, laughing. “Anyway, spoilers. Here we go.”

There were a few seconds of dead air. Just Finn breathing. Leo pressed his headphones against his ears and kicked up his volume in time to hear Logan whisper something in French and Finn hush him.

I wanted you to meet me outside.

We’re not old enough to drink, no, not quite.

And leaving this bar means risking getting stuck out in the cold.

But I said ‘follow me’ you said ‘all right.’

Pulling up your hood against the frost bite.

And now that we’re here, there are too many things I want you to know.

But somehow I can tell tonight is not when you’ll be told

That just the look of you beneath that neon sign

Sure is something to behold…

It’s soft and blue…

Like me and you…

Maybe I’ll do this forever,

Only kiss me when it’s snowing.

Cause at least it isn’t never,

Though I can’t see where we’re going.

If only that light from that neon sign

Made you see me

Just as brightly

Oh God

Where’s my,

Neon,

Bar sign?

One that you can read.

Put it over me.

Bathe me in signals and the arrows pointing where I want to lead.

“Oh,” Leo said softly to himself—reacting to the lyrics, but also to Finn’s piano. It was a meandering, sad tune. As if even the music wasn’t sure what its next note would be. The song took them out of winter next and through to summer. Into humidity, and strings lights and patios and dorm rooms, sweltering with the door closed and no AC. A goodbye—was this them going to college? And it was Logan singing. Fall and desperate for something to last. Finn fumbled a little on the piano, cursed softly, and despite the next sad lyric, Leo could hear Logan smiling. Instead walked into my own past. You’re sitting on the bed and I’ve never felt less or more alone.

Leo listened to it four times. It was hypnotizing. Yes, he knew the story. He’d been given the precious task of telling the story—but they were telling it, too.

Meanwhile, the article was going through drafts and drafts. He’d fought hard to keep the section about Logan’s market in. His editor hadn’t seen the relevance, and maybe Leo’s relevance wasn’t entirely music-based, but those markets were in the songs. Maybe not in so many words, but Logan was as gentle as his voice could be when he was there. He stood still in that space, listening to the rhythm and thrum of the people around him.

Sending cover shoot to you without me :/ Leo typed out.

Finn replied almost instantly: I’ll refuse to pose until you arrive.

Then Logan: I will lock them out.

Ha, Leo wrote.

No Ha. It’s my house.

I’m at the office—in the final meeting for the article. He thought for a second, then smiled as he typed out. Everyone’s so happy for you.

You are coming to our first show, Logan typed out, and then a few seconds later, ? accompanied it, as if Finn had forced it out of him.

I’m coming to a show. Not sure when yet, Leo said. I’m on another project and have to finish it up before—

His eye caught on his phone’s clock. Jesus. He’d been in here for ten minutes texting like a teenager between classes. Before what? Before I can come back to you. Before I can come home, before I can come back because I miss you.

The thrill that came from being able to know he missed them because he knew them was strong.

—before I can make it, he finished. Have to go back to meeting now

Finn sent him five rows or pink hearts, Logan said, we miss you, and Leo sat back down in his meeting with a smile on his face that earned him weird looks. Cassie stared at him until someone asked her a question.

“Okay, so you’re gonna spill all your beans now.” Cassie jabbed him gently with her fork at lunch. “Like. Right now.”

“I don’t have beans.” Leo tilted his bowl to her. “This is my mama’s chicken salad recipe. Want some?”

Cassie groaned. “Just tell me why you’re grinning at your phone like an idiot every chance you get!”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you are.”

“I’m not, I’m not.”

“Yes, yeah, yeah, yeah.” Cassie grabbed onto his arm. “Tell me.”

“I’m excited for them,” Leo said. “That’s all. I’ve always looked up to them, and this is a big deal.

“So we are talking about Finn and Logan?”

Leo froze, caught. “Oh.”

It wasn’t his fault. They filled every little space of his mind. And if there was somewhere they couldn’t reach, they pressed up against that part, all warm and insistent.

Cassie threw her head back and squealed. “Leo. Tell me, tell me—”

“Oh-ho my God, they kissed me.”

Cassie stared at him, voice cutting off. Leo slapped his hands over his own mouth.

“You don’t know that,” Leo said quickly, just as Cassie made a soft, breathy sort of screeching sound.

“Wh-at?” she set her fork down with exaggerated precision. “What did you just say?”

Leo glanced around the courtyard they were in, but they were alone. In the shade, sun dappling down on them, and alone.

“They?” Cassie’s hand on his sleeve twisted the fabric. “They kissed you?”

He hadn’t meant to say a word, but the knowledge was like a fire inside of him. Being wanted like this. Being wanted by them.

Cassie started laughing, surprised and delighted. “Leo.”

“Yeah, they—apparently, um.” Leo shook his head. He didn’t even know how to say this. “They’ve been tracking my career since I just had the blog, and we were out by the fire pit and we almost—but we didn’t. And then we talked and I told them about Jack—sort of.”

Cassie’s blue eyes went wide at that, but she stayed quiet.

“And they sort of got why I was saying no.”

“You said no?”

“At first, at first.” Leo pushed his lunch away and dropped his voice. “Okay, okay, okay, sworn to secrecy.”

She squealed again through a shut mouth and hit him repeatedly in the arm.

“So, Nice,” Leo said. “Logan’s house.”

“Yeah, fuck you, by the way, meant nicely but with jealousy.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. But, so that night happened where they made the move a bit—”

“What does that even mean?”

“Mm, hard to explain. They were actually—” Leo’s laugh interrupted his words. “They were so bad at it.”

“Finn O’Hara is bad at making the moves?”

“Only when he means it, apparently.”

Cassie’s waved him on. “Okay, more, I need more.”

“So, we talked it out at the markets.”

“Ah. That’s why you like those sections so much. It’s all coming together.”

“Shut up.”

“And they kissed you there?”

“No,” Leo said. “Logan kissed me, just once, and um…” Leo bit back a grin. “And then later, Finn. Mostly because—I mean we said we’d take it slow and Logan was just keeping that promise, but I may have lost some resolve with Finn because—fuck, because.”

“He’s Finn O’Hara,” Cassie said. “I think ‘fuck, because’ is a fine reason.”

“And that’s when he said they want me to come back once I’m off their project. I mean, I know I have the follow up piece but…then I’ll be done.”

Cassie had her chin in her palm, the way she sometimes did when she was thinking. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

She sat up straight. “Both…of them?”

Leo opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “Honestly, I haven’t been even…feeling strange about that. Is that weird?”

“No,” Cassie said, shaking her head. “I mean, not if it’s working. You’re not, like…jealous?”

“No,” Leo answered. It was the truth. “I know I probably should be.”

“They are basically high school sweethearts,” Cassie said. “Like, this article, the way you describe them…That’s soulmate shit right there. I don’t mean you don’t fit with them, I’m just…”

“I know where you’re coming from, but…” Leo sighed, smiling. “And I went there, too, but it’s just not like that. I like the way they are together. The way they treat each other. I like it as much as I like the way the are with me.”

“Holy shit,” Cassie said, then laughed. “Oh man.” She pushed her lunch aside in favor of pulling her laptop out of her bag. “Holy shit, holy shit, which show do you want? Which show, Le, I want to book that all out right fucking now.”

“It’s one night.”

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna be a hell of a night.”

Leo reached forward and grasped her hand. “Don’t even joke about that with me, I’m a wreck.”

“Yeah, well, you need all the help you can get. You were there for, what, three weeks, and you just kissed?”

“I am—”

“No, I commend you, cowboy, you just have eons more willpower than I do.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Now, which show?”

Leo had been thinking about it. Of course he’d been thinking about it. He pictured them in different cities. Walking different streets. But, in the end, there was no question. Leo wanted to be where they had figured everything out. Maybe they’d figure out each other, too.

“Italy,” Leo said. “I want Italy.”

He was nervous to see them, that was for sure. Cassie always followed through on her work quickly, but Leo felt like he had blinked through being home before he was staring down at an empty suitcase again. Italy. Milan. It would be warm. He’d be there for a week. Something casual for the shows. Something nice for press events. Something comfortable for…mornings? He stared in his underwear drawer for too long. When was the last time he’d had to care what he looked like in his underwear, much less what his underwear looked like. That turned into staring at his t-shirts for too long, only to pick up his Heartthrob O’Hara t-shirtand fold it into his suitcase. Then he sat on the edge of his bed and googled Logan Tremblay t-shirt. They weren’t that good. Grainy photos just plastered on fabric. He typed in Night Swimming lyric t-shirt. There were hundreds, but Leo had fun scrolling. He’d probably added too many things to his cart when he finally found what he was looking for. The shirt was white with four words in forest green on it.

OH MY

GREEN EYES

Leo bit back a smile and ordered it to be delivered tomorrow.

The next night, he was cooking dinner and squinting at his iPad, when the recipe webpage disappeared in favor of an incoming call.

“Milan?” Logan asked when Leo answered.

“Yep,” Leo said. He leaned his elbows on the counter. “Is that okay?”

“That’s longer,” Logan said.

“I know,” Leo sighed. “But it’s when I’m in between projects and can write your follow up.”

Finn mirrored his position, squeezing into the frame beside Logan. “Why don’t you come here right now? I’ll write you a note, get you out of school. Photoshoot tomorrow, you can watch us kiss on camera.” Finn snuck a hand out to grab Logan’s chin when he wasn’t looking and turned his face to kiss him, even if Logan was smiling too much to make it last.

Leo leaned forward. “I…As tempting as that is...”

“I liked it when we were your job,” Finn shot back. “You were around all the time.”

“Oh yeah? Not me,” Leo said. Finn blinked, and Leo fought a smile because he’d got him. “Kissing subjects is…”

“Fun?” Finn said. “A right we may exclusively reserve?”

Logan looked over at him with a smile and Leo was tempted to take a screenshot. He didn’t know how that would go over. He’d never taken a photograph of them himself. He knew that spooked some celebrities. In the beginning, he’d thought he’d die if he offended them. He still felt like that a bit.

“Shut up,” Logan said to Finn. “We don’t want to be Leo’s subjects.”

“I was kidding.”

“Listen,” Leo said. “It’s a right you can reserve, I’d just prefer you do it as you and not as Night Swimming.”

“Deal,” Finn said. He put his palm over the camera briefly, as if they had shaken on it. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cooking dinner.” Leo said, mimicking Finn’s sing-song—and then realized he’d basically just sung in front of Finn and tried to forget about it. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to come back,” Logan said.

Leo arched a brow. “To cook you dinner?”

“Non,” Logan laughed. He rested his chin on a palm, and Leo got basically an entire screen full of those green eyes looking over—him, he realized. Logan’s gaze darted over his face like he could do it for hours. “Other things.”

Heat washed over him, and Leo bit his lip. “Hmm…Play me more songs?”

“Can do, Sunshine,” Finn said.

They kept him company while he finished cleaning up, taking him through the packet they’d been sent concerning their photoshoot tomorrow.

“We’re doing it down by the sea,” Finn said. He was lounging on the couch, Logan at his feet holding a cup of tea. “And some house shots.” He tapped the leather couch. “Probably right here. Or the kitchen…Well, if it’s the kitchen, I know what I’ll be thinking about.”

Leo laughed as he shut his dishwasher. “Yeah, that kitchen gets a lot of action when I’m there.”

“Not when I’m there,” Logan said.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Finn said, running his fingers through Logan’s hair. “We’ve got a pretty good track record in Italy, don’t we?”

Leo didn’t sleep much that night. He usually didn’t before a flight. Something about the anticipation. Not that this was bad anticipation. He let himself drift and think, rather than fall and worry. Still awake, but lighter. The story was out of his hands now, gone to turn into paper and ink. He would write his follow up, but then…

Just three people, Finn had said. Just three people.

On his nightstand, his phone lit up his dark ceiling. Leo turned his head. There weren’t many people who could get through his Do Not Disturb. Part of him got nervous, wondering if something was wrong, and he propped himself up on an elbow quickly, pulling the phone off its charger.

you’re awake

Three words, soft as a whisper. From Logan. Just Logan.

A moment later came the ?

Leo rolled onto his back, grinning.

are you spying on me somehow?

Finn said you have trouble sleeping, came the reply.

I do sometimes, Leo sent. And then, do you not like question marks or something?

I just thought I was right

Leo laughed out loud, all to himself.

well, I am awake.

are you okay? Logan asked.

Yeah. Just thinking.

A bit of a pause, just long enough to make Leo bite his lip.

about what?

Leo typed his reply out slowly, carefully. Savoring getting to say these words. Getting more than one kiss from you.

An immediate reply. maybe I won’t ruin it this time

Leo smiled. I think the last thing you did was ruin it.

God. Smiley faces from Logan Tremblay.

go to sleep so you get here faster, Logan wrote. or just get here now.

Job—remember?

Leo laughed again. I do have a surprise for you when I get there.

what is it? Logan asked immediately.

“Classic,” Leo whispered to himself, but just sent a smiley in return. Then, after a moment’s thought—

goodnight, green eyes

The article, when it came out, was hot as lightning. The photographs were gorgeous. Natural. They turned into each other like puzzle pieces, dressed in the muted, gentle browns of the house, and then the bright jewels of green and blue. But it was the opening show that came after it that caused the storm.

Leo didn’t get a single bit of work done—but neither did Cassie, so it was fine. He had never watched a grainy live stream closer and made Cassie go out and get him lunch so he didn’t have to get up. He brought his phone to the bathroom with him. He’d never refreshed Twitter so many times to find new photographs and videos. Finn, getting a pride flag thrown up to him at one point. The moments when they shared the microphone now sometimes ended in a kiss. A kiss. Leo was laughing and choked up all at once. Logan’s hat said rouge.

“Is there a reason you didn’t choose that show?” Cassie asked.

He’d thought about it. Being there. He could have gotten out of work—not in a I’m sort of kind of dating them and suddenly I miss them every second please let me go way but in a…this is important for the follow up way. But. He hadn’t. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to.

“This is a long time coming for them,” Leo said carefully, and found it true. “This is something they thought they’d never have. It’s theirs. And I wanted them to have it more than anything.”

Cassie’s eyes softened. She’d wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “They better know how lucky they are if they’re getting you.”

Leo smiled and tilted their heads together, turning back to the show.

“Well, fuck,” Finn’s voice echoed through the stadium as he sat down at the piano. “You guys know what song’s coming by now, I guess.”

Rooftop, Leo thought, and shushed Cassie so harshly that she rolled her eyes and knocked him lightly on the shoulder.

Logan was still on stage, though, and getting up from behind his set. Leo’s heart leapt right into his throat.

“Something’s happening,” Leo said. “Something’s happening.”

“You shush,” Cassie said.

“Or at least you thought you did,” Finn said, then leaned back and laughed, the microphone barely catching it over the answering cheers. Logan crossed the stage, taking his time. Finn made room for him on the piano bench seat and Logan slotted perfectly against his side.

“No, look,” Finn played a few chords. “Rooftop has a special place in my heart, but it’s no part of tonight. Tonight…” He looked at Logan. “Tonight how about a little duet, Tremblay?”

Leo knew these chords. He loved these chords. And now, he could think of the lyrics that were about to come. They were probably some of the first words written about both of them letting themselves have each other…It was perfect. The crowd knew the song, too, and they were manic when Logan started playing the piano’s lower register, almost like a bass to Finn’s higher, softer melody.

A crew member brought out a second microphone and fixed it over the piano. Logan thanked him with a nod, and leaned in.

“You should have seen Finn trying to teach me piano,” his voice echoed.

Leo leaned closer to the screen. “Oh my God.”

Cassie sorted. “You’re so smitten.”

“They’re playing Keep.”

“Yes, I know, I am a fan, too!”

I see you in the morning staring out over the waves.

I find I don’t need my instincts, never thought I’d see the day.

I could just roll over, yeah, I could close my eyes,

Cause I don’t have to grasp at glimpses, no, I’ve got my whole life.

I’ll tell anyone who asks,

“Harmony, harmony,” Cassie said, imitating Leo’s accent.

Leo wrapped an arm around her shoulders and put his palm over her mouth. But she was right. The harmony, Logan joining in on the chorus, was exquisite.

I’ll show anyone who wants to see.

Like sea glass, or pebbles found on the beach.

Oh God, look at what I get to keep.

I’ll hold it as long as my breath lasts.

I’ll say it in all the languages they speak.

Like histories or songs sung while out at sea,

Hey Sunshine, what do you say you keep me?

Cassie made a strangled noise before Leo could. She pulled Leo’s hand away from her mouth.

“Sunshine? He just—They just changed the lyrics,” Cassie said. She got her arms around Leo’s waist and shrieked, making everyone in the office look at them. “He changed the lyrics.”

Leo was going to melt into his keyboard. Or cry? No. He was going to love them.

“I see you in the kitchen just before we go to sleep—” Finn gave his head a little, sharp shake, smiling, and when he looked up, Leo saw that he was crying, unable to sing through it. The crowd filled in. I find I don’t need my instincts, you are mine to keep.

Leo touched his lips lightly. Leo wouldn’t forget that sound, the stadium singing for them like that, even through a video. Not ever. He wouldn’t forget the feeling of knowing how much Finn and Logan deserved it. And how much he wanted them to have this. And how sweet is was when Logan played the last note, Finn wrapping an arm around him and pressing a lingering kiss to his temple, and Logan catching Finn’s tears with a gentle hand.

Finn found one of the stadium cameras, touched a hand to his mouth, and held it out.

Oh God, Leo was going to really love them.

Leo could feel the change in the air the moment he stepped of his airplane. Humid, but light. He rolled up the sleeves of his button-down and put his sunglasses on as he stepped into the warm afternoon. He was a little groggy from his flight, but not too bad. He was hungry, though, and in desperate need of a coffee—which he was most certainly in the right place for.

“Mr. Knut?”

Leo turned, pulling his suitcase up to his side. A man was standing there, sleek in a light gray suit and a driver’s cap. He had a neatly tripped gray beard, kind eyes, and a light British accent.

“Yes?” Leo said. “Oh, are you—”

“Mr. Tremblay’s driver, yes. Ralph, it’s a pleasure.” Ralph motioned towards his suitcase. “Might I take care of that for you, sir, on the way to the car?”

“Oh, no, that’s all right,” Leo said. “But thank you. It’s nice enough of him to send you to get me. Very kind.”

“Yes, he was very keen. This way, sir.”

Leo followed him the short distance to the car park, remarking on the weather just because he wasn’t used to being called sir. Ralph was kind about it, offering small talk right back. The car was shiny and black, the windows so dark and opaque that Leo guessed that was why Logan used it. He stored his suitcase and laptop bag and stuttered around Ralph opening his door for him.

“Oh, wow—thanks so much.”

“Of course, sir.”

Leo slid into the smooth, leather seat. The whole car smelled new. There was a water bottle waiting for him in the door side pocket, nestled into a tortoise shell cup holder. Leo took his sunglasses off just as the door shut—

And then someone was grabbing onto his shirt and tugging. An insistent, warm mouth covered his, swallowing Leo’s sound of surprise.

Logan. The warm, pine scent of him. The feeling of canvas when Leo made to touch his hair. The weight of him swinging a leg over Leo’s lap. Callouses on his hands where they smoothed up Leo’s neck.

“Hello,” Leo gasped. “Fuck.”

“Hi.” Logan barely said the word before he was kissing him again. Leo had to let his head rest back against the seat he was so dizzy with it. His mouth probably tasted sour, he was probably sweaty, maybe he even smelled from the plane, but Logan didn’t seem to care.

“Where’s—”

“Sound check,” Logan gasped, and then he had Leo’s bottom lip gently between his teeth, pulling and letting go. “He’ll be at the hotel by the time we get there.”

“You don’t need—your sound checked?”

“I need this.”

From his place on Leo’s lap, Logan put a hand on the ceiling. For a moment, Leo wondered what the hell he was in for in the back of this car, but Logan’s fingers found a button that he pushed and up a partition between them and Ralph began to rise.

“Hotel, sir?” Ralph asked as the sheet rose.

“Merci,” Logan confirmed, and then the partition cut them off in a muffled, tinted-window bubble of their own making and Logan’s hungry green eyes were all Leo was left with.

Their breathing sounded loud to Leo’s ears. He got his first good look at Logan. White t-shirt, black cotton shorts. Green hat, backwards. Tan, gorgeous, just like Leo remembered him, but even more real. A small scratch on his cheek from somewhere. He’d cut himself shaving on his chin, a little red dot. Leo reached up and took off his hat, letting his bangs fall forward in their gentle waves. They were pretty light from all the sunshine.

“Can he…” Leo whispered. “Can Ralph hear us?”

Slowly, Logan shook his head.

Leo reached up and tucked his fingers through Logan’s hair. He could have lived off of the way Logan’s eyes slipped closed. “How long is the drive?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Hm.”

Logan’s smile looked like one of his soft, lulling songs. “What does that mean?”

Leo didn’t answer. He’d been taken by surprise, but that was fading now. All it left behind was want and relief. For now, he was done with the distance and the florescent lights of his office. He was back in Logan’s arms.

Thirty minutes felt like five. Logan’s soft sounds filled him right up as Leo kissed his neck—that was when Ralph’s gentle knock from the driver’s seat came. Leo broke off, startled. His mouth felt puffy—and good. Logan’s warm weight felt like the only thing holding him together.

“Ouais,” Logan called. “One moment.”

As Logan leaned their foreheads together, the world filtered back in. Leo became aware of the sound of a crowd outside, and had to laugh.

“Are we about to be photographed?”

“Probably a little,” Logan said. “It’s okay. You wouldn’t believe how many times Finn and I have had this happen.”

“What, got a little heavy in the car?”

Logan grinned, ducking to kiss Leo again. “Mhm.”

“That’s…” Really hot.

Logan slid off his lap, back to his side. They both spent a moment trying to pull themselves together. Logan would have to get out first, which made Leo feel a little better.

“They’ll bring your bags to the room,” Logan said. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “Ready?”

Hands banged against the windows, making Leo jump. There were some chants of Finn’s name, along with Logan’s, and Leo realized they didn’t know who was in the car. “I—yeah.” The room. “I think so.”

Logan considered him for a moment, then took off his own hat and placed it, bill forward, on Leo’s head.

“Oh,” Leo said. “Do I look—”

“You look how I want you to look. Merde, I want Finn to see you.” Logan grinned. “But it may be a bit much for a photo.”

Leo reached up and touched the hat. It was green and had said the word LOVE on it. That was a story Leo wanted to write. Logan could say a lot with his hats. There were whole twitter accounts dedicated to the way he hinted at future songs or albums with what was on his hat.

LOVE. Leo was wearing the word love.

“I know I shouldn’t hold your hand quite yet,” Logan began, trailing off.

Leo laughed. “That would spark some wild rumors.”

Logan looked at him over the rim of his glasses, the shadow making his green eyes bright. “Stay close to me, okay?” He popped the car door and the sound of the crowd doubled, frenzied, screaming, yearning. “Stay close.”

Leo could hear his own heartbeat. He could feel it in his throat. He did want to hold Logan’s hand. “I will.”

And Leo experienced the cameras and fans from an entirely different view. He’d followed Finn and Logan around. He’d never walked with them, not like this. Not side by side in a way that signaled to everyone he was with them.

He stuck close to Logan’s back, as promised. He caught some curious looks, felt phone cameras trained on him. The sun was bright and he was very glad for Logan’s hat. He tried to take it in, if for nothing further than that this was the biggest crowd he’d ever followed a star through from this close, but it was over in a flash. They were in a cool hotel lobby, marble and stone, and a smiling woman, motioning them to the elevator. Logan’s two security guards got in with them.

The sudden silence was loud. Logan took his sunglasses off, casually folding them into his shirt and leaning back against the wall as they rose.

“Here we go, Tremz,” one of the guards said, fist bumping Logan as he passed him through the open doors. “See you tonight. Remind Finn the dinner res he asked for is at eight-thirty.”

“Thanks, Paul.” Logan looked back from the hallway. “Leo?”

“Sorry,” Leo said and strode forward. “Thanks—Thanks, Paul.”

Paul was a massive guy, but when he smiled he looked like a teddy bear. “You got it, man.”

There was only one door on this hallway, right in front of them with a large brass knocker, and no sooner had the elevator shut than did it swing open to reveal Finn—sweaty, in a soft looking gray t-shirt and running shorts, and grinning.

“Jesus,” Logan said. “You scared me.”

“I heard the ding,” Finn said cheerfully.

He was looking right at Leo. Leo drew Logan’s hat off, trying to catch his breath.

“There were crowds,” Logan said, as if explaining.

“Yeah,” Leo said. “Are you guys famous or something?”

Finn ignored the joke. He walked right up to Leo, wrapped him up in his arms, and held on tight. Leo had maybe been expecting a kiss—probably something a tad more obvious than Logan’s sneak-attack. But the hug was better. Finn was warm. He smelled like sweat and sunscreen from being on stage.

“Hi,” Finn whispered in his ear. He pulled back, holding Leo’s cheek briefly, then gently tweaked a curl of Leo’s blond hair. “Hi, Sunshine.”

Leo covered Finn’s hand, turning his mouth against it. “Hi.”

“Come here,” Finn said, laughing. “Come in.”

“Ouais.” Logan put a hand low on Leo’s back, guiding him through the suite door. “Where’s my surprise?”

“What surprise?” Finn asked as the door shut behind them. Sure enough, Leo’s bags were waiting there, neatly side-by-side near the small kitchen.

“Not till later,” Leo said.

Logan narrowed his eyes. “How later?”

“Tomorrow later.”

Logan huffed.

Finn came up behind him, pressing a small cup into his hand. Espresso.

“Oh, how did you know?” Leo sipped it down easily. Hot and slightly sweet with sugar.

“You’re in Italy,” Finn said. Next he was wrapping an arm around Leo’s waist. “You understand that if it’s a physical surprise, he’s going to dig through your luggage?”

Leo toyed with his delicate espresso cup.“Not if I say not to.”

Finn’s chin hooked over his shoulder. Leo could feel his laugh against his skin. His strong chest against his back. His hips— “You think he’ll listen to you?”

They both regarded Logan, who was still glaring at them—and glancing at Leo’s suitcase.

“I think he will.”

“Hm,” Finn said, and Leo felt a kiss land on his neck. “I think you’re right.” Another kiss to the exact same spot. Over a mark Logan had made? “I see someone has already gotten to you.”

“I was accosted in the car,” Leo said.

“Classic.”

Logan just rolled his eyes and began dragging Leo’s suitcase into another room.

By that night, the fans who didn’t read up on their music stories had already figured out who he was. Leo Knut—last seen on the road writing the coming out piece on Night Swimming. Sure enough, Twitter was full of wearing Lo’s hat wearing Lo’s hat???

“Ooh, you’re so undercover,” Finn commented when he glimpsed Leo’s phone once they were back in the car, speeding through the night on the way to dinner. “They don’t know what’s coming for them.”

Leo clicked his phone off even as Cassie texted nice hat. He looked at Logan, at a purplish bruise Leo had left on his neck. “No, they really don’t.”

Logan covered the mark with his palm and grinned out the window. Leo laughed, looking, too, then paused.

“Hey, are we leaving the city?”

“Yep,” Finn said.

“Where?” Logan asked.

Finn shrugged exaggeratedly. He’d changed into a dark blue button down, light slacks, and pretty brown leather shoes that Leo badly wanted a pair of. He’d pushed a dark green button down towards Logan, dark trousers, and white, pristine sneakers. He’d taken one look at Leo and told him he was perfect, but Leo had showered and changed anyway. Dusty red shirt. He’d followed Finn’s lead and left the collar loose.

Logan kicked at Finn from his seat across from the both of them. Finn just stuck his tongue out and took Leo’s hand across the console between them. Leo stared at it for a moment. Finn’s pale fingers that would be playing a guitar to thousands of people tomorrow were right there wrapped up in his own.

“Where?” Logan insisted.

“Jesus, Lo, can neither of us try and surprise you? I know you found all your presents as a kid, but you’re not finding the ones I give you.” Finn dropped a wink. “I’ll give it to you when I decide.”

Apparently where was a castle. Literally a castle. Soft lights flooded up the old stones to reveal turrets and archways. A man in a tuxedo was waiting for them at the entrance. They were given champagne in thin, airy glasses and leave to roam the lit gardens before their dinner was served. The air was mild, but the feeling of Finn and Logan at his shoulders was better. Finn had something to say about every flower, every piece of architecture, as if he had studied up for this night. They ate dinner under the stars, watching fireflies dart through the greenery.

It wasn’t until they had been served an array of desserts and left truly alone that Leo thought to bring up the article and how they were doing—it was different to ask without a screen between them.

“We’re so good,” Finn said. He looked at Logan, who nodded. Finn wrapped an arm around Logan’s chair, scooting it closer to his. Leo watched him lean into him. His brown eyes flickered to Leo even as his lips brushed Logan’s skin. “Lo?”

“Ouais, I…” Logan gave up on words and tucked his face into Finn’s neck, laughing.

Leo leaned back in his chair, glad the table let him stretch his still plane-cramped legs out under the table. “It’s so nice to see you up there. Really. I can’t wait for tomorrow. You just look so…free.”

“We feel free,” Finn said. “And it’s thanks to you.” He held out a hand across the linen tablecloth and, after a moment, Leo took it. “How are you, Le?”

Leo let out a slow breath, watching the way Finn’s thumb tracked across his knuckles. “I’m…” He laughed a little. “That’s quite a question. Really quite a question.”

Logan laughed, and when Leo realized he was laughing at him, he threw a sugar coated almond at him in a neat arc across the table—which lost all its effect when Logan caught it in his mouth.

“Non, seriously.” Logan leaned more into Finn’s side. “Leo?”

Leo looked around them. They both had a knack for finding these slices of paradise. Though, lately it had been feeling like any where they were was heaven, even his own kitchen.

“Being on tour with you was wonderful,” Leo answered. “And Nice was, of course, perfect. So beautiful…God, this is beautiful.”

“Why am I sensing a but?” Finn asked, brows drawn together. Logan looked downright nervous.

Leo shook his head, bringing his other hand to hold Finn’s as well. “No. Well, yes, but not like that.”

They both looked at him expectantly. Patiently.

“You’ve been sweet in waiting for me. And honest about wanting me.”

“We fumbled and recovered,” Finn said.

“We do want you,” Logan said earnestly.

“Well, I…I hope so,” Leo said softly. Finn’s hand tightened around his.

“Yeah?” Finn whispered.

Leo nodded. Logan couldn’t quite reach with the angle, but he reached for Leo, too, hand on Finn’s wrist.

“It’s been—what? A week and a half of video calls? You know all these glorious places are amazing, but when we’re just sitting around…I mean, when we’re just talking… Or you’re watching me wash dishes, do laundry. And I start to feel like…”

He felt the words well in his throat like tears as he looked between them. He understood Cassie’s hesitation. He understood his own hesitation. He’d been nervous that he’d come back and something would have changed. Like adrenaline leaving the system. But it hadn’t.

“I’ve never not known how to be without someone before,” Leo said. “But you make me feel like I don’t remember how to be alone.”

Finn’s smile was tearful and Leo realized he felt a little like that, too, even as Finn leaned forward and kissed him. It dissolved into a laugh, into kiss to his cheek. A piece of silverware clattered to the ground as Finn tugged Leo’s chair closer and hugged him as best he could.

“Rouge, you’re pulling the table cloth, the table—” Logan’s voice came, laughing. Leo heard his chair scoot back and then there was another pair of arms around Leo’s neck, Logan leaning over the back of his chair. He managed a sloppy kiss to Leo’s mouth, despite the angle.

Leo closed his eyes and held on. He waited for Finn to make him laugh. Or Logan to say something in French. But they stayed quiet, surprising him. He peeked one eye open, only to see that Finn, whose forehead was pressed against Leo’s temple, had his eyes closed, too. Leo didn’t dare move him to try and get at Logan, but the content sigh he felt against his neck was enough to go on for him. Wind whistled through the trees around them, bring the smell of some sweet flower. Leo closed his eyes again and leaned back into Logan’s shoulder and Finn’s arm. It was like a blanket, their quiet. They’d been more serene than he’d expected from the beginning—puzzles, dinner, reading, morning runs. This was something deeper. It was as if something unhappy had finally been able to settle for them, too. The questions were still there. How will this work? What will people think? But they were muted and far off.

They looked up at footsteps on the patio, only to find a surprised waiter holding a pitcher of water.

“Ah,” the waiter said. “Pardon me. Uh…”

“Hi,” Finn said, only lifting his head. “Yeah, we’ll take the check.”

They laughed about it on the car ride home, the waiter’s face. Speeding through dark hills, and then streets still filled with chatter and light. Leo watched out the window as they slowed in narrower streets. It gave him a glimpses of passing faces. Laughing, eating, kissing.

Finn’s hand pressed to his thigh. “Are you composing sentences right now? I think you are.”

Leo looked over at him. “Maybe. And you?”

“I’ve been watching you two write in your heads for the last ten minutes,” Logan said. He’d stretched his legs out so their feet slotted together in the car space between them.

“Well, no one got on my lap, I had to do something to pass the time,” Leo said, squeezing one of Logan’s ankles between his own.

Logan just looked at him with bright eyes. “I don’t want to have to stop.”

Leo let his head fall back against the seat and he put his hand over Finn’s. “You just deal with that every day?”

“All day,” Finn said. “You don’t even want to know the things he says to me before we go on stage.” Finn laughed and scooted over in his seat, pressing right up against Leo’s side. “Actually, you probably do.”

No one was waiting at the hotel this time. There were no bright flashes to catch what Leo was sure was an intense flush on his cheeks. They stayed close in the elevator, their security shaking their heads at how giddy they probably sounded—all that content silence had bubbled into talking over each other and far too loud laughter. Finn fumbled a little with the hotel key, but then they were inside the suite and met with a blast of AC. Finn went to turn it down, but Logan got his hands on Leo’s waist and pulled until Leo had him pinned right up against the side of the entrance hall.

“This is how I first met you,” Leo said, staring down at him. He traced a hand under Logan’s jaw and watched the way he bared his neck for more. “I was so surprised. And you were so beautiful. And also you literally did not stop making out with Finn which was, like, okay then.”

Finn’s laugh reached them. “I asked him that after you left. I was like, how long was he standing there actually? And he wouldn’t tell me.”

“What’d you want, Lo?” Leo whispered, leaning down to kiss him softly. “Me to walk in ready to go right then?”

“Non, I wanted to see if you thought I was hot,” Logan said, then laughed as Leo pulled back to follow Finn’s voice into the living room. He called after him, “And you do!”

Finn had his dress shirt half unbuttoned and his belt in one hand, frowning at something on his phone.

“You okay there difficult rock star?” Leo asked, trying not to stare at his pale chest against the blush color.

Finn looked up, all big brown eyes suddenly—how did he do that? Switch between unbearably hot to unbearably sweet in two seconds—and smiled. “Oh. This isn’t what it looks like.” He gestured to himself with his belt. “I just wanted to change. And yeah, just tomorrow’s call times.”

Call times. Show tomorrow. Leo took a breath. Right. What time was it? Midnight? One? Leo knew they should sleep. He’d seen them on the nights before shows many times now. Logan drank mint tea. Finn read. Unless they had friends at the shows, or family, they tried to get as much sleep as they could. Logan slept in as much as he could. Finn seemed incapable of sleeping in, but he went for a run and he ordered up a big breakfast. God, Leo wanted to make them breakfast again. He wanted the way they sat with him, looked at him, made him coffee.

Leo nodded. He emptied his pockets, setting his phone and wallet on a side table. “I hope it’s not too early? I know your routines the night before a show and this isn’t it. It’s early for me, technically. But it’s late for you.”

Leo’s eyes drew down Finn’s body again. The half-untucked shirt. He was pretty sure those socks he was wearing were the ones advertised on TV offering arch support. Why, why was that hot right now? It was. And maybe Leo wanted the way Finn looked right now to be exactly what it looked like. What then?

Finn was quiet, glancing at Logan as he came into the room and sat on the back of the couch to look at Leo. Finn drew in a slow breath, stretching his arms up and behind his head, so that when he spoke his voice came out tensed like his muscles—which Leo could see more of now, the sharp cut just above his waistline. “I mean, you could…” He grinned, dropping his arms and relaxing. “We could get you on the right time zone.”

Leo bit at the inside of his cheek. That wasn’t exactly the line he’d heard in Finn’s voice during all of his laundry-folding day dreams, but it was so very Finn that it was better.

“What did your team think when you said I’d be staying with you?” Leo glanced up around the room. “I mean, in the same…” Bedroom? “Suite.”

“They’re our team for a reason,” Finn said. “They know what’s their business, and what’s ours.”

Leo raised an eyebrow. “And my being a reporter isn’t their business? I bet at least a few people would disagree with that.”

“You’re not the kind of reporter they worry about,” Logan said. “Unless you suddenly revealed a long-range camera in your suitcase.” He tilted his head teasingly. “That’s not the surprise, is it?”

“No,” Leo laughed. “Definitely not the surprise.”

“And just to be clear,” Finn said. “Because looks like we’re not great on being clear—”

“Room, not suite,” Logan cut in.

“Jeez, way to grab my punchline and yank it out from beneath my feet.” Finn strode closer and put his hand on Logan’s shoulder. “But yes. We were hoping…I mean, there is another room. Two other, in fact, for you to choose from.” He tilted his head. “But I was hoping just your suitcase would be staying there.”

“We,” Logan said, rising from his seat.

“We were hoping.”

Logan stood in front of Leo. He held out his hands palm up, and Leo put his palms into them. Logan gave a gentle tug. When Leo hesitated, worrying the inside of his cheek, it took about half a second for concern to flicker over Logan’s face.

“Le?” he asked gently. “What…What did I do?”

“No, no, no,” Leo said. “Nothing. I want that. I really, really want that. I just…” Leo sighed, cursing himself. The nerves he’d felt while packing sprung back at him. Look at them. Look at them.

“It’s been a while for me,” Leo said softly. “I mean—I mean a while. And you two know each other—so well. I just don’t want…to, like, disappoint, or…”

“Non,” Logan said.

“You couldn’t,” Finn added. “Leo, you couldn’t disappoint us. Like, ever.”

Leo knew that. He did. He even believed it. It didn’t stop the idea that he would from making him want to crawl under the covers and hide.

“I’m looking at two people who know each other inside and out,” Leo said. “And I love that about you two. But—yeah. That’s all.”

Finn and Logan looked at each other. Leo didn’t mind the silent communication ability. He even liked it. It was sweet. In his dreams, he got that ability with them, too. One day.

Finn stepped forward. It wasn’t the stage walk. It was just him. Even in the button-down that Leo now knew to be the softest linen, it was just him. Not all the photos Leo had seen of fans catching him on the street—sunglasses, t-shirt, notebook or coffee…smiling, talking with them, and uncapping Sharpies with his teeth. Leo had looked at the photos from that particular day a lot. A lot. Summer in New York, headed to the recording studio, stooping so a girl could slip a necklace she had made him over his head.

“Okay.” Finn smiled softly. “There’s one thing we can do no matter what. It’s late. We can just get ready for bed and…and then whatever you want.”

Logan nodded. “Whatever you want.”

“We do know each other through and through,” Finn said. He tucked a stray curl behind Leo’s ear, but Leo felt it spring back into place. “Which is why we know how much we want you here.”

Leo shook his head, putting a hand against Finn’s chest. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m just…” Leo looked to Logan. “I…This is like a dream? A really good dream.”

“Leo.” Finn’s voice was overly serious, but Leo caught the spark in his eye. “Were we your celebrity crushes or something?”

Leo’s laugh surprised him, head falling back. “Finn.”

“Aw,” Finn wrapped his arms around Leo’s waist. “I embarrassed him. Look, Lo, we were his celebrity crush.”

“First, I meant because you’re so sweet. And second, I’m pretty sure you could attempt world domination with the number of people who would name you if asked who their crush is,” Leo said.

“Maybe,” Finn replied. “But I only care about one.”

It was the little things, first. Logan left small pools of water all around the sink when he washed his face. He went to Leo’s luggage, and Leo only had time to call out a warning don’t before Logan was pulling out a t-shirt with a delighted laugh. Thankfully, it wasn’t his surprise one…But it was Finn’s.

Leo was brushing his teeth next to Finn O’Hara in Italy, and Logan Tremblay was holding up his HEARTTHROB O’HARA t-shirt with a grin on his face that said it all.

“That was also a surprise,” Leo said around his toothpaste. He groaned, and put a hand over Finn’s delighted eyes as passed him to go rinse his mouth.

When he leaned up from the faucet, Finn was there, rinsing beside him. Leo cleared his throat, laughing a little under the feeling of Finn’s gaze. He tried to escape, honestly he had no idea what to say, but two hands caught his hips and a hard, warm chest met Leo’s back.

They looked at each other in the mirror. The lights were soft and dim, bringing out each of Finn’s freckles. Leo put his hand over where Finn’s rested low on his stomach.

“I’m embarrassed,” Leo said, smiling down at the sink. “It’s stupid, right?”

With a slight pressure to his hip, Finn turned Leo around. Leo rested back against the counter’s edge, and Finn nudged his way to stand between his thighs. He carded Leo’s hair back from his face, the ends damp from washing his face.

“Nothing about you could ever be stupid,” Finn said.

Leo traced the N of his NASA t-shirt, then one of the trails on a shooting star. “You probably see people in that shirt all the time. Probably have signed that shirt a million times.” Leo closed his eyes. “Shit. I’d say I’m not some crazy fan, but younger me was definitely a crazy fan.” He looked up at Finn. “But you know all about crazy fans.”

Finn smiled a little. He barely had to tilt his chin forward at all to brush their mouths together. “I do know a little about that.”

“So maybe the shirt doesn’t even matter?” Leo asked hopefully. Finn’s brown eyes were staring at his mouth—that still had toothpaste on it maybe?

“Everything about you matters,” Finn said, and kissed him.

It brought back the rush of the ocean. The heat of the sun, sitting against those cliffs when Leo had been so confused, so in want. He knew how to hold himself together. God, if there was one thing he was so very good at in this world, it was holding himself together.

“Maybe I’m your crazy fan,” Finn whispered. “I’ve been stalking your writing for long enough.”

Leo laughed. “Mm, that’s true.” He reached up for Finn’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

He didn’t want to hold himself together anymore. He didn’t want to hold back. Nothing he knew even compared to this. Not the fame, not the novelty. This. Worn out t-shirts and getting to have a perfect fit in a legendary love like theirs. These were new muscles, letting himself go, and he’d been straining them with these two. They felt stronger now.

The band of his pajama pants was wet from being pressed back into Logan’s puddles. Finn tasted minty, and with him standing between Leo’s thighs like this, Leo got to tilt his head up into the kiss.

“How do I look?”

They broke apart to see Logan standing in the bathroom doorway. He wore a soft looking pair of gray boxers, and his chest and arms filled out Leo’s t-shirt in a way Leo had never, would never have even thought, to imagine.

While Leo sat there staring, Finn laughed. “That thing looks like it’s about to fall to pieces.”

He wasn’t wrong. There was a hole near the collar, the letters were faded at the edges. But it was so damn soft from years of being washed that Leo couldn’t bare to part with it. He reached up and pushed his fingers through Finn’s hair. That gorgeous red hair. Maybe there was so much more he couldn’t part with now.

“Ouais, me too,” Logan said. Leo didn’t know what he was talking about until he walked forward and reached up for Finn’s hair, completely messing it up. “Everyone’s obsessed with it, but how can you not be?”

Leo laughed as Finn squinted one eye shut but let them have their fun. It was soft and thick, the sorter strands at the sides feathering through Leo’s fingers like velvet.

Finn put a hand on Logan’s chest, tapping over the letters of Leo’s t-shirt. “I always guessed that was why everything they put my name in is red, too.”

“Marketing?” Leo said.

“Yeah.” Finn sighed, shrugged, then smiled. “Le, that shirt really is about to fall apart.”

“I…wear it a lot.”

“Oh yeah? All around the city with my name on your heart?”

Leo bit his lip. It was more than that. It was what he wore when he was sad, or had had a bad day. When he was sick, or exhausted, or angry.

And then, over the past month, that comfort had shifted to them. A bad day at work ended with four hour FaceTimes until Leo was too sleepy to talk anymore and Finn’s soft voice. Goodnight, Sunshine. And when he couldn’t sleep, somehow Logan always knew. The soft light of his phone lighting up his bedroom from his nightstand and never letting him feel alone or sinking or like he would never sleep again.

“Le?” Finn asked softly. His hair was a mess from their hands. His eyes were pure syrup again, asking, checking, worried—loving?

“Hi,” Leo said. “Sorry, hi.” He put a hand on Finn’s cheek and looked at Logan.

Logan tilted his head. “What are you writing right now, Soleil?”

Leo closed his eyes briefly at the nickname, leaning his head back to bask in it. “Dialogue, I guess.”

“Ouais,” Logan said, wrapping an arm around Leo’s waist. It completed the circle of the three of them. “Of?”

“How to ask you to take me to bed,” Leo whispered.

“Yes,” Finn breathed, and then Leo was being kissed.

He’d written a lot of words in his life. It was almost funny to be asked what he was writing right then. He wasn’t even sure this was something that could be written. What did kiss have on what Finn gave him? It was just what Leo remembered. The heated energy from that middle of the night kiss in Nice, only tripled.

“Hey.” Logan’s voice was low. Leo felt fingers tighten in his hair and he gasped, breaking Finn’s kiss long enough to be pulled to another mouth. The ocean and the shade. The shade and the ocean. Finn’s laugh echoed against the bathroom tiles. He was watching them. He had a hand on Leo’s back, and probably Logan’s, and let them kiss.

No, Leo couldn’t have written this down. Logan, pulling him towards the bedroom. Finn flicking off the bathroom light and leaving them in the yellow-pink glow of a reading lamp and the moon.

“I’d raise the sun if I could,” he said. He caught Leo up around the waist again. “Just because it’s dark in here doesn’t mean I want it to be.”

“Finn.” It sounded pleading, but Leo hadn’t meant it that way. Not stop. Not more. Just… “Have some compassion for how full my heart can be right now, O’Hara.”

And then Leo took that famous NASA t-shirt right off of him. The stars and the comet trails, they were still there. Finn’s torso was its own sky map and Leo, wondering what Finn liked, bent to kiss a trail of his own along one thin collarbone.

What words existed for the feeling of Finn chest rising and falling against his mouth.

What words could Leo have used to describe the smile Logan gave him as he let Leo pull his t-shirt off of him next? All Leo could comprehend was the sheer strength of his arms and the dark trail of hair that led down into his boxers.

There were no hesitations, like Leo had thought there would be. The pauses were woven in, just turns and folds and lifts like pages. Yes? This? Grins and breaths and—Logan’s sounds. Logan. Logan knew what he wanted. Finn knew what Logan wanted. Leo, very quickly, knew what Logan wanted and shared a slightly dazed grin with Finn about it. He got to watch Finn’s practiced fingers, and see how much Finn enjoyed giving Logan everything he could possibly desire. It was as sweet as it was unbearably hot. Finn looked so pale against Logan’s tanned skin. Marble. That was a word Leo had used before, but it applied. Jesus Christ, it applied.

What did grip have on the way Logan clutched at Leo’s shoulders when they were at last as close as anything could be, his thighs shaking against Leo’s. Bliss, certainly, was nothing compared to the look on Logan’s face when Finn’s hand pressed over the strong curve of his adam’s apple and asked him how he liked it, told him they looked gorgeous. Throbbing held nothing to the way Leo’s heart pounded, and more than nothing to how close those words brought him to the edge. Rhythm. That’s what Logan had. Leo set his hands against the small of his back—two dimples there, made for Leo’s thumbs—and held on.

“Mm—” Logan’s breath came out short and he froze, mouth open against Leo’s neck. His back was slick with sweat now. Finn sat back on his heels just beside them, working himself slowly.

“What you waiting for, baby?” Finn breathed. He’d not been moving much, but there was a sheen over his nose and temples, too. Just from watching. Now, he shifted behind Leo and wrapped his arms around his waist, nuzzling under his jaw.

Leo reached between them and Logan muffled his sound in Leo’s neck. Logan hadn’t been warm from the second he met him, but oh, he was warm now. Burning in Leo’s hands, against Leo’s body.

“I just want it to last,” Logan said shakily, but he was moving again, like he couldn’t help it. “You’re leaving in two days.” Logan wrapped his arms fully around Leo’s shoulders. “Don’t.”

“Don’t even know how—” Leo’s eyes slipped shut and he tried to breathe through the mix of white hot pleasure and blue tenderness pulsing through him. “How to think about leaving.” He smoothed his hands up Logan’s back, feeling the way it flexed as Logan moved against him.

“Ouais,” Logan said, a smile slipping across his face. He pulled back, his breathing jumping as their hips shifted. He kissed Leo hard, then cursed softly and let his head fall back. “Fuck…Leo…”

With his hair falling back and out of his eyes like that, Leo’s language left him entirely. He’d seen him like this on stage, lost in the music. He’d watched from the VIP booth, from the wings. Logan was closer to him than Finn was, always staying in one place. He’d seen the lights catch his every angle as he threw his head back, sweat dampening his dark hair, and played with everything he had. Tonight, Leo felt like theirs in that same way.

The sheets were kicked towards the end of the bed, or pooled on the floor. Leo’s head was on Finn’s chest, Logan’s forehead pressed to the top of his spine. Leo couldn’t stop touching them. He trailed his fingertips down Finn’s chest and watched goosebumps follow in their wake. Logan had a thigh thrown over his hip and Leo stroked the unbearably soft skin behind his knee. He dipped his thumb in the divot below Finn’s bottom lip.

Finn smiled sleepily, his eyes closed. His eyelashes were dark just now. In certain lights they tinged lighter, like his hair. “You’re ticklish.”

“You’re soft,” Leo replied.

“Is he asleep?” Finn whispered.

“Non,” came Logan’s voice, though he sounded part of the way there.

“I’m not kidding.” Leo reached back to hold Logan’s hip. “I’m getting up if I start keeping you awake with my tossing around.”

That was a lie. There was nothing that could haul Leo out of where he was right now.

“Nu-uh.” Finn kissed Leo’s temple. “No tossing. Not with the weighted blanket I have.”

“You travel with a weighted blanket?” Leo asked skeptically.

Finn reached out and picked up Logan’s hand, kissing his knuckles. “Sure do.”

“Oh,” Leo laughed.

“One-hundred percent effective, I promise.”

When Finn turned the lights off, it sent the room into near complete darkness and so Leo could do nothing but feel, in every nerve, and expanse of exposed skin, the way Logan nudged his nose into the soft hair at his nape, and the way Finn rolled onto his side to hold them both.

“Show tomorrow,” Finn whispered. “You ready?”

Leo smiled. “Do I have to be ready? I think that’s supposed my question to you two.”

“You have to be ready,” Finn placed a kiss to his neck. “It’s a Leo show.”

#Write Me In lumosinlove #o'knutzy #lelo #sunfish #finnlo #Logan tremblay #Leo knut #finn o'hara #band au

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milunalupin · 21 hours

Text

— someone you loved

regulus black x potter!reader ★ 1k words

You had lost yet another game of Exploding Snap to your older brother, who always celebrated by throwing the cards like confetti all over the living room and telling you to clean up. He'd never admit it, but you knew he would charm only your cards to explode.

"You're a prat, you know that Jamie?" you huffed as he ignored you and skipped up to his room, leaving you to crawl around to clean up his mess. Most nights were spent like this during the summer between terms, with either yours or your brother's friends joining you regularly.

As you were picking up the last card, a cloud of green smoke blew from the fireplace, Sirius Black landing onto the carpet. You would of thought he was dead if it wasn't for his twitching body gasping for air. You stood on shaky legs as you screamed for your brother, eyes unable to leave the bleeding body before you.

In seconds James was down the stairs, pushing you out of the way to get to his best friend, shaking his bruised shoulder with tears in his eyes. Your parents come down just after him, your mother helping tend to Sirius while your father went into the kitchen to make the boy something to eat.

Your blurred vision went back to the fireplace. You knew what went on at 12 Grimmauld Place, James and Sirius had told you. He had told you, in nonchalance as if it was something that happened in every family. The abuse, both verbal and physical. The constant pressure to live up to the impossible expectations of The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.

"Y/N what are you doing, help him!" your brother screamed at you, his voice raw from crying as he held Sirius' head in his lap, his own hot tears running down his pale face.

"Where's Regulus?"

James stared at you in bewilderment. How could you think of Regulus when his best friend could be dying in his arms right now? His eyes shot back down as Sirius whimpered in pain as his mother applied a healing tonic to a particularly sensitive area on his leg.

"Sirius, where's Regulus?" your voice came out desperate, taking cautious steps towards the elder Black.

"Are you stupid Y/N? Sirius needs help!"

Your mother quietly scolds him as you held the older Black's gaze. His sad eyes told you everything you needed to know. Regulus Black was not coming to Godric's Hollow that night.

The start of fourth year was different. Sirius had moved into your house, so he and your brother were closer than ever. There was a time that the two of you were just as close as James and Sirius, when it was easier to sneak to the furthest corner of the library to do each other's homework and share poetry. You were each other's best friends, and a much needed escape from your siblings. Some days it even felt there was more than friendship between the two of you. But Regulus has begun distancing himself over the past few years, and now it was like he never existed.

Something terrible had happened that night. Regulus won't dare look over at you, and James had even forbidden you from speaking of him, especially whenever Sirius was around. No one was telling you anything and it was starting to get on your nerves.

The annual sorting ceremony had come to an end, everyone digging into the delicious feast the elves had prepared. You however, could only push the food around your plate as you stared at the Slytherin table, your brows pinched together. You had noticed that they had begun missing classes as a group, slowly pulling away from the rest of the students. As soon as you saw your old friend get up and walk out of the Great Hall, you too dismissed yourself from the table and rushed to follow him.

He must've known you were trying to speak to him, picking up the pace and making quick turns into empty corridors. You huffed and hurried to catch up, finally reaching him and tugging on the sleeve of his robe so he'd turn around. Although you two were no longer in contact, Regulus had never acted negatively towards you in class, which gave you hope that at least a friendship was still possible.

"Reggie, hey."

His eyes narrowed at you, his fists tightening around the strap of his bookbag. You sigh, tongue in cheek as you looked him over.

"I just want to understand what's going on Regulus, you know you can trust me."

"Trust you? You left me when I needed you the most, you and Sirius. I don't know what I went thinking when we met on the train years ago, keeping you close. Sirius was always better in every way, I know that. I'll never be enough for him, for my family, for you... and I'm tired. But I can't just live on being his replacement, second best. I can prove I am worthy of more, and I can't do that with people like you hanging around."

"Reg, you've never been second best to me. Can we please just have a civil conversation about this? You're my best friend and I love–"

"Sod off, Potter." he spat. "And Salazar, stop with the tears, you're not a child. I don't want anything to do with you, try to get that through your thick skull."

"Fuck you Regulus Black."

You turned and left for your room, your eyes stinging as you pressed the heel of your palms into them, trying to stop the tears from escaping. No amount of curses and hexes could hurt him as much as it did you watch you cry because of him and walk away for the last time.

Once in the privacy of his own room, Regulus curled up in bed with hot tears running down his face. The moving picture of you two in first year stayed tucked into his pillowcase where it's always been, because nothing could keep his nightmares away but you.

#marauders #marauders era #marauders x reader #regulus black #regulus x reader #regulus black x reader #sirius black #james potter

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frannyzooey · 11 hours

Text

In The Dark: One Shot

Series Masterlist

Ezra x m!reader

Rating: E (filth and yearning, my friends)

Summary: Six weeks after Birdie has left, a glimpse into how Ezra tries to forget.

A/N: all the thanks to my bestie in crime, @the-scandalorian who said “when will this freak be in MY sheets” and she was so real for that ❤️

It’s been over a month, and the wound is still raw.

He’s tried to keep busy in so many ways: driving further for deliveries, taking on harder jobs that tire him out, seeking out his friends for a few drinks or a movie or dinner. Anything to keep him from reaching for his phone to text you or call you.

Distractions, which is what he needs tonight.

The itch to grab his phone is strong, so he grabs his keys instead. Stuffs his wallet in his back pocket, some condoms in the front. Steps out into the dusk and with a quick, restless stride, makes his way towards the nearest station. The train is crowded, not unusual for a Friday night and so are the streets when he gets off: streams of pairs, of groups, of single people like him all headed their way somewhere.

A thought pops into his mind, the way you used to wonder aloud where everyone was going. You used to watch them from your window, the steam from the tea clutched in your hands curling into the air, and for a brief, painful moment, he sees it. Your profile, your cheeks stretched with a grin, your hand patting the cushion next to you, beckoning him closer. In nothing but a tank top and your underwear, you’re a vision – a literal one that he shakes free as he opens the door to the bar.

It’s loud, but that’s good.

It doesn’t take him long to find someone. He’s never one to be shy about looking at someone with blatant want, and it takes only a few minutes before the man approaches him. It’s only been men since you left. He can’t bear the touch of another woman, with all their softness and sweetness and curves. He needs a hardness that matches his own: rough kisses, harsh grips.

Ezra orders the man a beer to match the one he’s finishing off, and they talk for a while, leaning on the bar. He’s a drummer in a band, here to see his friend play. He’s got intricate tattoos that run the length of his arms, molding to the sinewy muscles. He’s got eyes so rich with depth that Ezra finds himself drawn in the longer they talk, empty bottles being replaced with fresh, full ones.

He’s not you, and that’s perfect.

A bundle of cash is thrown down on the countertop, and Ezra follows the man out of the bar, letting him guide him back to his place, just around the corner. The apartment is sparse in the way men’s often are. A couch, a coffee table, a couple of pieces of art on otherwise bare walls. Not as many books as Ezra would like to see, but that’s okay. He’s not here for intellectually stimulating conversation.

He’s here to fuck.

He’s here to forget the fact that he would rather be in someone else’s apartment, surrounded by their stacks of books, among other things that made it feel so cozy and lived in. So warm, just like the cloud of your bed, or the cradle of your thighs or –

“You want a drink?” the man offers, standing next to his open fridge.

Ezra shakes his head, coming closer. He reaches out, gently pushing the door shut.

“No,” he replies. “Just you.”

—

The man’s bed is nothing like yours, but that’s okay.

The sheets aren’t as soft and it doesn’t smell as sweet, but it does have a willing body with a tight hole and that’s all that matters right now. Something to turn his brain off for the night, to numb the deep ache that’s settled between his ribs.

He aches now, but in a different way. A sweet, heavy ache deep in his balls as he tries not to come in the tight, wet fist of this man’s ass. The stranger is on his hands and knees, his back arched to take every one of Ezra’s rough thrusts, rocking back to meet every snap of his hips. His groans are deep and loud, his hands clenched in the plain sheets stretched over his mattress and Ezra runs a hand down his spine, his fingers splayed over his lower back.

Tattoos extend all the way up to his shoulders and wrap around his ribcage. His body is gorgeous – all lean muscles and smooth skin; Ezra’s touch fits between his ribs along his sides as he bends forward to tug the man up.

The stranger molds his back to Ezra’s front, and Ezra keeps a hand cradled at the base of his throat and fucks him harder, letting out his low, labored grunts into the nape of his sweat damp neck. His body is hard against Ezra’s, nothing like yours. When Ezra’s arm wraps around his front, he feels firm, flat planes instead of lush, weighted breasts. When his hand smoothes down the man’s torso, he feels a flat belly covered in scattered hair instead of plush, rounded softness. When Ezra’s hand dips lower, it wraps around a thick, stiff cock instead of finding a seam of wet, slick warmth.

The man’s hand joins Ezra’s, the two of them pumping his cock in time with the beat of Ezra’s hips. Ezra wants something slicker, something to make the drag better, and he lets go, bringing his hand up to the man’s mouth. The man opens, sucking Ezra’s fingers in down to the knuckle, and they groan together, Ezra’s cock jerking inside. Ezra can feel the vibration of his hum around the thick digits and pulls them out of his mouth, bringing them back down to the man’s cock.

“Fuck,” he groans when Ezra wraps him with a firm, slick hold, jerking him root to tip. He adds a slight twist to the motion, something he loves to do to himself, and when the man’s broad frames melt against Ezra’s, he grins. He pumps his fist faster, feeling the man clench around his cock, and when the man’s groans start to get louder, Ezra’s pace picks up.

Sweat beads along his neck, and Ezra licks it up with a flat lave of his tongue. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” Ezra croons in his ear.

When the man doesn’t answer, Ezra scrapes his teeth along the corded muscle, biting down.

“Yes! Yes, fuck yes, it feels good. Jesus Christ. Fuck me.”

The man is near babbling, his cock thickening in Ezra’s hold, beads of pre-come leaking steadily from the thick, rounded tip and Ezra swipes through the pearly mess, bringing his hand to his mouth. He sucks the sticky slick off the pad of his fingers, and lets out a lewd, deep groan into the man’s ear. The man whimpers, letting his head tip back against Ezra’s shoulder.

Ezra’s got him cradled on his lap, his hand back on the man’s cock to finish him off, and when he starts to come with a shout and a steady stream of thick cum seeping through Ezra’s fingers, he digs his fingers into Ezra’s thighs, forcing himself down on Ezra’s lap to bury him as deep as he’ll get.

Ezra’s chest is heaving, his body aching with the need to come, every muscle strung as tight as the hold he has on the man’s hair. He’s rough with him: pushing him forward on his hands and knees, digging into his hips with a harsh grip, pounding into the curve of his ass hard enough to bruise. His fingers dig into the crown of the man’s hair with a tug, and Ezra closes his eyes, teetering on the edge of his own release.

The curve of your plush ass, the dig of your tiny fingers, the weight of your smaller frame enveloped by his. Your softer moans, the scent of your shampoo and your skin and the touch of your hair when he buries his face in it and the slick, tight warmth of your cunt or your ass as his hips jerk upwards –

And then he comes, burying himself deep.

He drops forward, catching his breath for a moment, resting his hands on the bed as his cheek rests on the man’s shoulder, and when he eases himself out, he feels slightly smug at the hiss he hears him let out.

“That was…a lot. Fuck, man,” the stranger laughs, breathless and sated. He drops down onto the bed, splaying out. His fingers dance along his tattooed stomach while he watches appreciatively as Ezra stands, tugging the condom off and knotting it.

“The bathroom is over there.” The man waves his hand in the direction of the hallway.

In the tiny room, Ezra washes his hands and stares at himself in the mirror. He looks tired, even with his cheeks flushed with heat.

His balls are empty, but so is everything else.

He doesn’t stay long after that. A quick press to the man’s lips at his front door, a half-hearted promise to see him again sometime. He knows he probably won’t.

He feels tired on his walk back home, his limbs drained of their restless energy, which is what he wanted – so he isn’t sure why he feels so..unsatisfied. Like he didn’t just fuck someone until they both finished. He wonders briefly if you’ve fucked anyone since you’ve been gone, and he immediately rebels against the thought…even though he knows he doesn’t have any right to.

He just did, didn’t he?

He wonders if you miss him like he misses you. If your world is tinted in Ezra-colored glasses like his is tinted in yours. If you also lay awake at night, staring at your face-down phone on your night stand, willing it to light with a text.

He said he would give you time and space and he meant that. Christ, he did. He wouldn’t even be mad if you went out and had fun and fucked someone because that’s what he wants for you – to be young, to embrace this opportunity, to have those experiences.

He just wishes it was still with him.

Letting himself in the front door, he heads straight for the shower. Stripping his clothes, he stands under the steaming pressure, dropping his head between his shoulders. He lets the steady stream beat down on his back, washing the sweat of someone else off his skin.

He sees a flash of your open mouth moaning in pleasure, your skin sliding against the shower tiles, and frustrated, he slams the water off. His cock comes to life, half hard between his thighs, and he ignores it, toweling off.

Pulling on sweats, he should be tired enough to sleep after a fuck like that, but he heads in the direction of the living room instead, grabbing a beer on the way there. Slumping into the couch, he clicks the TV on. He pulls up his phone, swiping open the weather app.

LONDON: 46F / 7C, 3AM

The bright light of the TV illuminates his profile, and he sighs, setting the phone down.

Are you in your bed? In someone else’s?

Hoping you’re safe, he slouches into the cushions and settles in for a sleepless night.

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x reader #ezra/you #ezra/reader

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turtlecleric · 1 day

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Future Leo aka Leon time babeyyyy; NSFW with juuust a splash of angst.... juuuuuust a smidge... don't worry about it. :)

I think this is technically a part two but you don't necessarily have to read part one to know what's going on. Part one!

CWs (spoilers, as always): misunderstanding, dub con? Ummmm bad ending??

Leon had thought it would be… better, somehow, once his younger self finally made a move. He'd thought that it would be enough, that he would be satisfied, knowing you were happy.

He was wrong.

His room is far too close to Leo's. He can hear every pretty little noise you make in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep, and it drives him crazy.

He can't help comparing what he hears to what he remembers. He knows Leo is young. Inexperienced. But- but Leon could do so much better. He's always been insatiable, but listening to you moan down the hall, and remembering the way he used to make your legs shake, and imagining the way your eyes might roll back as you come on his cock - if you'd just let him show you how much better he could be - it has him dropping into his hand almost every night.

He knows it's just a fantasy, imagining himself with you again. You're with Leo, not him - and that's the way it should be. He didn't come back to the past to get a second chance with you or to take happiness away from his younger self. He came to help stop the invasion, and that's exactly what he did. This is his happy ending. He shouldn't wish for more.

And yet-

Leon breathes in slowly. Deeply. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol and strawberry flavoring. A few untouched jello shots still sit on the little table in front of the couch, but there are far more empty shots littering the living room. He shouldn't be staring, but with everyone passed out, he can't find a good enough reason to stop himself.

You're leaning on the arm of the couch, with your head tilted at an odd angle. That's going to give you a hell of a crick if you stay like that. Sleeping half-sitting up can't be comfortable. And you're still dressed in those clothes… they don't look comfortable, either. Much too tight. Not breathable. He has lots of big shirts he could loan you. Soft ones that would probably fit you like nightgowns.

His chest feels tight, but there's no time to think about what that means. You're not comfortable, and he can fix it. There's only one right answer here.

You melt into him when he picks you up, and a little sigh flows out of you. He knows you're practically catatonic, but the way you nuzzle your head against his plastron, like this is where you belong - it makes that tight feeling in his chest twist into something piercing and heavy.

He ignores it. Carries you to Leo's room and carefully lays you on the bed. After a quick trip to his own subway car, Leon returns with a plain blue t-shirt and hovers for a moment, rubbing the fabric between his fingers and watching you sleep as he considers his options.

He knows you'd like wearing it. It’s that texture that you love - all of his shirts are - but he doesn't want to disturb your rest, either. He sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed, and whispers your name. You don't respond, and your eyes stay closed. He says your name a little louder, but it isn't until he brushes his knuckles across your cheek that a raspy hum eases out of you.

“You wanna change into something more comfortable?” he murmurs, his knuckles sweeping feather-light over the skin just beneath your lashes.

You take a deep breath, whining in the back of your throat on the exhale as your face scrunches up in a pout. It's so cute, and it's so you, and the piercing feeling stabs a little deeper. He has to swallow down the affection that bubbles up in his chest.

“Come on, you'll feel better once you've changed.” He takes your hand and holds the shirt against it. “See?”

Your fingers close around the shirt, your face relaxing at the texture. You mumble something incoherent in response, and Leon chuckles and pats your arm.

“I know. Now get dressed.”

A grumpy sound slips out of your throat, but you do start to move your hands, so Leon nods to himself and stands. He'll check on you later, he thinks, to make sure you actually changed and didn't fall asleep as soon as he left.

“Wait,” you croak, and he pauses, turning back to see your shorts pulled low on your hips. His eyes go a little wide, seeing the lacy blue underwear that peeks out from the top.

“Can't-” a frustrated huff “-will you help?”

Will he help? That's- that is- not appropriate for him to-

“Please?”

Fuck. Fuck.

Leon swallows, hesitating near the doorway and staring between the peek of blue and your pleading face. He should leave.

But your eyes are open. You see that it's him. If you're okay with it… honestly, you asked him to help you. Right?

…Right.

He turns. Walks back to the bed. Hovers, standing over you and watching as you try and fail to pull your shorts down. He feels his heart hammering against his plastron, banging against it like it's trying to escape. He wonders if it's trying to get closer to you or farther away.

He really, really can't tell.

His hands move the next time you whine in frustration. Shaky fingers unbutton the shorts and grip the sides before pulling them down, and fuck fuck fuck. Your scent intensifies and hits him like a punch to the jaw. He wants to-

You're trusting him here. It's not your fault that he's… feeling like this. You need help, that's all. And he's here to help you.

That's all.

You move suddenly, pulling the bottom of your shirt up, and the moment he sees your matching blue bra he forgets how to breathe. You try to shimmy out of your shirt, but you're too uncoordinated and it gets stuck on your head. For a long moment, he's frozen. Watching your body squirm weakly and your chest rise and fall and your skin glow under the soft blue LED lights of the room.

You say something else that he doesn't understand. He's still not breathing when he reaches down to help you pull the shirt all the way off. It's stupidly easy to do, which reminds him that you are so very drunk right now.

Okay. Okay. Focus.

Leon reaches for his shirt, maneuvering it in his hands so that it'll be easier to pull over your head, but then you start to arch your back and reach behind you and- you're taking your bra off.

He drops the shirt, his hands flying forward to press down on your arms so you don't have the room to keep going. “What are you doing?!”

“Can't sleep with…” You blink, squinting at him like he's the one doing something strange. “Uncomfy.”

He stares down at you, incredulous, his mouth hanging open. You arch again, trying to undo the clasps, and he yanks his hands back and turns away. Jesus Christ. You're way too comfortable with him right n-

“Hey.”

Stupidly, so, so stupidly, he turns to look at you. Your chest is bare, and you're reaching for him.

You're reaching for him.

How could you not get your shirt off by yourself but somehow manage to get your bra off?

Focus. Focus. Breathe. Actually, don't breathe, that makes it worse. Get the shirt. Where the fuck is the shirt? He dropped it. Okay, just pick up the shirt and-

“C'mere,” you murmur, your hands brushing against him as he bends down. It's like an electric shock when you touch him, and he can't help but move where you want him to, like his soul is on a leash that only you can tug on. Your hands cup his face, pulling him closer, and god, you smell so good, and you're so beautiful, and your lips are so soft. You taste just like he remembers, here. He lets you pull him even closer, the room blurring around him as he climbs on top of you.

This is- he shouldn't-

You make a soft sound against his lips. His hands grip your sides, sliding up and down. Another soft sound, and it’s like a balm to the ache in his chest. It sounds like everything he's wanted for years, everything he's wanted since you-

You bite his bottom lip, gently pulling it with your teeth. Your eyes are closed, but he can still see the mischief that used to dance in them. You kiss him again, and again, and he lets you. Over and over and over, he lets you, and he kisses you back, and he ignores the alarm bells in his head.

“Take care of me?” you whisper, and how could he say no? How could he do anything but what you've asked him to do? He would do anything for you. Anything at all, if you asked.

“Of course, pretty thing.” The nickname slips out without his permission, but you smile when he says it, so that must mean it's okay. He kisses you again, slow and languid, and churrs when you sigh happily.

You asked, he reminds himself, shoving the alarm bells away. You asked.

He uses his metal arm to hold himself up and pulls back, watching you. Your eyes are barely open, but they flutter all the way closed when he uses his flesh arm to cup your breast, rubbing his thumb across your nipple.

There it is. That pretty little sound he's been hearing late at night. A breathy, high-pitched thing that he only wants to hear more of. Leon leans down, taking your other nipple between his lips and sucking gently. After a few moments, your legs come up, settling on either side of him, and he shifts down to press his nose to your panties.

“Smell so fucking good,” he groans, licking the fabric that covers you. It's unreal how good you smell, and when he pulls your panties to the side and licks another stripe, the broken “please” that comes out of you removes all conscious thought from his brain.

You taste so good. Make such pretty sounds. Grind against his face just like he remembers. His tongue slides inside of you easily, and it's far too soon before you start babbling like you always do when you're close.

He drops the moment you come, but he needs you to come again. Needs it. He pulls back just long enough to remove your panties, then loses all sense of time, loses himself in your scent and your taste until you come a second time. Only then does he finally pull his own pants down and line himself up.

You take his cock all at once, despite his size, and an involuntary growl vibrates in his chest when he's fully seated inside you. You feel so fucking good, just like always, always so good for him. Taking him like you were made for it. Wet and tight and warm, making those breathy little whines, and fuck, fuck, he missed you. He missed you so much.

He presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing in quick little circles while he fucks you into the mattress. He can't make himself slow down, but you're taking it so well, so well, just like always. There's nothing but you and him and this, nothing but the way you feel around him and the fireworks exploding in his mind. You're so fucking perfect, in every way, and you're everywhere and everything, and he can't-

Somehow he manages to hold out until you come again, but the moment you do he's spilling inside you, trying to press even deeper. Gripping your hips like you'll disappear if he lets go. Kissing you again and again, like he can only breathe if his mouth is against yours.

Slowly, his brain puts itself back in his skull. Breathing hard, pressing his forehead to yours, he waits until his cock fully retracts on its own before he pulls away from you. Your skin is flushed, a dreamy expression on your face. He leans down and kisses your nose, and the content hum you make is almost enough to keep the rapidly approaching wall of guilt from crushing him.

He… shouldn't have done this. You shouldn't have done this. What about L-

“Oh my god,” you whisper, your words slurring and raspy. “That was… incredible.”

You sound almost surprised, but more importantly you sound exhausted. He sighs, forcing his thoughts away and pressing another kiss to your forehead, then looks around the room. It's less than a minute before he finds Leo's stash and starts to clean you up. You've gone boneless on the bed, and you let him clean you without protest, let him slip his shirt over your head and pull your panties back on. Once that's done and he gets you under the covers, you look like you're on the very edge of sleep.

He kisses your forehead once more. Then again, just because he finally can. They'll need to talk about things in the morning, when everyone is fully awake and sober, but for now you just need-

“Thanks,” you say, so soft and quiet that he almost misses it. “Love you, Leo.”

Leon freezes. His blood turns to ice, waves of growing horror rushing through his veins as he processes what you just said.

Leo. Leo.

You thought he was-

He staggers away from the bed, watching you fall into an easy sleep with wide eyes.

No. No, no, no, no, no. He thought you- he thought-

No.

Tag list: @yorshie @khayalli @thejudiciousneurotic @justalotoffanfiction @luckycharms1701 @mxalmighty @shakeyourtrees @silverwatergalaxy @thelaundrybitch

#turtlecleric scrolls #rise!leo #yes I'm ending it there no I'm not currently planning on writing more

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warping-realities · 12 hours

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Beautiful Things

Hey, everyone! This story is part of the Viral Transformation funfarre proposed by the one and only @occamstfs, in celebration of hitting 2K followers! Congrats, bro, you totally deserve it. He’s one of our top authors and never fails to bring the best stories.

Before I dive in, I gotta give you a heads-up that this is a story about corruption, where good people turn into the worst kind of folks. If that’s a sensitive topic for you, I’d recommend not moving forward. Trust me, in the original project, things were way worse, but after chatting with the MAN himself, who helped me with some edits, I softened the tone of the story a bit. If you’re interested in the original version, I can post it later, but this is the final cut.

That said, I hope you all enjoy it and join me in celebrating this awesome author!"

Alois was strolling mindlessly in the morning towards the student exchange center in Seattle, where a bunch of fresh-off-the-boat students from all over the world were gathering for the adaptation phase of their exchange semester. The eighteen-year-old Austrian was loving the experience of taking a gap year before diving back into his studies in Vienna, where he planned to become a doctor. As he walked down the busy street, on what should be the only sunny day of the year, he spotted one of those types he had seen around the city. They were all buff and tall, with wavy, well-groomed hair, and the big ol' mustache that defined them, giving off the vibe of some douchebag brotherhood or whatever. This one in particular was jamming out to music on headphones that looked straight outta the nineties, just like his outfit, which consisted of Levi’s jeans, a white tee, a dark jacket, and combat boots. The whole look cranked the douche factor up to eleven, making Alois's heart race a bit as a shiver of attraction ran through him. When the guy passed by Alois, he shot a look at the smaller red-headed man, dripped with arrogance while a smirk played at the corners of his lips, like he knew some secret that Alois was clueless about. To make things worse, the music blaring from his headphones was so loud that Alois couldn’t help but catch a snippet.

“Please, staaaayyyy…”

That stupid song again. At first, Alois thought it was kinda interesting, despite all the religious preaching in it, which rubbed the young atheist the wrong way. What he didn’t realize was that the singer was all about filming a lot of TikTok videos to promote his work, videos that inevitably flooded the social media feeds of a gay dude with an unfounded attraction to that type of guy. A type that seemed to be multiplying on the streets of Seattle every damn day. Sure, Benson Boone was from Monroe, just a few miles away, but still… Maybe he was looking at things from the wrong angle, maybe it was the singer who was cashing in on the style of the group he and his fellow exchange students had dubbed the Mustache Gang.

The fact is, after several months, the hype around the song should’ve died but apparently that was still far from happening. Trying to leave the discomfort aside Alois headed to the coffee shop that had quickly become his favorite spot during his short stay in the city. As he walked along, head down like most introverts do, he got lost in thought about what kind of work the exchange agency would hook him up with, until his daydreaming was interrupted when those familiar chords hit his ears again.

“I want you, I need you, oh God…”

But this time, someone had slapped a cheerful electronic beat onto the song, which not only butchered it but also made it even more annoying. Looking for the source of that cacophony, he lifted his head and glanced to the side. He could’ve sworn he saw a chubby dude coming his way, but now there was no sign of him, just another one of those big-mustached douchebags strutting around with the swag all of them seemed to have, along with the usual cocky grin. Dressed in a white tank that showed off his defined arms and hairy chest. There was no one else close to Alois on the street at that moment, which was a blessing, since his dick was starting to stir at that sight. But that also freaked him out. Where the hell did that damn music come from? Was he seriously imagining things now?

Distracted and worried about his sanity, he stepped into the coffee shop. At that moment, the place was almost empty; there was just an old dude, well past his prime, fiddling with his phone, looking like he was in a bad mood while he seemed to be listening to something that deeply disgusted him through the giant headphones he was wearing. Apparently, the use of those things was a trend around there.

Passing by the old guy, Alois headed to the counter and ordered his usual coffee with cream and sugar. As he made his way back to the exit, still freaking out about his mental state, disaster struck. Clumsy as ever, he tripped and faceplanted on the floor, coffee spilling everywhere and staining a good chunk of his clothes.

“Alois, du bist dumm…”

He said stunned in embarrassment, as he turned to the side, starting to get up. His view landed on black combat boots that ended in large calves covered in denim, leading up to thighs as thick as they come. But the old man was wearing a suit, no? Clearly not, since the Levi’s pants had been replaced by a black hoodie that concealed a massive chest, which the sleeves were stretched to the limit by powerful biceps. The grand torso gave way to a handsome face framed by wavy brown hair, and right in the center, the ever-present slick mustache that even the guy’s prescription glasses couldn’t diminish the douchebag effect. With his eyes closed and a focused expression, he didn’t even seem to notice what just happened right next to him.

But Alois couldn’t help but wonder, where the hell did that old guy go? While trying to figure out when the old dude left the shop and the Mustache Gang member took his spot at the table, the man seemed to wake up. Smiling and fixing his hair, he finally noticed that a kid was trying to get up from a puddle of coffee right next to him.

“Need a hand, little bro?” he asked, though not with a genuinely empathetic expression; on the contrary, the grin he shot at Alois did little to hide how much he found the situation hilarious.

“No, I’m good, thanks!” Alois replied, finishing getting up and bolting out of the shop as the guy burst into loud laughter behind him. Apparently, this dude wasn’t just rocking the look of a douchebag. Rushing to wipe the coffee off his hoodie, Alois continued his march to his destination. Luckily, no other mortifying events unfolded along the way. Upon entering the classroom, he passed by Charles, a French dude with long blonde hair and delicate features, who was checking something on his iPad while also rocking a pair of those old-school headphones. Not wanting to disturb his classmate, he didn’t say hi and headed further back in the room, where bis friends Arjun and Qian, hailing from India and Taiwan respectively, were hanging out. As he passed Charles, he heard that stylized version of Benson Boone’s song again.

“I found my mind, I'm feelin' sane

It's been a while, but I'm finding my faith…”

Apparently, he wasn’t going crazy after all. He quickly turned towards the source of the music only to find one of those big-mustached douchebags and no music font at all. But he could’ve sworn that… wasn’t there another person there? A kid with long, well-kept blonde hair? Well, his hair was definitely blonde and well-kept, just like the his mustache. Wearing a tank top that showed off his arms and staring at everyone in the room with an air of immense superiority that made Alois feel torn between attraction and disgust.

Resuming his path back to his friends, he discreetly adjusted his boner in his sweatpants while sitting down and trying to forget about that damn song.

“So, who’s the jerk sitting at the front of the class like he owns the place?”

“We’ve been wondering that too, man,” Arjun, the skinny Indian boy with long limbs replied.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” continued Qian, who was more compact, as their teacher, Mr. Sizemore, spoke to the class.

“Guys, today I brought the manager of one of the establishments where you might work. Chuck works at a pub called Shooters; it’s an opportunity we typically offer to our students over twenty one. However, the place has expanded and now also has a Hookah Lounge, the Puff Palace. Although I must say the best option would be for no one here to inhale anything, this is still a decent job opportunity. Without further ado, here’s Mr. Chuck Morris.”

The guy smiled arrogantly before stretching and scratching his neck, causing the lightweight, almost see-through fabric of his tank top to expose his nipples, which didn’t seem to bother him at all. He took his sweet time getting up, like he was in some kind of private show.

But in Alois’s opinion, it would’ve been better if he had stayed seated and shut up, because the first words that came out of his mouth to the class raised a wave of utter dissatisfaction.

“Hey there, guys! Happy to finally leave your miserable countries behind and be in the greatest nation in the world?” The conversation didn’t get any better after that, and Alois was sure that whatever happened, he’d never set foot in that bar called Shooters.

After class, he was chatting animatedly with Arjun as they headed back to their dorm.

“I’d love to know what that illiterate would do if he knew he was talking to future doctors, engineers, journalists… while he’s gonna spend the rest of his life working in a bar serving people like him,” Alois commented.

“Probably nothing would change. People like him always think they’re superior just because of how they look and because they were born here in the States. Doesn’t matter if they live in a trailer and rely on government assistance.”

“True, ahhh, I want a coffee; I spilled mine all over this morning. Do you want one too?” Alois asked as they passed by his favorite coffee shop again.

“No, I’m good. I’ll go ahead; we’ll catch up later,” Arjun replied, continuing on while Alois entered the coffee shop. After carefully getting his to-go coffee to avoid a repeat of that morning’s fiasco, he turned and headed to the exit when he heard the synthetic chords again, accompanied by that familiar lyric.

“Don't take these beautiful things that I've got…”

This time, he saw where the sound was coming from—a Latino guy a bit older than him was listening through those giant headphones. Feeling sure he wasn’t losing it, Alois allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief, only to get a major scare. In the blink of an eye, where the guy had been, now sat one of those big-mustached dudes, this one bigger and more muscular than the others, but with the same wavy hair and infamous mustache.

Alois was stunned, staring at the man, who in turn pointed a finger at him as if to assert something and gave him a smile that freaked the young guy out to his core.

Not knowing how to handle that situation, Alois bolted from the shop, trying to make sense of what he had seen. Still in shock, he entered the room he shared with Qian in the dorm, where his friend was sitting on his bed, fiddling with his phone, still dressed in the button-up shirt and khakis he wore to class.

“Dude, you won’t believe what just happened. You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but… I... I forgot... How bizarre, I'm sure it was important Qian! Qian? Is everything okay? Qian…? You good?” he asked, realizing his friend hadn’t heard a word he said, just to see his face contort and his eyes roll back as if he were convulsing, and then… puff. Right in front of him stood another member of the Mustache Gang, wavy hair, slick mustache, a chiseled face and a muscular body on display.

“You good??? Qian? Who the hell is Qian? I’m Ken, you foreigner dumbass.” Said the young man of Chinese descent, the irony of using that kind of comment not even crossing his arrogant and brutish mind. “You’re here only because I couldn’t score with an American ass. But a hole’s a hole…”

“I… what…?”

“You just accept a quick hookup on Grindr man, It's not that difficult. Gonna act all shy now? Here in America, that kind of behavior doesn’t fly. Either you do what you came to do or bounce, but then you'll miss out on all this,” the guy replied, flexing his powerful muscles while giving him an arrogant grin. Alois was thinking about where exactly he was and what he was doing there.

“So ginger, what's it gonna be?”

.....

When he got to the dorm for international students after getting his ass wrecked by the massive schlong of his Grindr hookup, who he discovered was co-manager of Shooters and Puff Palace alongside Chuck —those two even shared an apartment above the pub—he hated himself for getting into that mess just for a quick lay. Yet, at the same time, it was the best fuck he’d ever had. As he stripped down and got ready to shower and wash off the sweat and sex smell from his body, the distinct ping of a Grindr message caught his attention. Opening the app, he found a new message from Ken Lee.

“Hey ginger I think you’re gonna like this.” Ignoring all common sense, thinking it might be a nude, he clicked the link the other guy sent along with the message. Strangely enough, it was a clip from a podcast where a young woman interviewed a flamboyant man, who was wearing a bright and flashy suit, both chatting animatedly. Everything about them screamed obnoxious starting with their shrill voices that didn’t stop talking for a second. Losing interest and wondering why a guy like Ken would send that to him, Alois let the video play as he headed to the bathroom in the room he occupied alone in the dorm.

“… so, Benson Boone? He’s such a total hottie, girl!”

“Don’t even get me started, Yasmin! I melt for a guy like that! I’d do him in a heartbeat.”

“Me too, Nico! But with that whole Christian boy vibe, I’m not sure he’s got the moves.”

“Girl, it’s just marketing. A guy like that, with that body? And anyone rocking a mustache like that knows exactly what to do with a girl… or a man.”

“Nico you slut, I heard some rumors…”

“I know, girl! I wouldn’t doubt he’s hooked up with more than a few, after all, a man has his needs, and to a guy like him a hole’s a hole like my brother used to say”

“Oh, my brother always said the same thing. What’s going on that there aren’t any more men like him in America?”

“I’ll tell you, I don’t get it either. Everywhere I look, I only see snowflakes and wimps. They say they are our allies, but this talk about toxic masculinity has turned all of them into whiners. Of course I prefer not to be attacked in the street by a bunch of homophobes, but sometimes all we want is someone to fuck us senseless And no one does it like a good douchebag, and don't come to me with that talk that this is a white, cis man's thing, yada yada yada... all due respect to the cause, but we need more men like this hottie, not less. Real American men, who know what they want and make it happen, I don't care what they do with their lives as long as they fuck me right. So I vote for more douchebags, of all races, creeds and sexual orientations, sis!

“True, Nico! I wish I could make that happen…”

“Me too, girl, but how about we listen to his updated song while we wait for the real American men to come back?”

“Sure, girl, this version is way better and more danceable, perfect for a man to sweep me off my feet. Play it!”

Then, the chords that had been haunting Alois all day started playing, and he quickly turned on his way to the bathroom to stop the video—there’s no way he’d want to listen to that on his own.

“Mm. Please stay. I want you, I need you, oh God…”

As he turned towards the source of the sound, he froze, hearing it as a feeling of numbness invaded his head and took over his body, barely letting him take a step back before being flooded with memories and sensations that weren’t his. His childhood in Austria was being replaced by one in Virginia, time spent studying swapped for sports practice, the memory of a skinny physique giving way to a powerful, muscular body, atheism giving way to worship at church every Sunday, even if he spent most of the time distracted, checking out the girls present. And speaking of girls, nights of sex, just banging them in the ass to keep his virginity intact, and when a girl refused, there was always a twink willing to step in. After all hole’s a hole. Then there was the end of school five years ago and the move to Seattle, working as a personal trainer during the day and a bartender at Shooters at night, the apartment shared with Chuck and Ken, and all the possible and imaginable orgies they had . He knew that, as a good Christian, he’d eventually have to give it all up, settle down, and start a family, but until then, the single life was too good to pass up, and he was gonna enjoy it. And even after he gets married if the desire arises, well a man has his needs and one thing he has learned is that no one is a better bottom than a slut boy desperate for a fuck.

“No… no… what the hell…. This can’t be real…” Alois grumbled as he tried to move towards the phone that he now knew had to be the source of this whole bizarre situation. However, with every step he took, his muscles expanded. His skinny chest exploded into slabs of meat that are now pecs, below his abs form into six brick-like blocks, and his arms and legs thicken to a considerable size. His hair grew longer in well-kept waves, and that infamous mustache sprouted and grew on a more masculine and angular face. At the same time, the room he was in transformed, and he found himself on the other side of the city, in the place he had just left a little over 40 minutes ago.

When he got to the phone, Allen adjusted it, fixing the camera angle. That video was gonna be perfect for his TikTok, especially with that new version of Benson Boone’s song, one he’d used in a bunch of other videos, but this remix version was fire.

Fixing his hair and flexing his powerful muscles, he smiled at the camera.

“Yo, what’s up, fam? Today’s heavy lifting day and a wild night at Shooters. If anyone’s interested in what I’m packing here, just swing by or hit up the link to my OnlyFans in the bio. Only for the grown folks, are you really gonna miss out on this?” he wrapped up, crossing his arms in front of his body and flashing one of those grins at the camera.

“Damn, that looks so good!” he said, posting the video on TikTok and heading towards the living room of the apartment he shared with Chuck and Ken, not even bothering to shower. He had a new client coming to the gym in the next hour, so why waste time on more than one shower? “Tonight’s gonna be lit for sure, guys,” he said, talking to his roommates.

“Are you talking about the Indian skinny boy who’s training with you?”

“Ugh, definitely not. Dudes like him are for when there are no other options. But it wouldn’t be a Friday night if Big Al didn’t get some real action.!” He said grabbing his cock and balls over his shorts, laughing. "I can't wait to get some ass." He concludes while shaking his huge cock out of his shorts and making everyone burst out laughing.

“We’re all gonna get some, man. Chuck’s been spreading the word in an exchange class; soon, it’ll be packed with foreign slutty chicks and twinks looking for an American dick, and we can bang them all we want, Red.” Said Ken with a mischievous grin.

"And God bless that! "Chuck added beside him with an identical smile, which was also mirrored on Allen's face.

...

Allen was sitting on a bench in front of the gym, waiting for his new student, a scrawny Indian dude from the exchange program named Arjun.

“You coming, bro?”

“Sorry, I’m on my way. Got held up.”

“So, meet me in the gym locker room so we don’t waste time. In the meantime, check this out,” Allen said, sending the link to Yas and Nico podcast, she was a hot babe even if she seems as dumb as a rock. Not that he cared much about that at all; she was hot, and that was good enough for him, and that Nico had a very fuckable butt. He didn’t even stop to think about why he was sending that video; it just felt like something he should do.

.....

While he was chilling on a bench in the gym locker room, mindlessly scrolling on his phone, he didn’t notice the transformation happening to his student right behind him. The skinny Arjun was rapidly inflating with muscles and attitude without Allen even realizing it. It was only when he looked up and saw a dude of Indian descent with silky hair and the infamous mustache, wearing nothing but gym shorts, casually scratching his powerful pecs.

“Art, you still haven’t finished getting dressed, you asshole? We gotta workout, take some pics of our pump for OnlyFans and hit the bar shift afterwards.��

“Chill, Al, I’m getting ready. It’s not like your muscles are gonna disappear because of a five minute delay in your workout.”

“Five minutes is already too much,” he replied, flexing his arms and smiling arrogantly. “Tonight, I want the max pump in these Beautiful Things I’ve got.”

#occam2000 #male tf #mind change #reality change #jockification #mental transformation #corruption #musclegrowth #gay to bi #douchebag tf

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