#was intending to color this but had no energy

[m3tr0n0m333]

»A SPARK OF HOPE«

A fankid AU: Introduction

Circa 200 years into the future…

Past the death of the renowned, world famous hero: Sonic the Hedgehog, his immortal rival resides in a secluded location not many know about, or dare to stumble upon. He’s made himself a peaceful abode, isolated from the rest of the world— prying eyes or hands seeking his power or presence.

Shadow merely wishes to live without the stress of catastrophe weighing on his shoulders. And with the death of the biggest villain of the era- Doctor Robotnik, he succeeds for the most part- until a mysterious illness overcomes him, and he’s forced to reach out for help.

Upon wandering to the familiar-yet-changed Emerald Town, Shadow spots a recognizable logo on a building.

With curiosity and intrigue, the ebony hedgehog makes his next exploration the inside of this tall establishment.

[REFS AND MORE UNDER CUT]

No, it will not stay this well formatted most of the time. Guess I just felt like putting effort into it.

This au focuses around Tails, Shadow, and my fankid, Sparks! (No ships between these three, although they do end up as a family of sorts.) (+ Silver, who exists around this time, gets to be the cool cousin of sorts)

Shadow, as described, had isolated himself for quite a few years. And got an illness. But it’s far from mysterious.

His inhibitor rings have rusted and aren’t as effective as they were, well, 200 years ago, causing his chaos energy to run irregularly and make him fatigued/sick. Of course, it was a gradual process, so it was a little difficult to have spotted it right away. And when you’re sick, the obvious becomes… less obvious?

During this lengthy intermission between supposed canon and au, (I may go off canon quite a bit. I’m not professionally well versed in all the Sonic lore…) Miles Prower (formedly gone as “Tails” for his iconic two tailed ‘mutation’) had grown rather successful. A well-off entrepreneur of his own brand. He lives comfortably, although he does lack the bonds he once had.

As a kitsune, Miles’ life expectancy is lengthened, and gaining another tail every 100 years. He had existed much past his more mortal friends and allies, but pushed forwards to a brighter future, sort of. In this time, he has developed more of his kitsune oriented abilities, taking a favor to illusions.

Shadow wanders upon the main building, the HQ erected at Emerald Town, where his house once was. As Shadow wanders, Miles is aware of the old friend bumbling through the building and decides to play a little prank with some illusions and the high tech security measures he has installed in the building. (Nothing harmful, promise)

Once Shadow reaches the top, Miles reveals himself with a bold act of bravado. As of which they have some reunion and reaccqeuaintence time. Shadow explains his problem to Miles, Miles points out the problem and offers to make Shadow new inhibitor rings (and fix his air shoes in the process). Afterwards, he offers a residence for Shadow with him, but the hedgehog refuses, intending to return to his reclusive life.

On his path of return, he comes across a kid, sitting alone in the rain.

He resembles someone.

Spiky blue quills colored like the wind and the sky, peachy fur on his chest and muzzle. Pointed ears, although a bit droopier.

He sat with his legs pressed against his chest, on the edge of the sidewalk. Alone, yet he wears an expression closer to irritation rather than fear or melancholy.

After some questioning, he discovers that the kid ran from an orphanage, one he describes as nasty and disrespectful to him, like gum sticking his shoe to the floor. He describes that he had ran, to find some freedom. He’s a fast runner, you know? Maybe if he can get faster and faster, he may actually break the barrier keeping him chained to the orphanage.

When the sky darkens, illuminating the moon and the stars, Shadow stands. To lead the kid back to where he should be encourages him to have hope, but without acting to give him it. Words are empty when actions don’t reflect it.

The kid begs to let him free. Lead him somewhere else, not back to his prison. No one will take him back in the orphanage. He deserves to be free. He can take care of himself out here- a string of reasons to grasp why he shouldn’t go back.

Shadow continues to walk in silence.

…

Perhaps it was pity. Shadow would like to believe it is, but it’s hard to describe the pull of his actions towards another decision. He felt this was right, despite denial weighing on this choice.

Shadow returned to the tall building, where Miles— although surprised to see his return— welcomed him back warmly. When asked for the reason of his return, Shadow provides a rather bashful explanation.

He doesn’t know how to take care of a child.

—

References + Character Design and Personality Rambles

Eyyyy it’s the old man (quite literally at this point. He’s like 200+ years??). How did he survive all those years in isolation without going insane?? I have no idea. He probably talks to the animal inhabitants of the place he lived in I think. I like to think maybe he found himself an ancient library to make himself at home and spent most of his time reading books and doing house chores.

To be honest I tried to reference other Shadow redesigns because I also wanted to put some more Black Arms traits on him, but I honestly don’t know know much about the Black Arms so all he got was a longer tail <3

He’s a tiiiny bit pinker in this design. Like the red highlights on his quills are more pivoted towards the pink on the color wheel, and the white fur also has a tint of pink. No reason. He just gets to be slightly pinker. As a treat.

^^ (Miles noticed. Shadow did not.)

Anyways, you may be wondering, why didn’t Shadow take the offer of staying with Miles the first time? After being alone without friends were so long, you would think he is drawn to the idea of having company again. Well, the thing is, I think that Shadow hates change, in a way. He’s drawn himself away from society, lived self sustained, without the pressures and all that. Suddenly, he gets the offer to reintegrate into a society he is not well versed in? Seems incredibly overwhelming. And Shadow believes he was perfectly content in his serene lifestyle.

He only reconsidered the second time because he doesn’t know how to take care of the kid he freshly adopted (and probably not correctly adopted either) and only thought of Tails for help. As far as he knows, Tails is the only other old friend that exists alongside him right now so…

This sets up the story of Shadow and Tails tries to take care of this kid and slowly forms into a type of found family that doesn’t quite fit into the boundaries of what a family would be like. They are not even close to traditional family roles, I think, other than a child-parent relationship between Shadow and Sparks (who I have yet to introduce)

During this story, Shadow gets back into the action of adventure again. He’s reminded of the exhilaration he felt in the past. Even little things such as banter and skating down hill. He missed it all, although he doesn’t admit it.

Here is Miles!! He dropped the name “Tails” after a while, deeming it something he doesn’t identify as deeply with anymore. (Maybe because no one was around to call him that old nickname anymore)

So you know how I mentioned he’s become an entrepreneur of sorts? It was bound to happen, I think. Imagine living 200+ years and still not figuring out how to earn the most money and live comfortably.

Anyways, while coloring his design, I did realize that he vaguely reminds me of Eggman… it’s probably the red, gold and white colors. Fits him well though, yeah? He always did share some traits with Eggman, I think. He just turned out more benevolent, he still has the high tech tendencies that Eggman held, as well as other habits.

I think Miles had earned some of an ego over time. When most acquaintances leave(died), and you rise to the top, everyone feels so far. And Miles stop bothering to seek out meaningful relationships to save him some suffering. He can still have fun, he can still have friends- just not with the strong intimate bond he had with his initial family.

When Shadow returned, he felt a spark- the hope- the opportunity to have a semblance of the old life again. Nostalgia is a strong feeling. That is why he offered for Shadow to stay. He didn’t expect him to, but that didn’t stop his heart from swelling with joy when Shadow did return.

Here is Sparks! The kid Shadow picked off the street yaknow yaknow… He is meant to resemble Sonic. Not uncannily resemble him though. Just enough that both Shadow and Tails can look at him and think… he kind of reminds me of his other blue hedgehog I had a deep connection with….

Part of why Shadow adopted Sparks is honestly because of his resemblance to Sonic. He would not like to acknowledge it, as it seems like such a cruel thing to give the hope of a new connection to someone that doesn’t know that that new connection did not start off new at all in the other side.

Of course, Sparks acts nothing like Sonic, despite similar appearances. Even though Sparks also shares the same sentiments— wanting freedom— as well as abilities— such as superspeed— Sparks acts more towards the pessimistic side. He’s not as charming as Sonic had been. (And although he does have superspeed, I believe it’s not to the extent that Sonic had.)

Additionally, when Shadow had been taking him back to the orphanage, he really wasn’t forced. Sparks intended to follow him back. Perhaps out of habit. And inevitable loop of escaping but returning once again. But also because if cowardice, knowing he wouldn’t be able to make it by himself. He’s immature, he’s inexperienced, Sparks is aware of that, yet still tries- only to the extent of what he knows he can succeed: aka running away, but never staying away. His cowardice is one of the traits he does not share with Sonic.

During his description of the orphanage to Shadow, he’s a bit of an unreliable narrator. The orphanage isn’t as miserable as Sparks describes it as. It’s a pretty normal orphanage, Sparks is just a troublemaker- and he hates the idea of being trapped in one place.

Anyways, Sparks resembles a star of sorts. He’s a little star themed. <3

[foundress0fnothing]

and kisses are a better fate than wisdom

Summary: Feyre drags her sisters to Medieval Times to ogle the hot king. Nesta drags Emerie and Gwyn to Medieval Times for support and hater solidarity. And maybe to ogle some hot knights.

Rated E, Chapter 1/6, ~2.9k words

For @nessianweek ♥️

This fic is brought to you by an ER visit and antibiotics! I had intended to have the Nessian section of this complete, but then life kicked my ass, and so all I have to offer you today is a beginning. The Nessian smut chapter will be my next update to the fic, and then I’ll write chapters for all the other pairs (eventually and as the horny mood strikes).

Read on ao3 or below the cut!

“What the fuck, Feyre?” 

Nesta started in horror at the seemingly endless train of middle schoolers who were being led past the ticket window. Three jostled Nesta’s bag as they scuttled past, and she glared after them. Not that it did any good—they just dissolved into shrieking giggles as they careened around the space, narrowly missing the suit of armor standing in the corner of the large atrium. “Please tell me you didn’t have me call out of work for this.”

“Of course she didn’t, Nesta,” Elain said, a dangerous glint in her eye. “Our dear sister would only text us “Need you at the mall, personal emergency, please come ASAP” if it was for something really, really serious.” She looked pointedly at Feyre. “Right, Feyre?”

Feyre at least had the decency to look a little guilty. “He’s just…so hot, guys,” she mumbled, blushing.

“Oh my god.” Rolling her eyes, Nesta turned away from her sister’s embarrassed face to take in the spectacle that was apparently going to consume the next two hours of her life if the sign above the ticket window could be believed:

Brace yourself for approximately two hours of heart-pounding excitement! You’ll see lance-shattering jousting, clashing swordsmanship, and thrilling hand-to-hand combat! Join us for an unforgettable experience!

When Feyre told Nesta and Elain to meet her by the fake castle façade, Nesta had assumed it was only because it was easily recognizable and about as far away from Feyre’s waitressing job at the Cheesecake Factory as it could be while still technically being part of the mall. 

She did not expect that Feyre actually wanted her to spend time—not to mention 60 fucking dollars—in this tacky monstrosity. 

And “tacky” was a generous description of the space around her. Between the suit of armor in the corner, the display cases lining the room stuffed with replicas of weapons and garishly colored flags, and the entire wall devoted to headshots of all the idiots who were involved in the whole farce, Nesta found very little here that made her want to linger any longer than she absolutely had to.

But—it had been so long since her littlest sister had shown interest in anyone since she broke up with that god-awful trust fund manager Tamlin, and that interest, combined with Feyre’s palpable youngest sibling energy, softened Nesta enough to stay. Begrudgingly.

“It could be fun!” Feyre tried, but she was looking at the picture of whoever the “so hot” cast member was who prompted this nonsense in the first place as she said it, so Nesta didn’t trust her judgment anymore. She refused to look at the cast pictures. What use did she have for role-playing nerds or gym bros who used the guise of a medieval joust to hit at each other like brutes? No thanks.

She sighed and pulled out her phone to text her best friends and coworkers Emerie and Gwyn to take their lunch break and come over.  “I’m not about to suffer through this alone.” Their law office was only a few blocks away, and Nesta only felt the tiniest bit guilty about condemning them to a few hours of campy spectacle. What were friends for if not to hate watch something with you as a favor to your little sister?

That made Feyre turn away from the cast picture wall as she gestured indignantly between herself and Elain. “We’re here!” 

“You don’t count anymore, Feyre.”

“Well, what about Elain?”

Nesta scoffed lightly. “She’ll probably end up liking it somehow, and then I’ll have no one to complain with.” Elain stuck her tongue out although she didn’t deny it, and Nesta hummed in satisfaction at being right. She hadn’t missed the way Elain had also been looking at the wall of cast members, lingering for a few moments on the head shot of one of the knights who bore a distinctive red ponytail.

Nesta looked back at her phone and saw messages of confused confirmation from Emerie and Gwyn agreeing to meet her there, and so she went back to the ticket window to buy seats for them. Maybe she’d expense them—company bonding and all that bullshit.

By the time she returned to the corner where her sisters were standing, Gwyn and Emerie had joined them, and Nesta shook her head, forestalling the question that she could see forming on her friends’ lips. “Don’t ask.”

Emerie snorted. “You think I’m not going to have questions after you text us in the middle of the work day demanding that we take off and come to Medieval Times? Be serious Nesta.”

“Maybe she’s finally lost it,” Gwyn shrugged. “The Hybern case cracked her.”

“That case drives me to drink, not to willfully agree to a two hour long lobotomy.”

Feyre glared. “Stop being such a spoilsport. We’re here to ogle hot guys. You should be on board.”

“Hmmm, $60 to watch grown men play dress up and cover anything interesting with armor. Sign me up.”

An announcement overhead began, urging audience members to find their seats before the beginning of the show.

Feyre grinned and flicked her braid over her shoulder. “Well, good thing you already bought a ticket then, Nesta.” And with that, she hooked her arm around Elain’s, turned, and flounced into the darkened hall that led to the arena.

“Walked right into that one, babe.”

“Shut up, Em.”

Emerie flashed a smile and started following Feyre down the hall. “Do you think there’ll only be hot guys? Because that’s really gonna put a damper on the next two hours for me.”

“From a place like this?” Nesta gestured around to the kitschy, rustic decor. “I doubt we’re going to find any brave, gender-role defying performances here. I think the best you can hope for is a hot tavern wench.”

“Desperate times, I suppose.” Emerie sighed dramatically. “Perfect people must endure so much in this life.”

Gwyn giggled from where she was walking behind them. “And what would you know about that, Em?”

Emerie flipped her off without turning around, and Gwyn added, “But who knows? Maybe this’ll be great! Maybe we’ll find true lo—”

“Stop—don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Nesta stopped walking and turned to face Gwyn. You’re only here to be a hater with me.”

“Nesta—”

“No—this is a Valkyrie law office pact. You have to hate this with me. Don’t break the bonds of sisterhood for a guy in a tin can.” She whirled back around to Emerie. “Or a wench in too-tight stays. We’re better than that.”

Her friends nodded silently, and Nesta chose to ignore the knowing looks they gave each other in favor of turning back around and marching toward the opening to the arena. It was a large, airy room with rising wooden stands that ringed a sandy, clear oval in the middle of the space. There were oversize flags and banners hanging from the ceiling designating four different sections that corresponded to the different knights, and a dias, where the king would oversee whatever nonsense was about to happen.

Feyre and Elain had already grabbed their seats along a wooden, almost picnic-style bench in the first row of what was apparently the Red Knight’s section. Wenches were circulating, taking drink orders, and Nesta made sure to order a glass of wine—a large glass of wine—before she sat down. Needs must. Gwyn and Emerie quickly followed suit, and it wasn’t long before the lights in the stands dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd.

There was a distant stamping sound, and then all of a sudden, four knights on horseback burst out of a door at the far end of the arena, galloping around the perimeter of the arena. The audience erupted into cheers at the sight of the knights, and Nesta felt her mouth go dry.

Holy. Shit. 

She felt Gywn lean over to whisper in her ear. “Are we still better than that, Nesta? Because…” She trailed off, but Nesta didn’t need her to finish her sentence.

Because Holy. Fucking. Shit.

All but one of the knights weren’t wearing their helmets yet, and each one was intensely, unfairly gorgeous. 

There was the red and yellow knight whose long red hair streamed out behind him as he circled the arena. He was tall and wickedly handsome, even with a rough scar bisecting the left side of his face. Small charms and beads woven into individual strands caught the overhead lights and made him look like he was glowing with some inner light. 

The next knight was his opposite in every way. Clothed in black with accents of a deep blue, he seemed to swallow the light as he rode a lap around the arena. He was imposing and muscled and almost unfairly beautiful for a man. Especially for a man wearing fake armor, Nesta reminded herself, shaking her head and closing her mouth from how it had gaped open slightly at his appearance.

The green knight rode in after him, his helmet still on, and Nesta idly wondered why he alone would still be wearing his helmet. Was he self-conscious? Or just not a cocksure, handsome asshole like the first two knights? Whatever the reason, he was clearly an excellent horseman. His seat was agile and easy, and the two of them together moved like they were caught in some dance with music only they could hear. 

But Nesta didn’t have time to linger on why this knight was still wearing his helmet, or how well he rode a horse, because any thoughts she had were quickly replaced by the sight of the red knight. He was almost like a brother to the blue knight, but almost impossibly larger. It was as if he was made entirely of muscle—Nesta could see as much even with his armor covering almost everything except his neck and head. His skin was a deep brown and his hair, long and black and wavy, had been gathered into a messy half ponytail. He was a warrior, that much was clear, and Nesta had no idea how someone who looked like that could possibly exist in today’s world. He looked like Arthur, or Gawain, or Lancelot—someone from myths created centuries ago. 

“Shit, shit, shit there he is!” Feyre yanked on Nesta’s arm to drag her attention away from the red knight and point out—not subtly, mind you—the reason they were all here in the first place. The king who presided over the arena and the tournament had just stepped onto a platform situated against one of the walls. He was tall and dark-haired, and the kind of attractive that had from money written all over him. Not that someone who was from money would want to work at a place like this. But still—something about the smug smile and the glint in his eyes as he surveyed “his kingdom” made Nesta shudder slightly. No thanks. 

She turned a skeptical eye toward Feyre. “Him? Out of all of them?” She asked, gesturing to the knights who were bringing their horses to a rest in front of the dias. “You’re going with him?”

“What?” Feyre turned to Nesta in shock. “Do you have eyes?”

“Do you?”

Feyre crossed her arms in front of her chest, turning back to look at the king. “He’s clearly the hottest one here.”

“Okay, Feyre,” Nesta said, pursing her lips and deciding to let the argument drop. If he did it for her sister, then so be it. 

She turned back to the center of the arena to see that all of the knights had come to a stop in a line. The crowd was murmuring, pointing at the assembled men and occasionally whooping for their assigned knight. The red knight was looking over at their section, his eyes locked on Nesta. When he realized that she saw him, he winked and gave a small bow with his head. Nesta scowled, ignoring the spark of interest that flared to life somewhere in her chest. She would not let herself be flustered by a Medieval Times actor. She wouldn’t. 

The king raised a hand, and the crowd quieted. “My loyal subjects!” His voice, low and smooth, boomed over the gathered crowds. “I am his Royal Majesty, King Rhysand. Thank you for joining me here today to watch as the heroic knights of the kingdom fight for honor and for glory.” 

Nesta looked at Emerie and Gwyn and raised her eyebrows at his theatrics. Gwyn giggled, and the king’s gaze flashed over to where they were seated, roving over their group until his eyes landed on Feyre. His smile at the sight of her was sickeningly self-satisfied, and Nesta turned to see Feyre flush at his attention. 

“I am honored that so many handsome lords and fair maidens,” he continued, winking at Feyre, “decided to join me to welcome my court today. I don’t yet have a queen to join me in my revels, but perhaps I shall find her amongst your number today.” Nesta watched as Feyre, impossibly, flushed even deeper. She rolled her eyes.

“That is, unless you lose your heart to one of my knights.” Rhysand gestured toward the knights in front of him. “My friends! Introduce yourself to my honored guests!”

One by one, the knights stepped their horses forward, bowed to Rhysand, and called out their names. Sir Lucien. Sir Azriel. It was like they were characters out of some long-forgotten medieval tale, their names at once ancient and eternal. If those were actually their real names. Nesta doubted it. 

The green knight stepped his horse forward, and Nesta wondered if he would finally take off his helmet. He obliged Nesta’s request, and she realized, as a thick braid of lustrous blonde hair dropped on the knight’s shoulder and their face, all softness and full lips, came into view, that this knight was a woman. 

Emerie’s mouth was hanging slightly open at the sight. She leaned across Gwyn to whisper, “Nesta, I love you and I know I said I wouldn’t break the bonds of sisterhood for a wench in stays but,” she said, her eyes never leaving the armored woman, “for a wench in armor? I don’t know you.”

And then it was the red knight’s turn. He bowed slightly to acknowledge the king and said, with a small smirk, “Sir Cassian, your majesty.” 

His voice washed over Nesta, deep and husky and filled with laughter, and she hated that something in her shivered at the sound of it and the sheer power it carried. She wondered, idly if that power extended to other areas of his life.

“And there you have it, my subjects!” The king’s voice rang out again, breaking her out of her rapidly devolving reverie. “Please give a warm welcome to my loyal knights as we begin our tournament!”

The crowd burst into cheers, and the knights smiled and waved at their respective sections, which, in their turn, cheered even more loudly until the entire arena was awash in sound. 

The red knight—Sir Cassian—was looking toward where they were sitting in his section, and, at his wave, Nesta’s sisters and traitorous friends burst into renewed applause and cheers. She took a sip of her wine, pointedly not joining in.

He frowned slightly, and she raised an eyebrow in challenge, taking another drink while maintaining eye contact. He looked away, and she smiled vindictively before turning to berate Emerie and Gwyn for caving so easily.

But before she could say anything, she was interrupted by the sound of approaching hoofbeats and a deep, murmured, “My lady.”

Nesta turned, and there he was at the edge of the arena, sitting astride his giant horse and looking directly at her. He was nearly at eye level with her, even from her seat in the raised stand, and she was struck by just how tall he was. His hands, as they held his horse’s reins, looked massive as well, and she wondered, just for a moment, how they would feel spanning across her waist, her breasts, her—

She shook her head and scowled at him. “Me? No, thank you.”

He only smirked at her refusal before continuing on. “While it used to be tradition that maidens would give tokens to their favored knights before a tournament, here in the arena, it is the knights who give tokens to their ladies,” he said, pulling a red silken handkerchief out of a pocket somewhere—did suits of armor have pockets?—and held it out to her.

Nesta crossed her arms, reminded herself that he was just a guy in a tin can, and scowled. “I’m not your lady.”

“And yet, I still have a token for you.” He kept his arm outstretched and met her gaze. “Only you.”

His eyes—distractingly smudged with eyeliner—were a lovely shade of hazel, and they sparked with warmth and mirth as he looked at her. From this close, she could see that he had earrings as well—small red studs in each lobe and tiny golden hoops along his cartilage. He looked charming and wicked and roguish, and Nesta found that she couldn’t tear her gaze away—that she didn’t want to.

And, well, she was only human. Who could blame her for being interested? 

But she wouldn’t cave that easily, so she said, instead,  “Not until you earn it.”

Something flared in his eyes at the challenge, and he said, easily and certainly, “As my lady commands.” He left the red handkerchief on the table in front of Nesta and went to prepare for the tournament.

As he rode away, Feyre turned to her with a shit-eating grin. “Having fun yet, Nesta?”

“Shut up, Feyre.”

[speedofsoundsketches]

"Without the wind, how can you fly?"

Princess Elise Sketch

[icewindandboringhorror]

Various images from the past year or so... posting my evil little photo diary collections once again..

[squirshie]

i want to talk about the house fucking fic but i fear in doing so i would ruin the experience of reading it

[redbullgirly]

Can you do a Lewis Hamilton smau where she is basically like Barbie? I feel like since Barbie is a fashion icon and so is Lewis, it would be a match made in Heaven. I read your pinned post and tried to make a request based on your rules. Sorry if it isn’t good enough

HI BARBIE! HI KEN! [part 1, LH44 smau]

Lewis Hamilton x reader

Masterlist & Hi Barbie! Hi Ken! [part2, LH44 smau]

Summary: Lewis Hamilton is part-time Formula One driver and full-time fashion icon. And so is his girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N, who's also known as a real life Barbie.

Warnings: None... but a lot of pink XD. Also this story is set in December 2023, so no broken hearts over Lewis going to Ferrari... actually maybe just a little teaser.

Author's Note: Hi Anon! This request is great and thank you so much for it, it definitely is good enough! :) I had fun writing and creating this, even though at the end it's kind of different than what I firstly intended to do. The original idea was to make Y/N very Barbie coded, but at the end I'd say she's Barbie inspired and I focused more on the fashion icon part of the request. Though there's a sweet storyline about why her nickname is Barbie, so I hope you won't be disappointed! :)

lewishamilton posted on instagram

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tagged: yourusername

lewishamilton A lot happened in 2023 season and there was also a lot of outfits 🤞🏾✨

view all 7,867 comments

user1 MY GOD THIS MAN IS BEAUTIFUL!

yourusername this was definitely one of my favs 💝

liked by the author

lewishamilton What can I say... pink is the color of real men 🫶🏾

yourusername but do i still wear it the best?

lewishamilton Of course ma'am

user2 I love them sm 😭

user3 can we talk about the fact they're the best couple ever?!

user4 so sweet🥰

user5 And the fact she's literally the only person he interacts with in the comments...

user6 You are the best Lewis, can't wait for another season 👏

user7 🔥❤️

mercedesamgf1 Did someone say Barbie and Ken?💘

user8 YES

user9 admin you're so real for this... they literally ARE our barbie and ken 🤭

user10 The only question is who is the Barbie and who's the Ken? xd

user11 lol imagine barbie lewis💀

user12 GOAT ⬆️♥️

carmenmmundt Me and goergerussell63 when?

gourgerussell I don't really think pink is my colour...😬

yourusername don't worry honey, if he won't wear pink w you i will 😘

carmenmmundt Oh I knew why you're my favourite Y/N 😘

georgerussell63 No wait I changed my mind darling!!

carmenmmundt Hmm now I'll have to think about it 🤔

georgerussell63 Y/NNNNN

yourusername 😌😚

user13 i love how he always manages to get y/n into his posts

user14 The power boyfriend Lewis has over me😩😩

user15 RIGHT?!

user16 he's just so... asdgsagfsgd 😫

user17 I literally need this version of him to live!!!

user18 i'm weak for bf lewis🥵

user19 Y/N looks SO GOOD in that coat

user20 I need to know how she does it

user21 fr

user22 The best driver and a fashion icon... damn he's got some talent 🙇‍♂️

yourusername posted on instagram

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yourusername great season and now it'll be even better winter break w my love 💋💞

view all 1,092 comments

f1 Our own Barbie🤩

liked by the author

user1 yeeeees

user2 Wait I'm new in formula one, why do we call Lewis Hamilton's gf Babrie??

user3 idk user2 she just gives off the energy 😆

user4 Actually I think Lewis himself once called her Barbie in an interview when there were rumors about them dating and then it just stuck with her 🤷‍♀️

user5 oh really?!! tbh i had idea he ever called he barbie himself... y/n is just iconic xd

user6 IT'S Y/N'S WORLD AND WE'RE JUST LIVING IN IT 🗣🗣

lewishamilton Can't wait to spend the winter break with you ✨

yourusername *mwah*

user7 pls I'm so excited for them!!

user8 the vacation photo dumps are gonna slay🤭

alexandrasaintmleux stoppp you're so pretty!🎀

yourusername nooo you are alex 🥹🫶

user9 they could never make me hate these two just 'cause they're dating the hottest drivers on the grid🫡

user10 The outfit in the second photo? HELLO?!

kellypiquet 🤍

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charles_leclerc I see you like the Monaco circuit very much👀

yourusername i see you're stalking my photo dumps very carefully charles leclerc 🤨

charles_leclerc Well I have a feeling we'll see each other more often soon so I have to get to know you better😉

this comment has been deleted by charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc Caught in the crime😂

user11 WHAT WAS THAT CHARLES?!

user12 omg I wasn't the only one to see it? I'm not delusional right?🫣

user13 idk what you saw 'cause i didn't but this interaction is so funny to me XD

user14 mommy- sorry... MOTHER

user15 ❣️❣️

user16 y/n & lew >>>>

twitter

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yourusername i'm barbie. he's just a ken (and he won some trophy for p3 in the championship... idk where it is) 💖💄

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user1 I live for Lewis leaving the trophy there💀

user2 and the way y/n basically confirmed this by saying she has no idea where it is😭

lewishamilton You're everything. I'm just Ken 🙏🏾✨

yourusername exactly... though you're the best ken ever 💞

sebastianvettel Isn't he more like Allan then?

yourusername ohhh true seb 🤭

user3 YOU WANNA TELL ME THE SEBASTIAN VETTEL SAW BARBIE

yourusername yeah we made him watch it and he cried during gloria's speech 💓

sebastianvettel I'm not ashamed about it.

yourusername and that's why i love u seb 🫶

user4 why aren't all men like sebastian???😩

user5 I love these three with all my heart y'all don't understand

user6 my fav driver watching my fav movie and crying during speech about feminism is my roman empire

user7 AAAHSDFHFGSDHSG😍

f1 If there was a prize for fashion icons, the Hamilton household would definetly win it! 🏆

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user8 not admin calling them hamilton household🥹

user9 Lol that would be the only fairly given trophy this year

user10 OMG I just realized that one day Y/N and Lewis WILL be both HAMILTON😭😭

user11 I'll tattoo the date of their wedding on my arm fr

user12 that's real dedication user11 💀

user13 TRUE DEFINITION OF A QUEEN... LOVE YOUUUUUU

kellypiquet Gorgeous darling!💖💖💖

yourusername we both babeee 💖🫶

user14 the IT wags casually supporting each other

user15 I love they're still friends even though their bfs are probably the biggest rivals xd

user16 not the shade about the trophy💀

user17 Waiiittt what happened?

user18 someone who was at the ceremony said lewis gave him the prize 'cause he didn't want it😭

user17 Oh and Y/N wrote in her caption she doesn't know where it is?

user18 exactly😭

user17 Whoops... I love her, she's queen for that

user19 and the fact fia tried to deny these rumors💀

user20 Absolutely love this look 🤍

user21 you and lew are just such a good looking couple

user22 THE DRESS I REPEAT THE DRESS🥰

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lewishamilton 🇲🇨 with the best company.

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roscoelovescoco Mom's look's so handsome's ☺️☀️

liked by the author and yourusername

lewishamilton Agreed

yourusername awww my boys are too sweet 🥹💕

user1 lewis complimenting his gf not w one but TWO accounts makes my heart melt

liked by yourusername

user2 I want a man like him🤧

user3 WE LOVE ROSCOE CALLING HER MUM

user4 Lewis, Y/N & Roscoe are the best trio ever🥰

user5 parents and their son

user6 literally omg

yourusername wow who's that handsome boy laying on a couch 🥴😻

lewishamilton Handsome you say?😏

yourusername yeah, right next to u 🥰

lewishamilton Oh no, I should've seen that coming😒

roscoelovescoco Thank's mom's I'm handsome's boy's 😊👅

user7 these interactions give me the will to live

user8 I love the Hamilton family🥺

user9 lol y/n calling roscoe handsome xd

user10 The funniest part about this is that Lewis manages Roscoe's profile😭

user11 omg yes user10 not him playing being offended on his main and then being all sweet as roscoe...

user12 Love forever ❤️

user13 Y/N is so beautiful I can't believe my own eyes

user14 the two belong together forever 🙌🫶♾️💫

user15 fr

user16 If they ever break up I'll stop believing on love

mercedesamgf1 Mr. & Mrs. Mercedes

user17 pls give him decent car in 2024 to win another championship🙏

user18 The most iconic couple in history of motorsport 💅

user19 ❤️😍

user20 what's Ferrari doing in the likes?🤨

user21 lol calm down... he's literally lewis hamilton🤣

user22 No but it's weird... they never like other team's things

user23 and after the rumors during monaco gp too 🥸🥸

user24 I think this photo dump caused global warming... like daaammmnnn they're both so fine 🥵

user25 let's just say roscoe isn't the only one calling them mommy and daddy-

user26 lmao

user26 but true🫢

yourusername posted on instagram

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yourusername barbie has a great day everyday... especially when she gets pink mercedes she wanted 🛍🤍

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lewishamilton Seems like Ken is good for something

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yourusername maybeeee

lewishamilton You want pink Ferrari too, don't you?

yourusername ☺️☺️

user1 ohhh to have a man like that

user2 OMG LEWIS PLS GET HER PINK FERRARI

user3 Yeah, Y/N will slay in that car😌

user4 i wanna be barbie too if she gets pink mercedes

user5 but first you'll need to have a ken like lewis hamilton

francisca.cgomes this barbie is so prettyyyy

yourusername love u! 💓

user6 Okay okay I NEED the bikini😫😍

user7 QUEEN

user8 Y/N looking gorgeous like always🫶🏼

user9 gold digger alert!!!!🤮

user10 Girl go away, you clearly know nothing about their relationship xd

user11 jealousy alert!!!

user12 the first pic does something to me 😩

user13 The most beautiful woman ever

user14 Lewis won lottery w her

user15 yes she's literally so pretty and they seem so happy together🥰

user16 fr I don't think I've seen him this happy before

user17 yeah he looks so much calmer and even younger when y/n is with him at event and gps...🥹

user18 Plus the OUTFITS?! I love them sm

user19 Where is Lewis 🙂?

user20 c'mmon he doesn't have to be in every post she makes🙄

user21 stunning as always 💘

user22 SLAYING AS ALWAYS

twitter

Y/N’s interview

photo 1: Y/N: How did you and Lewis meet?

Y/F/N: Oh, you guys'll love the story!

photo 2: Y/N: It was actually in a toy store. Lew was there with his niece and I was there because... [laughs] Let's say I still like to collect dolls and lego, sue me.

photo 3: Y/N: Anyway, Lew's niece saw me, thought I'm a real life Barbie and wanted to say hi. [laughs] It was honestly so sweet that I didn't have the heart to tell her I'm just a normal girl.

photo 4: Y/F/N: So does she still think you're Barbie? [laughs]

Y/N: Yeah, I think so... She calls me Auntie Barbie! [laughs too]

photo 5: Y/N: But back to Lewis - I didn't recognize him and just thought he's really cute. We talked for few minutes, though then I had to leave and didn't have the courage to ask for his number.

photo 6: Y/N: But few days later he followed me on Instagram and I was just like - yes!

Lewis’ interview

Interviewer: Lewis, you recently followed a known influencer and model on Instagram. Is there something going on between the two of you?

Lewis: Are you talking about Barbie? Oh, shoot, sorry... [laughs] I mean Y/N?

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yourusername aesthetic life w the best man, cute son and lots of flowers 🌸💖

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roscoelovescoco I got's mom's the's flowers's 😊🌷

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yourusername thx roscoe baby!! 🫶 guess daddy will have to learn from you 😌🤍

user1 ... are we gonna talk about the fact y/n just called lewis daddy?

yourusername ... no please don't, you know what i meant 😭🙈

user2 Too late Y/N, the twitter girlies are going to go nuts about this (me included)

landonorris Awww look at that grumpy little dude 🥺

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pierregasly Mate are you calling the seven world time champion grumpy little dude?🤣

user3 lando tf-

user4 This is so funny for no reason😭

user5 Lewis being called grumpy little dude wasn't what I expected from this winter break tbh

landonorris ROSCOE

landonorris I WAS TALKING ABOUT ROSCOE GUYS

user6 💀💀

pierregasly Lol

yourusername why did you even think it was about lewis peirregasly ??🧐

landonorris YEAH MR. TRIPOD TELL US

pierregasly Goodbye...👋

user7 u and lew are so sweet

user8 MOTHER IS MOTHERING 😍

alexandrasaintmleux Shining like a star✨💖

yourusername and you're my sun ☀️💖

user9 I want a man who gives me so many flowers!!!

user10 yeah and they're beautiful and tasteful too

lewishamilton So lucky to have you darling! 🫧🫶🏾

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yourusername we're both so lucky lew 💗🫶

user11 and i'm lucky i was born in the same century as you so i can witness this love

user12 I LOVE Y/N & LEWIS🥰

user13 I'll ask again... When is he going to put a ring on it? 💍 C'mon Lewis you obviously love her sm

user14 Your guys love is so special ❤️

user15 if this is the content we'll be getting during winter break, i don't think i want it to end

user16 races are great... but boyfriend material lewis hamilton is better🤤

user17 REAL

THE END

Author's Note: Hi and thank you for reading! I'll be glad for likes, reblogs, comments, follows and any other ways of support. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT PART 2! I really enjoyed this version of Lewis and Y/N... and perhaps I have a lot of pictures that unfortunately didn't make it to the story because picture limit isn't very friendly. Love you and have a great day! :)

[oskea93]

Kansas Anymore (2)

Tyler Owens x OC

Summary: In which Riley Owens, the ex-wife of the infamous Tornado Wrangler, has 36 hours to come to terms if moving to a whole new country with their small daughter is something she truly wants to do.

Warnings: Cursing, angst, suggested smut, fluff. ✶ Chapter One ✶

■ Italics = Flashback ■ A/N: You guys are amazing! I just want to say thank you so much for loving this story and follwing the tale of Riley and Tyler ❤️ ■ Taglist is available - just drop a comment! Would love to hear your thoughts, questions, or maybe just drop by to say hello! Can't wait to hear from y'all

TL:  @ellesmythe @18lkpeters @hookslove1592, @djs8891, @smoothdogsgirl @queenslandlover-93 @imjustamehbleh @love2write2626 @lt-jakeseresin @starcrossedtrek

“You know when you said that we were going to a show, I didn’t expect it to involve horses and mud.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, my heels sinking into the soggy ground with each step. I had been in Arkansas for less than a month – choosing to attend the college that my father spoke so highly of growing up. As each day passed, it was getting harder and harder to fight the urge to pack all my things and head back home.

My roommate Sarah, who had grown up in the area, laughed as she turned to face me. "Welcome to the South! This is what we call a rodeo. Trust me, you'll have fun."

I glanced around at the bustling fairground. Families gathered around food stalls, the smell of popcorn and barbecue hanging in the air. Children ran past us, their boots splashing in puddles, their laughter ringing out above the distant sounds of country music. Cowboys in worn jeans and hats moved with purpose, leading majestic horses by the reins.

"Fun, huh?" I muttered, trying to pull my heel out of yet another patch of mud. "It looks like a real blast.” Sarah grinned and tugged at my arm, leading me toward the main arena. "Oh, come on! You haven't even seen the best parts yet. The bull riding, barrel racing, and don't forget the rodeo clowns. They’re hilarious!"

As we walked, I noticed the vibrant colors of the stands selling cowboy hats, boots, and all sorts of Western memorabilia. There was an infectious energy in the air. People greeted each other with wide smiles and friendly nods, embodying the warmth of Southern hospitality that Sarah had talked about.

We passed a group of teenagers gathered around a mechanical bull. They cheered each other on, daring one another to take a ride. Sarah nudged me, "Think you could last eight seconds on that thing?"

I shook my head, laughing. "No way! I'd be thrown off in a heartbeat."

A mischievous smirk broke across her face. “Never know till you try.” I rolled my eyes and started to walk away, but her grip on my arm stopped me. “Just once.” Her eyes widened with a playful challenge. “Have a little fun, Riley.”

My eyes glanced between her and the machinery behind her, taking in the sight as a teenage boy was thrown from the contraption, his friends commending his effort with hoots and hollers. The boy, though dusting himself off, wore a wide grin as he rejoined his group, their camaraderie infectious.

I sighed, feeling a mix of reluctance and curiosity. “I’m not wearing the right clothes for that thing,” I said, the excuse as flimsy as it sounded. “Plus, I could break a bone or som—”

“You riding or not, darlin’?” came a loud voice from behind me.

Sarah’s eyes shifted to the voice, and I turned to meet the face of the commenter. He was a tall fucker – had to be over six foot with an overinflated ego. His boots were dusty, and his hat cast a shadow over his eyes, but I could still see the arrogance etched in his smirk. “Excuse me?” I replied, my tone a bit harsher than intended.

“You heard me,” he said, leaning casually against the gate. “You gonna give it a go or just stand there making excuses?” His cocky smile shone bright, and I could practically taste the mockery in his voice. “Too scared you're gonna break a nail?”

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, not out of embarrassment but anger. I clenched my fists and took a step forward, feeling the rough texture of the ground beneath my boots. “Listen, cowboy,” I said, my voice steady despite the irritation bubbling inside. “I’m not here to play games or prove anything to you.”

Sarah shifted uncomfortably beside me, her eyes darting between us. I could sense her unease, but I wasn’t about to back down. The man’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the tension he was stoking.

“Prove something to me?” he chuckled, pushing off the gate and taking a step closer. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to prove anything to me.” His eyes slowly moved up my body, lingering in a way that made my skin flush. “Just to yourself.”

The guy raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk centered on his chiseled face. Clearly, he thought he had me all figured out.

I turned back to Sarah, her eyes showing concern as I handed off my purse and coat. “You really don’t have to do this, Riley.” Her tone shadowed her eyes. “Tyler’s just being an asshole. He’s like that with all the girls in town—” She paused shortly. “You’re just the only one who’s ever talked to him like that.”

“Let’s see what you got, city girl!” The Tyler guy hooped, causing those close enough to center their attention on the situation.

Rolling my eyes, I hastily removed my purse, pushing the bag into Sarah’s arms. “You really don’t have to do this, Riley,” Sarah's voice now hesitant as she looked at me with concern. “We can just go somewhere else and have fun, forget about that guy.”

I shook my head in protest, my resolve hardening as I cast one last glance at the idiot across the room. His smirk fueled my determination. “No way. I’m not gonna give that jerkoff the satisfaction of watching me wuss out,” I declared, my voice tinged with defiance.

As I pushed up the sleeves of my designer shirt, a small act of rebellion that would have my mother clutching her inherited pearls in horror, I felt a surge of adrenaline. This was my moment to show that I was not someone to be pushed around, not someone to be intimidated by an urban cowboy fool at a fucking rodeo.

I confidently approached the bull, climbing onto the steel, gripping the handle with white-knuckled determination.

"Hold on tight, darlin," the elderly operator smiled warmly, his weathered face lined with experience and mischief. With a practiced hand, he flipped the switch, setting the mechanical bull into motion.

As the bull lurched forward, the world around me seemed to blur into a whirlwind of colors and sounds. The contraption bucked and spun with unpredictable ferocity, testing every ounce of my balance and resolve. I clenched the reins tightly, my muscles straining as I fought to stay atop the bucking beast. Sarah’s cheers blended with the roar of the crowd, a chorus of encouragement that spurred me on.

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes, my focus narrowing to the rhythmic movements of the mechanical beast. Just as I started to think I might actually last the full eight seconds, the bull gave a particularly violent twist, sending me flying into the padded arena.

I let out a groan of both relief and exhaustion, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away as I managed to flip myself onto my back. As I lay there, breathing heavily, the cool night sky spread out above me like a vast, dark canvas adorned with twinkling stars.

Sarah's figure quickly loomed over me, her expression a mix of concern and relief etched across her features. With a swift movement, she crouched down beside me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe as if checking for any signs of injury.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine worry and care as she assessed my well-being.

I slowly nodded my head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I think so," I replied, my sentence trailing off momentarily as I gathered my thoughts. "Was that okay?" I inquired, seeking reassurance after the whirlwind of the mechanical bull ride.

Sarah's expression shifted from slight confusion at my question to a mischievous smile that lit up her face. "Are you kidding me, Riley?" she exclaimed, her voice filled with pride and excitement. "That was more than okay. You had Tyler Owens, the reigning rodeo champion, dropping his jaw so far to the ground that he's gonna need some help putting it back in place."

We shared a laugh as she helped me off the mat, my black slacks now dotted with dust and dirt.

"You did good, little girl," the older man remarked with a warm smile as we exited the gates of the rodeo arena. I shyly thanked him, feeling a surge of pride at his encouraging words, but my smile quickly faded as a tall stranger approached us, his hands casually tucked into his denim pockets.

"Wasn't expecting you to last a second, city girl," he remarked with a smirk that seemed to gleam in the dim light of the night. "Gotta hand it to you though, you make riding a bull look easy."

I met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, my own smirk playing at the corners of my lips. "Yeah, well," I retorted, taking a step closer to him, the adrenaline of the ride still coursing through my veins. "It's all in the hips, really."

My words hung in the air between us, a playful challenge laced with a hint of confidence. “Is that right?” His voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver down my spine. “Gonna have to teach me your ways then.”

A flicker of a smile danced across my lips, “Me teach you-“ I took a step back. “From what I hear you’re a world-renowned bull rider, probably the best in the county, maybe even the state.” My words boosting his overstrung ego. “I’m sure a bull made of steel is no match for-“ I paused, tilting my head. “What’s your name again?”

“You know my name, darlin.” His words igniting a burn in my stomach.

He arched an eyebrow as I drew near, clearly taken aback by my sudden boldness. His cronies and Sarah exchanged glances, unsure of what was unfolding before them. I could almost taste the tension in the air, thick and crackling with anticipation.

Without a word, I stood before him, my gaze unwavering. The hint of a smirk played on his lips, a challenge in his eyes. But I held my ground, a silent defiance radiating from every fiber of my being. My hand slowly trailing up his flannel covered front, his breath hitching with each touch.

In one swift motion, I reached out and plucked the Stetson hat from his head, the symbol of his false bravado. Placing the hat atop my head, my smile smug as I looked up at him, almost daring him to take it back.

“You shouldn’t let strangers get too close to you, Tyler Owens,” I remarked coolly, the gravel crunching under my heels as I took a step back. “That’s a lesson us city girls learn at a young age.”

10:54am (2.21 hrs since arrival)

“I can’t believe it's been over a year since we’ve seen you and the little bean,” Lilly smiled warmly over her coffee cup, her eyes reflecting a mix of nostalgia and longing. “I mean, we get to talk to her on video chat, but it’s just not the same.”

I nodded in agreement, a tinge of guilt flickering in my chest. “Yeah, work has been so hectic, and I never know where you guys are gonna be, especially during the season. Tyler’s like a butterfly – floating wherever the wind blows.”

Lilly chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of understanding. “I know he misses her a lot –” Her sentence paused, a moment of hesitation flitting across her features. “Misses you a lot too.” Her gaze met mine, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and unspoken truths. “He still has that picture of the two of you nestled in his visor.”

The photograph that Lilly had taken two weeks after I found out I was pregnant with Caroline. The storm clouds black as night loomed behind us, a stark contrast to the brightness of our smiles that shone as radiant as the sun in the sky.

Tyler had insisted on capturing the moment, his easy laugh filling the air as he playfully teased about becoming parents. Despite the uncertainty and fear that lingered in the depths of my heart, his unwavering support and infectious optimism had been a beacon of light in the midst of the looming storm.

The diner's door suddenly swung open, and in walked Boone, a towering figure with my four-year-old daughter, Caroline, perched high on his shoulders. "Here she comes, Ms. America!" Boone's southern twang echoed through the small space, causing a few of the older folks to turn their heads in mild disapproval. Caroline's infectious giggle, so reminiscent of her father's, rang out as she played along with the theatrics, her smile radiant as ever.

I watched as the two of them made their way through the diner, drawing smiles and curious glances from the other patrons. Caroline's tiny hand waved enthusiastically at the strangers, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Boone, ever the playful uncle, hammed it up for her, making exaggerated gestures and funny faces that elicited peals of laughter from the little girl perched on his shoulders.

As Boone approached our table, I made space for him in the booth, eagerly awaiting Caroline's arrival. Her tiny hands reached out for me as I gently lifted her off his shoulders, her eyes alight with excitement. "Mommy, Daddy said I could go with him and Uncle Booney when the 'nado comes," she announced proudly. "Daddy said there's gonna be one real soon."

My eyes immediately darted to where Boone still stood, his gaze evading mine as he focused intently on the intricate pattern of the floor tiles. "No," I said firmly, my hand instinctively reaching out to gently grasp Caroline's pigtailed braid. "Sweetheart, it's far too dangerous to go with Daddy and Uncle Boone. You need to stay here with me where it's safe."

Caroline's face began to crumple into a disappointed pout, her lower lip trembling slightly. Her eyes, usually bright with curiosity and mischief, now filled with a mixture of defiance and longing. "No, Mommy," she protested, her voice rising in a blend of frustration and determination. "I want to go with Daddy!"

Her attitude shifted suddenly, like a fault line in an earthquake, her small arms crossing over her chest in a display of stubborn defiance. The tension in the room seemed to thicken as her words hung in the air, charged with the raw energy of a child's unwavering will.

I let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me. My eyes flicked over to Lilly, her expression a mixture of concern and understanding.

"Caroline, I'm not having this argument with you," I said firmly, my voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. The tears that had been threatening to spill over now glistened in Caroline's wide green eyes, her lower lip quivering with unshed emotion.

"You're not going, and that's final," I stated, my tone leaving no room for further negotiation. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of my words, the tension between us palpable.

Caroline's shoulders slumped in defeat, her small form trembling with suppressed emotion. A single tear escaped her eye, trailing down her cheek in a silent testament to her disappointment.

Lilly sat forward, her presence a comforting anchor. "Caroline, honey, Mommy is just trying to keep you safe. Sometimes we have to trust that the grown-ups know what's best for us, even when it's hard to understand."

“But you go with daddy to the nados.” Caroline's matter-of-fact statement catching Lilly off guard, her surprise evident in the way her brow furrowed slightly.

"Well," Lilly began, her voice gentle yet tinged with a sense of hesitation. "It's my job to go with your dad and help with the tornadoes. But if my mom told me not to, then I would listen to her and stay behind." Lilly and I shared a knowing glance, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.

We both knew her words were a facade, a carefully constructed lie meant to shield Caroline from the harsh realities of the world. Lilly's mother's disapproval of her association with Tyler and the gang was no secret, a source of tension that simmered beneath the surface of their relationship.

The chimes above the door sounded again as Tyler stepped across the threshold. His smile on display as he greeted those in the restaurant, sparking a conversation with the random patrons. “Daddy!” Caroline quickly stood on the booth’s seat, her arms waving in the air to get Tyler’s attention.

Tyler waved goodbye to his admirers, his smile growing even wider as he approached our booth. As he drew closer, I could already anticipate the first thing that would escape Caroline's lips—the reminder of how I had told her she couldn't go with him on a chase, a trait she had undoubtedly inherited from me.

"Hey there, sweet pea," Tyler greeted Caroline, his voice brimming with affection as he stepped behind the booth. Caroline's arms instinctively wrapped around his neck as he lifted her out of the seat with practiced ease. "Have you gotten something to eat yet?"

Caroline nestled her head against Tyler's shoulder, her small frame shaking with soft sniffles. Concern etched across his face, Tyler gently pressed, "What's wrong, baby?" He reached up to wipe away a stray tear that was making its way down her cheek.

"Mommy won't let me go with you and Uncle Booney for the nado chase," Caroline whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of disappointment and longing.

 Tyler's gaze, the same shade of green as Caroline, locked onto mine with a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's the deal, Riley?" he inquired, his voice gentle but probing.

My face betrayed my emotions before I could even formulate a response. A wave of unease and protectiveness washed over me as I struggled to find the right words to convey my concerns.

"The deal, Tyler, is that she's just a baby," I began, my voice tinged with a blend of firmness and vulnerability. "She doesn't need to be out in the truck, spinning around in a tornado. It's not safe for you and the guys, and it's definitely not safe for a 4-year-old child."

"I'm not a baby, mommy!" Caroline quipped, her voice filled with a mix of defiance and determination, catching me off guard.

My eyebrows raised in surprise at her unexpected retort. "Well, you're my baby, little girl, and like I said, it’s too dangerous to be out there with daddy. Maybe when you're a little older – say twenty –“

“Twenty!” Tyler exclaimed. “You can’t have her living in a bubble all her life, Riley.”

The atmosphere in the room grew tense as my jaw slacked in immediate anger, my eyes narrowing as Tyler stared back at me. "Excuse me?" I retorted; my voice edged with frustration. "Like you have any control of that, since I'm the primary parent here and you're just someone who comes and goes like the fucking wind you chase!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed as Boone and Lilly stepped forward, "Hey, little bean—" Lilly approached Tyler and Caroline, who was actually crying at this point. My frustration with Tyler causing me to forget that she was right in front of me in his arms.

"Why don’t you come with us and help us sell some t-shirts?" Lilly suggested, her warm smile aimed at Caroline, who sniffled and wiped away her tears.

Boone stepped lightly behind me, his easygoing demeanor a calming presence. "Yeah, who's gonna turn down an adorable kid?" he added with a playful grin, trying to lighten the mood.

I hastily ran a hand through my hair as Caroline climbed into Lilly's arms, her giggles filling the room and momentarily easing the tension. Tyler's face remained stoic as he sent glares my way, the unspoken emotions between us hanging heavy in the air.

Feeling the weight of his gaze, I met his eyes with a mix of defiance and weariness. The complexities of our relationship, the unresolved issues simmering beneath the surface, were laid bare in that moment of silent confrontation.

Tyler's voice was low and filled with hurt as he spoke, "That was a really shitty thing to do, Riley. To bring that up in front of Caroline – make me look like a bad dad. Real nice."

I lowered my head in frustration as Tyler stormed past me, his steps purposeful and heavy. The hushed whispers of those around us mingled with the clinking of cutlery, casting a spotlight on our tense exchange. With a heavy sigh, I gathered my composure, steeling myself against the onslaught of prying eyes and whispered conversations. The weight of their scrutiny bore down on me, a reminder of the fragility of our private struggles in a very public setting.

[umemiyan]

𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙀𝙈 / 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙐𝙈. — 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝖨𝖨

𝘗𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘐𝘖𝘜𝘚 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 ･ 𝘕𝘌𝘟𝘛 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 ･ 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ･ 𝘛𝘈𝘎𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ sfw, but minors dni (nsfw future chapters likely) / an interpretation of "came back wrong" gojo (he's not necessarily wrong, just different) / yandere!gojo vibes / disabled-coded gojo with reader acting as caretaker; it's essentially a learning curve for everybody involved / some dubcon physical affection moments, but nothing serious / 3.4k words

well... we have made it to a second chapter!! this overall idea just really resonated with me, and after learning how it affected others as well, i just knew i had to do my best to keep it going. this is the first ever "part 2" of anything i've ever written, so i beg for just a shred of mercy! i'm trying my best, and thank you to everyone who has said kind things about this story so far. i hope you enjoy <3

The winter air is brisk and a little volatile, but you feel blessed to have it whirl past your skin—even more blessed to watch Satoru’s flesh prickle at the sensation. Alive.

You had done your best to rummage through the expanse of his closet to find a suitable coat for him to wear—one that would cut the chill of an afternoon breeze when it inevitably brushed across his body. January could be unforgiving at times—the harshest of winter moths. You wondered how cold death must’ve felt.

“Satoru, where are your shoes?” You inquired, voice muffled in his closet as you sifted through garments, multitasking in an attempt to compose an outfit for him.

He sat at the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on your movements as they often were, mind turning at your question for a moment. He stood then, paced towards the shoe rack that stood outside the closet door, and reached gently for one of your busied hands. Satoru points your fingers towards the collection of shoes.

You paused your movements, eyes curious as they followed his guidance before landing upon their intended target. “Oh, that’s right,” you said with a small shake of your head, bearing a self-defeating smile and feeling rather silly for your oversight. 

It was a challenge to become acquainted with someone else’s home amidst everything else, responsibilities stacking upon responsibilities. However, Satoru continued to prove that he could recall more than you initially thought, that he could act as your guiding light when called upon. A little ironic, you think. A little pathetic, too? No, you are human, after all. Just as he is.

He smiled in return. You swore there was even a hint of a familiar light-hearted, teasing glimmer in his eye, unless you were seeing things.

(You weren’t.)

For once, you are grateful for the rather serene nature of the school’s grounds as you stroll across them side-by-side with him, much like in days from a not-so-distant past. The remaining fallen leaves from the trees dressing the mountains rustle with the wind, colored by the touch of death but still beautiful all the same, just like something else you know.

“We can always go back if it gets too cold,” you say as a reminder to Satoru of his agency, his home on campus easy to circle back to should you take the notion. You fear he might choose to freeze himself into another early grave if that’s what you wished, and you can’t fathom the idea of making him suffer simply because he thinks it pleases you to do so. Your happiness is somehow his, and although this is a new quality you have yet to decipher, there’s still something about it that strikes you as indulgent and rather characteristic of a gluttonous Satoru Gojo.

He doesn’t respond, gaze flitting across his surroundings as he walks, nerve endings and six eyes absorbing a litany of information. A silent Satoru used to be a rare occurrence but is now the default, the air somehow punctured by the lack of his voice riding along it. However, his presence is still stark, his being brimming with energy as if to make up for the words he can no longer speak. 

Unbeknownst to you, he communicates with you not only with his physical body, but with his feelings, too—waves of energy that he projects outward on instinct, hoping you’ll have the means to grasp what he is trying to say even if he isn’t always sure what it is. It has been rather unsynchronized and sloppy thus far, but with each day that passes, your ability to hear him grows.

You can hear him now even with the only sounds being the breeze rushing in your ears and leaves crunching beneath the soles of shoes. There is something somber about him, more than usual, mixed with that same sense of being lost in a world that feels brand new. 

All of it is familiar to Satoru on a physical level—the paths, the buildings, the foliage—but what prickles his mind is attempting to piece together the myriad of strange feelings that arise as he is faced with more and more reminders of a past that he can’t fully recall. 

It’s as though the memories are trying to surface but can’t quite fuse into something tangible, something concrete, like when you feel a word forming just at the tip of your tongue but it never arrives. He can sense them deeply in his body, almost experience a brief image flashing like lightning through his mind before it disappears. Satoru’s frustration is palpable, and he reaches for your hand.

Icy-cold fingers nipped by winter intertwine with yours, tethering him in place as his fractured mind aches with the burden of obscurity. His physical affection is new to you, but you allow it—welcome it, even. As much as the earnest displays contrast with his previous tiptoeing around connection, it is yet another thing you can’t bear to turn down, not after everything that’s happened. 

You hope it isn’t simply guilt of all things compelling you to accommodate him, but wouldn’t it be equally bad to do it for selfish reasons? Could one misconstrue it as taking advantage, of feeding off his need to satisfy some part of you that had always wanted him?

The various implications make your head swim with conflict, so you force yourself to shut them down for the time being. Satoru is only holding your hand, nothing more, at least for the moment. There had of course been instances of his lips pecking against your own, wandering down to your neck, his hand settling on your waist as if to draw you closer… but you’d always managed to divert his attention in one way or another, severing the connection before either of you could become too engrossed in it. He never seemed overly perturbed to shift direction, but you couldn’t help but wonder just how long his patience might last, and if you’d be able to figure out what you even were to him before then.

Needless to say, nothing could have ever prepared you for something like this. What drives you forward more than anything is your contentment with the fact that he’s here walking the earth with you, as whole as he can be after having been stolen from the arms of death. And despite the abundance of challenges, part of you can’t help but feel special for being chosen to face them.

When your feet bring you near the school’s entrance, gates opening way for a path down the mountain, Satoru stops dead in his tracks, alert like an animal that’s suddenly caught a scent. His grip on your hand tightens, heart plummeting into his stomach as something takes hold of him, something he likely couldn’t put into words even if he had the ability to speak.

You turn to check over him with your gaze, concern etched upon your features at the immediate change of pace. “Satoru…?” you call softly, yearning for a chance to be able to peek into his mind. All you can do is feel the chill of his demeanor.

His name drifting upon your voice earns a split second of his attention, but he is, for once, captivated by something else.

Pierced gut. Blocked throat. Summer sun and the sounds of buzzing.

It’s a memory that lives in his body but not his conscious mind, an instinct telling him to heed the surroundings for a threat that once was. He relives it with a rapid heartbeat, knows it bears importance, but he can only recall shreds of information that don’t merge together to form a full picture. He simmers in mounting frustration.

Black hair. Sharp eyes. Boiling blood—the brink of death.

Satoru turns on a dime and faces a figure in the distance, on guard and brimming with a sort of defensiveness you’d never quite seen before, at least not coming from him. Muscles rigid, he squeezes your upper arm as if to warn you, to keep you close, his extraordinary senses absorbing information quicker than you can even pivot to see what it is he’s looking at.

From around the corner of a building emerges Megumi, clad in warm clothes and a mellow disposition. His distinctly unruly hair makes it easy to identify him even from where he appears down the path, hands in his pockets as he strolls towards you upon recognition. 

Satoru’s mind runs through calculations as the young student approaches, attempting to distinguish and fill gaps and create something he can take hold of as a semblance of fact.

Black hair. Sharp eyes. Something… different? 

Megumi’s cursed energy burns in a recognizable way, striking Satoru as peculiar as he instinctively studies it with the six eyes. But it makes sense to him—it’s familiar, even if he struggles to trust it in full. This is someone he hasn’t met since his awakening, but someone his eyes have certainly seen before.

You can sense the fear radiating off Satoru’s being and into yours, the presence of someone other than you agitating his already troubled state. You must act.

“Look, it’s Megumi,” you say softly with an encouraging smile, encasing his hand with your palm and hoping that your pleasant reaction takes the edge off. Satoru is reluctant to avert his gaze, but does so anyway, blue darting in your direction to witness the happiness written in your features. You appear to trust this person, and he trusts you, so despite the pounding in his chest, the sorcerer relaxes his grip.

You guide Satoru to take a few steps forward with you to meet Megumi as he draws nearer, a tired but welcoming smile turning your lips upward to greet him. It’s nice to see the boy alive and well in the aftermath of his own debacle—or at least as well as someone could possibly be. You wish there had been something more you could’ve done to help him recover, but it was known to many that you happened to have your hands full at the moment. Hopefully he will understand.

“Hey,” Megumi utters quietly, eyes scanning over your face and then his teacher’s, trying to briefly assess your individual states.

“Hi, Megumi,” you respond, appraising him yourself. He seems to be all in one piece, which you had been informed of, but had yet to see yourself. It’s nice to have visual confirmation. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he replies quickly, flatly, minimizing himself as usual. His voice is more sincere when inquiring about your wellbeing. “And you?”

You grin, finding a way to sum up your experience without overwhelming him. “Hanging in there,” you muse with a breathy chuckle. There’s no use in worrying him with all the details of Gojo’s current condition and how it has subsequently flipped your world upside down, but Megumi is shrewd, and you’re sure he can come to some sort of conclusion, especially when briefed by the others who have eyes on the situation.

Megumi awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck, skirting around vulnerability and concern as his next question arises. “Gojo-sensei… how are you doing?”

Satoru has been silent all the while, of course, but sorting through every detail while you and his former student exchange pleasantries. Neurons fire, rewiring frazzled connections, giving him a glimpse at how this boy is not the same as the one he bears a resemblance to.

Megumi isn’t sure what sort of response to expect; in fact, he feels silly for expecting one at all, posing a question that he’s fairly certain can’t be answered directly. But how else was he meant to conduct himself in such an interaction, to show that he cares? To speak as if Gojo weren’t even there would feel like even more of an insult.

You’re caught in the middle, watching Satoru’s face and seeing the gears turning in his head. “I think we’re all just… learning how to adjust to things, y’know?” you reply with a rather vacant smile, turning back to Megumi who understands your subtext with ease. Rather than speak for Satoru, you’ve made a blanket statement to provide just the slightest bit of feedback, and Megumi is well aware.

The student nods his head with a short hum of acknowledgment, doing his best to see his mentor in this new light—one he never thought would be possible, not when it came to someone who had always claimed to be so strong. But at least there is a light at all.

The wind tosses leaves around between the three of you, filling the silence with its quiet whispers. You wish there was more to be said. You wish you had a solid grasp of how well Satoru really was doing.

“I think Ieiri said she wanted to see you soon,” Megumi states, acting as a courier, trying to fill the space with words.

You nod. “Yeah, we’ve been in touch. We’re actually meant to meet up with her tomorrow.” 

Shoko, while expectedly rather removed, had been one of your primary contacts and supports thus far, apart from Ijichi who shouldered the burden of several essential tasks you hadn’t been able to complete on your own. You felt guilty for sending him out for groceries and back to your apartment for extra sets of clothes, but how else would you manage to make it by? Leaving Satoru alone or in the care of someone else wasn’t currently an option, and taking him outside the school grounds didn’t sound like an optimal idea either at the present moment. So you had to make do in the meantime, and you were truly grateful for the help, but you couldn’t help but hope that things would eventually fall into place. Maybe Shoko would have answers.

“That’s good,” Megumi replies with a sparkle of hope in his tone, then reluctantly adds, “and, uh… just let me know if I can do anything to help, okay?”

You respond to his gesture with a warm smile. “Thank you, Megumi. That’s very kind.” You don’t have immediate plans for taking the young man up on his offer, but you appreciate the sentiment regardless. He deserves to rest and seek peace, not fight any more battles for the sake of others.

A twinge of pink colors the apples of Megumi’s cheeks, and he recedes into the scarf wrapped around his neck, unused to accepting grace from others without feeling inclined to quarrel about it. He is at a loss for words, somewhat eager to make his escape before the vulnerability has the chance to further consume his dignity. You take that as something of a cue.

“Well, we—” you start, preparing to make a closing statement and depart, before being interrupted by a sudden movement to your left—Satoru, breaking free from his fixed state to perform a familiar gesture.

As if finally making a connection, he grins and mimics the Ten Shadows hand configuration for summoning the Divine Dogs, clapping his palms together and examining Megumi’s reaction with ardor. The student is startled out of his mild embarrassment, somewhat baffled by the sudden communication attempt and the implication that his mentor perhaps actually remembers who he is. It’s a pleasant surprise to you both, and a moment or two is required for it to sink in.

Your face lights up with glee, heart warmed by the simple action in a way that’s difficult to express. Megumi appears to be in a similar boat—taken aback, but ultimately stricken with joy.

A modest smile creeps upon Megumi’s lips as he softly mirrors the motion with his own hands, acknowledging Gojo’s revelation. “Yeah…” he says, voice faint but pleased. “Divine Dogs.”

Every brief glimpse into Satoru’s thoughts feels like a blessing, and this is certainly no exception. It’s refreshing to watch him have a moment of sincere connection with someone other than yourself, and it leaves you glowing with hope for the future as you bid Megumi farewell and make your way back home.

“Head back, Satoru.”

Water splashes into the bathtub as Satoru cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling as per your request, a cup full of liquid streaming over his hair and carrying shampoo suds along with it.

After returning from your walk, you’d prepared something for dinner and eventually urged Satoru into the tub for a bath before bed—yet another activity that seemed to get a little easier every time you did it.

Figuring out how to get him to bathe had initially been quite the challenge, but you had managed to devise a method that had gotten the job done quite well thus far. He might’ve looked rather awkward sitting cramped in the shallow bath with a pair of swimming trunks on while you rinsed him with an old plastic cup you’d excavated from a cabinet, but it was the most effective way to get him clean and preserve both your dignities while doing it. Though you were the only one who seemed to be concerned with such things.

Satoru blinks when a few soapy droplets backslide into one of his eyes, causing him to squint, scrunch, and rub it with his fingers until the uncomfortable sensation eases. He looks at you, almost as if to say, “Hey! That burns!”

You chuckle and shake your head with a playful roll of your eyes. “That’s why you’re supposed to close your eyes, goober.”

He wants to submerge in a pout, but your playfulness rids him of the inclination. Satoru instead shifts his focus to the beauty of your frame perched upon the edge of the tub, a beacon of divinity as you cleanse him with care and devotion. He takes the notion to express an inkling of gratitude by leaning forward and placing a kiss against your lips, lukewarm water rippling around him as it gradually cools.

You’re somewhat stiff and unresponsive, the sudden gesture catching you by surprise as it usually does, but you don’t chastise him for it; in fact, it takes a certain level of concentration for you to avoid letting your thoughts linger on his current state: hair slicked back; flesh exposed and glistening with droplets of water; lips warm, wet, and eager for reciprocation…

Your mouth receives his but does not encourage him for more than a split second, pulling back gently from his advance until you can see Satoru shiver as the water chills his body. His eyes are glued to your face, waiting for a reaction as you prepare to make one more pass over his hair with the cup to see that he is fully rinsed, this time using your hand to shield his eyes from any backflow (and from your expression, which is surely indicative of your now rapid heartbeat).

The action is enough to distract him for the moment, but Satoru is still on edge, teeming with infatuation and need. He is unsatisfied with your response—or lack thereof—and is frustrated with his inability to express it, but your hands carefully wiping drops of water from his face act as a temporary soothing agent.

“Alright, let’s get dried off and ready for bed,” you say, standing to fetch his towel from the rack and bring it back to him before reaching down to trigger the tub to drain. “We’re going to talk to Shoko tomorrow.”

Satoru is less concerned with the meaning of your words than he is with how lovely you sound while saying them. He is once again caught in your spell, entranced by the need to be closer but settling for the scraps that you give him—for now.

You aren’t convinced of his comprehension of what you say, but nevertheless, you use the sweetened tone to deflect from the overwhelm of watching him stand and observe your every move as you help to dry his chiseled body. Satoru is tall and looming, scarred in the midriff, but compliant with your ministrations; however, his easygoing nature doesn’t keep your hands from wanting to shake against the towel that repeatedly caresses his physical beauty. You wish you could torch every thought in your mind, switch your brain off to preserve the strength and sanity that remains. 

You aren’t sure how long you’ll be able to remain steadfast and maintain this cycle of “temporaries” until something eventually changes. And what if it never does?

You suppose the only thing you can do for now is try your best and wait and see what the future holds. It certainly can’t be any worse than what you’ve already been through, especially now that Satoru is by your side once more. That is something you’ve realized you wouldn’t trade for anything.

[multifandomfanficss]

Never Listen To Venkman

Egon Spengler x Reader

(With platonic!Peter Venkman)

Prompt: When you and Peter are left alone to experiment with a suspicious, blue, viscous slime, things go south and Egon comes home to you having a paranormal induced panic attack.

Warnings: panic attacks, autistic meltdowns, sensory issues, detailed descriptions of sensory issues, feeling uncomfortable in one’s own skin.

A/N: Back in my Ghostbusters era. It is contractually obligated that I must re-obsess every time a new movie comes out. I’ve loved Egon since I was a little kid. I can’t believe I’ve never written for him. The italics are flashbacks. This is crossposted on my AO3 adriansglasses.

The reader is intended to be autistic, but can be read any way you’d like. Anyone is allowed to relate and see themselves in the reader wether they’re autistic or not!

You were sitting at your desk with in your small shared lab with Egon in the firehouse when you heard footsteps. You thought you had been home alone until Peter walked in.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were going on a double date with Winston while Ray and Egon were at the movie.” You questioned him, putting down your pen. You had been taking notes on a new kind of slime the boys had found. It was different from the other slime they’d found last month when Vigo was trying to take over. While Vigo’s slime was pink in color, this slime was blue and had a more viscous consistency.

“Oscar had a fever, so Dana and I decided to cancel. She thinks he’s getting his first tooth.” Peter smiles. Despite the jokes he’s made and the amount of times he’s said he was nowhere near ready to be a father, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t happy being back with Dana again and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love Oscar just as much as he loved her.

“Did Winston still go?” You ask.

“Oh, yeah. He’s probably back in her apartment with the bed rocking as we speak. No way he’s coming home tonight.” Peter laughed at his own joke as you cringe.

“You’re disgusting.” You roll your eyes.

“What are you up to tonight? Got a hot date with a slime? Not too different from your usual dating life.” He chuckles.

“You’re such a dick, Venkman. I figured while everybody was out tonight I’d try to find out SOMETHING about this new slime. Egon and I have been studying it for two days and we have literally nothing.” You gesture to the blue goo on your desk.

“Do you need help?” He asks.

“Are you offering to help me on your night off?” You ask, shocked.

“I’ve got nothing better to do.” Peter shrugs.

“Are you gonna take it seriously?” You hesitate.

“I’m always serious!” Peter bluffs. Peter was never serious. Egon was always serious. His bluntness and black and white thinking had always been a comfort to you. He wasn’t some puzzle you had to figure out. He just was. Being with him wasn’t a guessing game the same way it was with Peter.

“Somehow that’s hard to believe, but I could really use your expertise in parapsychology, so I’ll say yes.” You sigh. You know this probably isn’t the best idea, but Peter knows more about this topic than you do. You’d be stupid to reject his help.

“If you’ll be the subject, I’ll run the experiment.” He says, taking out the helmet with wires.

“Okay.” You agree. Once the helmet is on you should be connected to a series of machines able to read the energy of your emotions, as well as the slime itself, giving you a more direct connection without touching. Peter starts asking you a series of questions, trying to draw different emotional responses.

“Think of a time when you were happy, really happy.” He prompts. Your mind, wandered around the room, trying to think of something, when your eyes landed on Egon’s book sitting on his desk.

It made you think of the first time you realized you had deep feelings for him. While you’d always thought he was attractive, you realized your feelings were deeper than you thought, far beyond a harmless little crush, one day when he let you borrow his book. As you read his notes in the margins you were able to analyze things like him, see the world through his eyes. You saw how his brain connected and processed things. You always liked the person he’d shown you, but writing in the margins is different. When you take notes in a book, you’re not putting on a mask for people to see. Notes in the margins are just for you. There’re your unfiltered thoughts. Seeing who Egon was when nobody was watching was different. He was funny, smart, deep, curious, not as confident as he pretended to be; he didn’t censor himself in his books. He wasn’t quiet in his books. Reading his margins felt intimate.

“You’re thinking about Spengler, aren’t you?” Venkman teases.

“Why would you say that?” You look at him, embarrassed.

“Because you’re in loooooove!” Peter mocks.

“Can we change the subject?” You practically beg.

“Think of a moment where you were uncomfortable.” Peter prompts.

“This conversation.” You fiddle with your fingers.

“No, really. I wanna see how it reacts to discomfort.”

“Fine.” You sigh. You think back to one of your many lab accidents. Working in a lab with sensory issues is never easy and that was something you and Egon both struggled with.

You think back to the day when you superglued your fingers shut by accident. You got them apart, but you couldn’t get the the residue off. You started to hyperventilate, on the verge of tears. You wanted to hit your hands on things, but you knew that wouldn’t help. You couldn’t peel off the glue without peeling off your skin.

“What’s wrong?” Egon looked at you puzzled, and a bit worried.

“Superglue! I- I- I can’t get it off!” You shake your hands, violently, your whole body is tensed up.

Egon quickly takes a bottle out from his desk drawer and runs over to you. He grabs your hands.

“Look at me, (Y/N). It’s okay. I’ll take off all the residue.” He promises, giving you a soft smile. Despite not liking seeing you in such discomfort, he forces the smile to help calm you down. He begins to massage the liquid from the bottle onto your fingers with a rag.

“See, it’s okay. It’s coming off.” He continues to speak softly, calming you.

“What is that stuff?” You ask.

“I wish I could say it’s some sort of fancy, scientific, protective disinfectant, but as it so happens it’s only nail polish remover.” You both chuckle quietly. “Janine gave it to me the last time I got superglue on something and couldn’t get it off.” He smiles down at your hands, still focused on getting the last little bit off.

“This slime is so different from the mood slime. I thought I saw it let go of a bubble, but it’s mostly doing nothing. I think it might be dead. I think it might be time to bury it in the backyard.” Peter begins to fake sob.

“Knock it off.” You laugh. “What backyard? This is Manhattan!”

“You should try touching it.” Peter suggests.

“Egon, said I should under no circumstances touch it directly, especially while he’s not here.” You inform him.

“Well Egon, is being overprotective. Nothing bad happened when everyone else touched the pink slime and I accidentally ate green slime once.” Venkman says.

“What do you mean accidentally?” You ask.

“It was our first mission. Slimer ran through me. It was a whole thing. I think you should touch it… You might be able to figure out what it is before Spengler gets back…” He tries to change your mind.

“You’re sure there were no serious side effects from touching the other slimes?” You ask, hesitantly. Egon would be annoyed if he found out you went against his pleas to keep your hands away from the plasma, but you wanted to impress him.

“Nothing serious. I grew an extra pinky, but they cut it off.” He jokes.

“Haha, very funny, Venkman.” You roll your eyes.

“Fine.” You sigh, taking a deep breath before plunging your hand into the blue viscous goo. “Oh…This is literally fine.” You feel no effect, but when your heart rate picks up you realize you spoke too soon. You fall onto the floor, knocking over the slime. You feel like your heart is racing, like it could beat out of your chest and you can’t suck enough air into your lungs. You’re terrified.

“(Y/N)!” Peter yells, rushing to the floor to help you. He tries to touch the the hand not covered in blue slime, but you push him away, sobbing. You don’t want him anywhere near you. You’re slipping away from reality into a deep state of panic and paranoia.

“Please! No!” You sob. It’s the only thing you can manage to get out. You barley recognize Peter anymore. He doesn’t feel like a friend. He feels like a threat.

“Honestly, the movie was quite terrible. Ray stopped for a 99 cent pizza on the corner. What did you- (Y/N)?!” Egon speaks as he enters the room, cutting himself off when he notices you’re in distress.

“Pete, what happened?!” Egon questions once he sees Venkman.

“We were doing an experiment and they touched the goo and they just started freaking out. They won’t let me near them.” Peter tells him, obviously shaken. You hear the two men, but you don’t process them. It’s like you’re underwater.

“This is different from their usual sensory issues. I think they’re having a panic attack.” Egon kneels in front of you. “(Y/N), you’re okay. You’re safe. You’re in the firehouse. I’m here.” He tells you slowly.

“I- I can’t breathe!” You gasp for air.

“Your lungs are expanding and contracting at a rate too fast for your body to intake oxygen. I need you to try to breathe slow and deep with me. In…and out. Nice and slow.” He prompts. “Peter, I need latex gloves and towels.” Venkman could have made multiple jokes about Egon’s command, but looking at you this way made him uneasy. It wasn’t the right time. After being handed the gloves, Egon slipped them on and got to work cleaning off your slime covered arm. You begin to sob, overwhelmed by the feeling of the slime, the latex gloves, and the towel. It was difficult to handle on top of your panic attack. “Peter, we need to get them into the decontamination shower.”

“No!” You gasp between sobs.

“Come, on. I’ll go with you. We can get all the plasma off of you.” Egon speaks softly, but with a gentle urgency, as he tries to coax you to the shower. You shake your head no. “Are you against touch right now?” He asks.

“They did not like when I touched them.” Venkman warns.

“Only you-“ You break out in a sob. It doesn’t even cross your mind that you may be offending Peter by only wanting Egon. Luckily he’s not offended. Egon begins to take off his glove to provide skin to skin contact on the arm not drenched in slime in an effort to comfort you.

“Aren’t you worried about getting that stuff on you?” Venkman questions, worried Egon will shutdown like you.

“I’m getting in the decontamination shower anyway.” Egon shrugs, turning to you. He takes your hand in his, softly rubbing the top with his thumb.

“But- but your clothes will get all wet!” You sob. You knew Egon had his own sensory issues. You’d often have to help him when his long sleeves would get wet during experiments. It would drive him crazy. He avoided puddles like the plague and always had an umbrella nearby.

“Try not to worry about me right now. I just want you to focus on your breathing. I can always change my clothes.” He smiles. While it hurts him to see you so distressed, he was happy to know you cared about his comfort. “Let’s go shower. You can’t leave all that slime on you. I believe it’s worsening your mental state.” You nod, still crying.

“I’ll get them under the shower, I’ll need you to turn it on. Make sure not to touch the slime. I got a minuscule amount on my finger and it’s making me rather anxious. I can only imagine what this amount is doing to them.” Egon tells Peter. He helps you to stand, walking your trembling form over to the shower. “There we go. Just a few more steps. You’re doing wonderfully, (Y/N).” Egon softly attempts to comfort you.

Once you’re under the shower head, Venkman turns it on. Both you and Egon jolt at the sudden water pressure. He tightens both his jaw and his grip on you, holding his eyes shut tight. He can’t stand the feeling of his wet clothes against his body, but he’s brave for you. Once adjusted to the water, Egon begins to wash the slime off your body with care. Peter leaves to go upstairs and get you some towels. You feel the panic and paranoia start to leave your body. Despite still being incredibly anxious, you were starting to phase out of your slime induced panic attack. You lean against Egon, struggling to hold your own body weight. Maybe you’ll be more embarrassed tomorrow, but right now you just needed to be held. You were craving pressure on your body. You felt as if you would float off the ground if you weren’t held down. Egon wraps his arms around you, bringing you closer. He places a kiss on your forehead before placing his chin on top of your head. You snuggled into his chest, finding his pulse. You didn’t have the time or the bandwidth in your brain to think about what the kiss meant. You just wanted to be close to him.

“You’re okay, (Y/N). You’re safe.” Egon tells you. You’re not sure if it’s for your benefit or his. It’s for both, really.

You’re quiet for most of the night, unable to bring yourself to speak. Egon doesn’t mind. He thinks a verbal shutdown is more than understandable after the night you’ve had. After the shower, you follow Egon around the fire station. You don’t want to be alone right now. He doesn’t mind. He puts out some of his clothes for you to wear; pajama pants and one of his soft sweaters. He goes to leave the room for you to change, but you stop him.

“Can- can we just like? Turn around?” You ask. “I’m sorry. If you’re uncomfortable, that’s okay. I just really don’t wanna be alone right now.” You voice is hoarse from crying.

“Of course.” He smiles, turning around.

“I’m decent.” He informs you after a minute of rustling.

“Me too.” You tell him and you both turn around.

“I’m sorry.” You tell him, near tears again. You feel awful for how tonight went. This was supposed to be the boys’ day off. Egon gives you a sad look.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You were just trying to help. Venkman told me he put you up to it anyway.” Egon sighs.

“I probably shouldn’t have listened to him.” You let out a sad chuckle, one tear slipping past you, down your cheek. You wipe it quickly.

“Never listen to Venkman.” Egon gives a sad laugh.

“At least we figured out what the slime does… Egon, can I ask you a question?” You hesitate.

“Well, you just did, but yes.” He smiles, joking to lighten the mood. You smile at him.

“Why did you do all that? You took off your gloves, putting yourself at risk and then you put yourself through sensory hell just to get me cleaned up.” You question him.

“Isn’t it obvious? (Y/N), I care about you.” You look at him, thinking about the tone in his words. You can’t quite decipher it, but there’s something else there. Is it possible he could feel the same way about you that you feel about him? “You should get some sleep.” He interrupts your thoughts. “If you’d rather not be alone, you may sleep in my room tonight. I would find it beneficial to monitor you overnight to watch for long lasting effects, anyway.” He adds.

“Only if that’s okay with you.” You hesitate.

“Of course it’s okay with me. I just suggested it.” He smiles.

Once you’re settled into bed, Egon turns off the lights and climbs in next to you.

“Egon, I’m still anxious.” You blurt out into the dark.

“Do you need pressure?” He asks.

“Yes.” You say, hoping he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t seem to mind, as he scoops you into his arms. You cuddle into his chest, surrounded by him, surrounded by safety. You know this should be weird, but it doesn’t feel weird. As Egon kisses the top of your forehead again, bidding you goodnight, you wonder what this all means. You wonder what you are to each other. You feel you’ve crossed the line as friends, but you’re too tired and too awkward and too anxious to talk about labels. You and Egon never quite fit into boxes as people anyway. Your relationship didn’t need to either. Whatever this was between you was comforting. It was safe and it was going to help you sleep tonight.

[emsartwork]

ALL OF DAPHNE'S TRANSFORMATIONS. INCLUDING UPDATED NYMPHIX.

Previously Fairy of the Dragon Flame now Fairy of Embers. She doesn't have any transformations others than these because she was fast tracked into the nymphix path, and unlike the winx the majority of fairies don't pursue additional transformations past enchantix. (i think Daphne would be interested in Dreamix tho, so maybe I'll draw that eventually.

Her major color shifted after dying and being revived, which is shown in her winx and enchantix.

other lore and design notes below!

I changed her major color from orange/yellow to more of a teal/green because. she just doesn't look good in yellow I'm sorry I really tried but it wasn't working. Also little updates to her hair color, nothing huge tho. Daphne's primary motifs are a branching "Y" shape and a double oval/tear drop. She's a pants when possible girlie and a one set winger(yes her nymphix looks like it have multiple wings but they all merge into one stem on each side) . Her scars from her Sirenix being ripped out of her caused her winx/enchantix to change a little to cover them(mostly seen in the arms) due to insecurity. Her Dryadix/nymphix flower is a daffodil! because pun Daph-Daff, and Daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings (also creativity, energy, resilience, forgiveness and vitality). Her Harpix wings aren't super specificly patterned, but she has darting wings common in small song and seed birds (robins, finches, brown birds etc.) the coloring is referential of a Shrike (also called a Butcher Bird), because Daphne was. incredibly dangerous and if she had sided with the ancestral probably would have been given a moniker similar to Butcher of Domino or Daphne the Slaughterer. (some people do call her these but its mostly among people who dislike Domino/The Royal Family.)

Lore! Daphne doesn't have a great sense of self, she was planned as a necessary successor to Marion/the dragon flame in a period as the ancestral witches were escalating their attacks and search for the dragon flame. Bloom was a back up baby in case both Daphne and Marion got dead and basically worked as intended haha. Daphne was also much more publicly involved in the kingdom than many of the other royals in winx (Stella, Aisha, Krystal and even Galatea to an extent all had rather sheltered upbringings) in a way Daphne is much more like Sky and Thoren in the since that none of them really had the space to develop their own personality outside of their familial duty.

Daphne's 1st winx and enchantixes are as direct a copy of her mom's Enchantix as you can get with transformations, right down to the more greenish tint of her major color. Growing up Marion used her fairy form liberally, so that, combined with being the next Dragon Flame holder left a deep impact on Daphne's subconscious. Daphne was also heavily influenced by Faragonda during her Alfea and Nymphix Quest years, but since she was older this isn't as deep an influence. After being revived, Daphne's years of defining herself as her connection to Bloom causes her major color to shift more blue in response to her trauma. Daphne is slowly starting to develop a sense of self outside of her titles/connections but it's unlikely her major color will shift again unless she has another major trauma.

(for the record the Winx do have trauma over the timeline I have laid out that would potentially cause their major colors to shift but I didn't do that for a couple reasons 1, their colors are iconic and make them easily recognizable as characters; 2, I'm a tired bitch. )

[transform4u]

Another type of pride

Ashton was buzzing with anticipation as he paced around his apartment, the beats of Lady Gaga pumping through his speakers. Pride weekend in New York was his time to shine, and he intended to make the most of it. He had meticulously planned his outfit, a blend of glitter and bold colors that screamed confidence and pride. Pregaming shots by himself seemed like the perfect way to get into the celebratory spirit, each sip adding to his excitement for the night ahead.

Suddenly, a sharp knock on the door pierced through the music, and Ashton practically skipped over to answer it, expecting his friend Dylan. Dylan was the epitome of a twunk—tall, muscular, with an effortless charm that made heads turn wherever he went. Ashton couldn't wait to hit the parade with him, knowing they'd be turning heads and living their best lives.

But when Ashton swung open the door, Dylan's easy smile didn't greet him. Instead, standing there was Jessica, her mascara running down her cheeks, a picture of heartbreak.

"Zayne just broke up with me. It's my fault, Ash," Jessica choked out between sobs, her hands trembling.

Ashton sighed inwardly, familiar with Jessica's history of falling for charismatic yet insufferable straight douchebags. Zayne, with his rugged good looks and charming persona, was just the latest in a string of disappointing choices.

"Jess, come on," Ashton said gently, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. "You know you deserve better than these douchebags."

Jessica sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I know, but… I can't help it."

Ashton glanced at his watch, aware that time was ticking and the city was already alive with Pride celebrations. "Look, Jess, I'm really sorry, but it's Pride weekend. I wish there was something I could do. But it's Pride! We've been planning this forever. Can we deal with this later?"

Jessica looked up at him with watery eyes, her expression shifting suddenly to one of determination. "Ash, I have something that can make everything better," she declared, a glint of mischief in her gaze.

Ashton raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to expect next from his unpredictable friend. "What do you mean?"

A secretive smile curled Jessica's lips as she rummaged through her purse. "You'll see," she said cryptically, producing an old, worn cap hat.

As Jessica began to murmur something under her breath, Ashton felt a flicker of unease. The room seemed to darken slightly, and a chill ran down his spine as Jessica's words took on an almost mystical cadence.

"By my will and ancient power," Jessica intoned softly, her voice carrying an otherworldly weight, "this hat shall transform in the darkest hour. From mind to muscle, charm to boast, let arrogance and obnoxiousness engross. May my vision of the perfect fool arise, as this curse takes effect under moonlit skies."

The lights in Ashton's apartment flickered ominously, casting strange shadows around them. He took an instinctive step back, his eyes wide with disbelief and a hint of fear.

Jessica chuckled, her laughter ringing strangely in the charged atmosphere. "Doesn't this hat look good, Ashton?" she asked, her voice teasing.

Ashton shook his head, trying to clear the sudden fog in his mind. "No, Jess, this isn't right," he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest.

Jessica's laughter echoed in the room as she held up the old cap hat, a mischievous glint in her eye. "It's Chet's old hat… or was it Chad's? Who cares— let me put it on," she teased, stepping closer to Ashton. But Jessica moved closer, her hand reaching up to place the hat on Ashton's head before he could protest further. He felt a jolt as the hat settled into place, a surge of unfamiliar energy coursing through him.

Ashton, feeling an inexplicable haze settling over his mind, couldn't muster the will to resist as Jessica placed the cap on his head. A strange sensation washed over him, like a thick fog clouding his thoughts. He blinked slowly, feeling his awareness dimming.

"Yo, bro," Ashton mumbled, his voice now deeper, the once-present lisp vanished, "my head feels all funny and shit"

Ashton stared blankly at Jessica, his eyes losing their usual sparkle of wit and intelligence. The transformation had begun, and he was becoming increasingly aware of changes happening to his body.

His pride outfit, meticulously planned and vibrant, swiftly morphed into something entirely different. The glitter and bright colors faded away, replaced by a smelly tank top clinging to his burgeoning muscles and athletic shorts that reeked of sweat and the gym floor.

A surge of energy flowed through Ashton, igniting a transformation that defied belief. Muscles that had been barely noticeable before now swelled and expanded. Pecs emerged where there was once a flat chest, defined and powerful. Abs rippled into existence, carving lines across his abdomen that had previously been smooth. His biceps, triceps, and lats bulged with newfound size and strength, each muscle group accentuated by the growing definition and mass.

Even his legs ballooned with muscle, thighs thickening and calves sculpting into powerful forms. Ashton felt the weight and strength of his transformed physique, a stark contrast to his former self.

Jessica watched with a mix of awe and amusement, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Looking good, Ash," she remarked, her voice filled with a knowing amusement.

Ashton blinked again, trying to comprehend the radical changes he was experiencing. The fog in his mind persisted, making it difficult to grasp the full extent of what had happened. He flexed experimentally, feeling the power in his newly muscular frame, a strange blend of confusion and a burgeoning sense of self-assuredness washing over him.

Jessica looked at Ashton's boyish, babyface. "Oh, this won't do" retrieving a gaudy, oversized gold necklace from her purse. Its ostentatious design shimmered under the dim light of Ashton's apartment, catching the eye with its exaggerated opulence.

"Behold this token of swagger and noise," Jessica proclaimed theatrically, holding the necklace aloft, "from gold's glint I summon a jock's poise. With this necklace, I bestow the brash and bold, transforming their essence to fit this mold!"

Ashton stared at the necklace dumbly, his vacant expression betraying the confusion swirling in his mind. Without a word, he reached out and took the necklace from Jessica's outstretched hand, the chain clinking softly against the pendant as he clumsily put it on.

Instantly, Ashton felt a shift within himself. His previously boyish charm and hint of baby fat seemed to melt away, replaced by a jawline that sharpened and chiseled into a more rugged, masculine form. His features morphed, taking on a douchey fratbro aesthetic—strong, angular, and exuding a cocky arrogance.

A dumb, cocky grin spread across Ashton's face, permanently plastered there as if it belonged. He blinked slowly, his gaze settling into a new-found swagger that seemed to emanate from his very core.

Jessica clapped her hands in glee, delighted with the transformation she had wrought. "Perfect!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with mischief and satisfaction.

He flexed unconsciously, admiring the rippling muscles that now adorned his once slender frame, reveling in the newfound sense of confidence that coursed through him.

Ashton's mind felt like a jumbled puzzle, scattered pieces that refused to fit together. The once sharp and witty thoughts were now elusive, slipping through his grasp like sand. He blinked slowly, feeling a disorienting fog settling over his consciousness, blurring the boundaries between clarity and confusion.

The Lady Gaga song that had been pulsing through his apartment suddenly shifted, morphing into a Kanye West track. Ashton let out a dumb chuckle, finding humor in the unexpected change, though he couldn't quite remember why.

He ambled over to the TV, his movements clumsy yet filled with a strange new energy. With a sluggish movement, he flicked on the screen, the bright colors and exaggerated personas of a WWE match captivating his attention instantly. Ashton hollered and shouted at the screen, his voice loud and boisterous, caught up in the drama unfolding before him.

In the midst of the chaos on TV, Ashton forgot all about the Pride parade he had eagerly anticipated just moments ago. The vibrant colors of his carefully planned outfit faded from his memory, replaced by the primal excitement of the wrestling match playing out in front of him.

His phone buzzed with messages from friends asking where he was, but Ashton barely registered them. His focus was consumed by the spectacle on TV, his laughter and shouts echoing through the apartment, drowning out the outside world.

His demeanor shifted, becoming more boorish and oafish. He lounged on the couch, spreading his legs wide in a blatant display of dominance, taking up as much room as possible. It was a gesture that seemed to amplify his newfound sense of entitlement and arrogance. Gone was the consideration for others' space or feelings. Ashton's behavior began to border on jerkishness, his actions driven by a need to assert his presence and dominance in every interaction.

Memories jumbled themselves in Ashton's mind, reshaping his sense of self. Thoughts of kissing boys and celebrating Pride blurred into a desire to appear as the hottest, biggest guy around.

Ashton's memories twisted and warped before his eyes, leaving him feeling disoriented and confused. The once-vibrant images of Pride parades filled with rainbows and joy were now replaced by hazy recollections of hooking up with random girls at a frat house. His mind fixated on the idea that he was no longer attracted to men, but instead found himself drawn to women - specifically Jessica, whose breasts seemed even more alluring than before.

A growl escaped Ashton's throat as he tried to make sense of these newfound desires. He couldn't help but notice how her chest heaved enticingly under her tight top, causing an unfamiliar stirring in his pants. His cock began to harden rapidly, growing thicker and longer until it stood proudly at an impressive 12 inches long - a size that would make any man envious. The thick shaft felt almost painful as it stretched the confines of his jeans, begging for release.

"Hey, Jessica," Ashton called out with a cocky grin, flexing his newly muscular arms for her. "You like the gun show, babe?" His voice had taken on a deeper tone, laced with a self-assuredness that bordered on arrogance.

Ashton's transformation was nothing short of staggering. His once-average physique had been replaced by a chiseled masterpiece, every muscle defined and bulging beneath his tight tank top. Jessica couldn't help but stare at the impressive display of masculinity before her, her eyes tracing the contours of his newly sculpted abs and pecs.

"Oh my god," she breathed out, squeezing one of his biceps gently. "You look incredible." Ashton flexed for her again, enjoying the way she ogled him like he was some kind of sex god. "Almost perfect, Ashton" she cooed in admiration. Ashton's cocky grin widened as he heard Jessica's statement. "Who the fuck is Ashton?" he asked, clearly unaware of who he truly was beneath all that muscle and bravado.

Ashton's commanding tone left no room for argument as he turned to Jessica, ordering her around like a loyal dog. "Grab me a beer, babe," he grunted before adding with a smirk: "Then you can suck my cock."

Jessica couldn't help but feel her heart race at the thought of pleasing him in such an intimate way. She nodded eagerly, unable to resist his charm or the allure of his massive cock. "Anything for you---Zeke" she replied breathlessly before hurrying off to fetch him a beer from the kitchen.

As soon as he heard the name "Zeke," everything clicked into place for Ashton. He was Zeke - a 26-year-old obnoxious douchebag who partied hard and fucked even harder. Memories flooded his mind of hooking up with whatever slut was dumb enough to give him the time of day, treating them like disposable playthings once he got what he wanted from them.

His behavior had always been obnoxious, but now it seemed even more so in retrospect. He loved nothing more than showing off his muscles at the gym or flexing in front of mirrors, admiring how much bigger and better he looked compared to everyone else around him. And when it came to women? Well, they were simply there for one thing - his pleasure - and once that need was satisfied, they could go back to being nothing more than background noise in his life.

Zeke couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at who he had become since becoming Zeke again; an unapologetic alpha male who took what he wanted without remorse or regret.

As Jessica returned with two cold bottles, Zeke took one from her hand and downed it in one gulp. He then motioned towards his crotch with his head, indicating that it was time for Jessica to put her mouth where her mouth was - literally. With trembling hands, she undid his belt buckle and unzipped his jeans before taking out his impressive member - hot and throbbing with anticipation. Without hesitation or any sense of shame or regret, Jessica wrapped her lips around Zeke's cockhead and began sucking him off like the obedient slut that she truly was. The moment he came, she'd be out the door.

[sandwhitches]

✦ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a love story told through peaches

✦ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, childhood best friends to lovers

✦ 𝐜𝐰: language, tiny bit of angst in places if you squint, kissing/making out, mutual pining, fem. reader (one mention of “girlfriend”), reader has a mother

✦ 𝐚/𝐧: inspired by the poem “From Blossoms” by Li-Young Lee (which is just a beautiful piece, do read it if you find the time!) randomly decided i wasn’t allowed to sleep until i finished this fuck ass thing so enjoy i guess. if it’s really bad i wouldn’t know i read over it once and hit post, so i humbly apologize if this is word vomit.

✦ 𝐰𝐜: 3.1k

It first happened in 2000, the fresh spoils of summer weighed down on skinny branches of the tree they had grown on, perfect for little hands to pluck. At the base of its trunk, you sat cross-legged, crunching into a perfectly ripe peach for the very first time that summer.

That day, as you remember it, was intended to be spent with a pout; after all, your mother had dropped you off for the day with your new neighbors to run errands, leaving you with two identical makeshift playmates you couldn’t say you were too fond of. 

Atsumu is the oldest twin, but he’s an inch shorter than his brother Osamu, which confuses you. Aren’t you supposed to be taller when you’re older? They’re both more interested in roughhousing than skipping rope or coloring, they bicker over small things, and they smell too much like the outdoors. From the first five minutes at the Miya household, you decided you were not going to enjoy it.

Osamu found you crouched in the living room, dejectedly pushing one of their toy cars back and forth with a finger, counting as high as you could under your breath (about five-hundred until you ran out of steam.) 

“Whatcha doin’?” That’s another thing that initially unsettled you about them, the way they spoke. Their words came out lazier, much more different than any other kid or adult you’d met before moving to the Kansai region. If I spoke like that, you thought, I would probably be corrected.

 “Nothing.” You’d mumbled, too shy to look up at him. That didn’t seem to deter Osamu one bit, because that’s how you found yourself beneath the peach tree in their backyard, licking the sticky juice that had bled down your arm upon the first bite.

You’re a bit intimidated by Osamu, who had somehow managed to eat two peaches in the duration it took you to eat one, but you still keenly listened as he told you about how his grandmother planted that tree a long time ago. 

Atsumu was on the other side of the yard scowling, Osamu said it was because he didn’t like the way peach fuzz felt on his tongue.

By 2006, you’ve realized there’s more than one way to eat a peach, your favorite method as of that summer was the peach pie that the Miyas’ mom would make if you asked her really nicely.

Atsumu had since gotten over his personal grudge against peaches and Osamu probably liked them more than he did before. Neither of them would even think about eating a slice if it did not come with a generous dollop of vanilla ice cream on the side. You’re stuffed full after two helpings of dessert, hunched over in discomfort at their kitchen counter. 

It’s no surprise that Osamu was shuffling his fourth slice of the night onto his plate, fueled by an appetite unfathomable to most people but him. “There’s not gonna be any left if ya keep piggin’ out,” Atsumu hissed, slapping a palm flat on the counter; he was also hardly able to move after a full meal and then some, but he always found enough energy within himself to insult his brother. 

Osamu, who turned out to be the quieter of the twins, didn’t have a verbal rebuttal, but took a resolute bite that perfectly asserted a good enough response to piss his brother off. 

Your mother usually called an hour or so after sunset if you were still with the Miya twins, and during the summer, you were always with them. It was Osamu who walked you next door most nights, your pathway lit by flickery street lamps that swarms of bugs buzzed around, save for the cicadas that chirruped their nightly song in the bushes.

He was still a bit disgruntled after Atsumu had reached over and pushed him, leading them headfirst into an angry brawl on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. 

“Such an idiot,” Osamu muttered angrily under his breath to fill the silence, hands twitching in the pockets of his pants. You don’t tell him this, and you don’t really know why this is, but you think that might be the first time you realized you had a slight preference towards him.

 After all, out of the two of them, Osamu was the only one who didn’t complain when you changed the channel to the weekly showing of your favorite cartoon (a “girl cartoon” as Atsumu had put it with irritation laced in his voice), he was the one that knocked on your door in the mornings and asked your mom if you were up yet, and no matter how many new friends he made, he’d sit with you at lunch. 

In the winter of 2008, you coped with the seasonally baron peach tree with the light pink package you tore open on the floor of Osamu’s room.

You were long done with your homework for the day, Atsumu was avoiding his, and Osamu was scrabbling away at his desk with a look of dull boredom. You popped a peach gummy into your mouth. Sometimes you’d forget that if you walked from school with them in your backpack, the winter air would toughen up the candy, and make it harder to chew; surprisingly, you found it tasted better that way. 

Atsumu’s back was pressed against the floor, hands outstretched as he tossed a slightly deflated volleyball a few inches, caught it in the basket of his ten fingers, then pushed it back into the air. You watched him as he got testier with his limits, letting the ball drop closer and closer to his face until his fingers couldn’t stretch fast enough, and the ball bounces off of his forehead. 

In order to deflect his embarrassment, he turned to you, raising a brow, “Those don’t even taste like peaches.” Atsumu commented superfluously, knowing himself that it was a pointless thing to say.

He’s not very popular with the boys on his volleyball team because he does things like that, and Osamu told you with a look of concern that he doesn’t even care. You think you agree with Osamu, Atsumu is certainly annoying, but he isn’t necessarily unlikeable. 

Atsumu is blessed to have a brother like Osamu, who is most likely incapable of ever growing to dislike him. Not many people have such a degree of patience for him, and you suppose that’s why they’re brothers. 

Without a retort from you, he returned his attention to tossing the ball once more. 

Your eyes were drawn to a hand that reached over the seat. Splotches of ink stained the side of Osamu’s palm because he always wrote with a heavy hand. You grinned wordlessly and placed three candies into the center of his cupped palm, knowing he was going to ask for more once those are gone. 

That’s okay, you think, because Osamu is the only person you know who does not ask for you to share because he’s greedy, he asks because he simply likes to share. There’s no ulterior motive or impatience in the way he holds his hand out once more, only an eagerness to enjoy something with you. That, for a reason you’d been avoiding to confront over the past year, made your heart flutter like a caged bird. 

In 2011, you find yourself back where you started, criss-crossed under the peach tree beside Osamu as you enjoy the first bloom of the summer. You bite into the peach’s dusty skin, uncaring that the sweet juice dripped down your chin and collected at the corners of your mouth. Osamu rolled a pit around his hand after meticulously sucking the flavor left from it, he pressed his fingers into it until it made indents on the skin. 

You paused, wiping your face with the back of your forearm, “Somethin’ on your mind?” It had been a very long time since their accent had bled into your own tongue, and you never noticed it anymore. Osamu glanced up, eyes clouded over with thought, “Do ya think I’m boring?” 

The question surprised you. You couldn’t remember a time Osamu voiced an insecurity, in fact, you were beginning to enviously think that he didn’t have any. Boring? You wondered what could have brought that about. How long had he felt that way?

Since starting high school, you’d noticed an influx of opportunities for the twins to be compared. As far as popularity went, Atsumu had surprisingly climbed up the ranks the first month. In volleyball, no matter how great Osamu’s spikes were, Atsumu’s sets were always better. At home, they’d taken to rapid firing every grade they’d received in the past week until it was clear who was performing best, and Atsumu frequently took the cake.

On top of this, Atsumu was now one inch taller than Osamu. 

It’s almost funny, you thought to yourself, they’re not that much different than when they were younger. They still roughhouse and bicker and they still can’t be angry at each other for longer than five hours.

Both of them still consistently pulled off stupid stunts, the most recent one being the cheap boxed dye they purchased with the hope of having a shot at being two different people for once. 

Finally, you replied, “I don’t think that at all.” And you wished you had said more. 

Osamu, you thought that night as you replayed the memory, I think you’re anything but that. You’re funny, and you always think about other people…and I think you’re one of the nicest people I know. You buried your face into the pillow, groaning. If you’d managed to at least say half of that, maybe he would have smiled instead of looking away, nodding in disappointment. 

Your mom was frowning to herself in 2014 as she folded up your high school uniform and packed it into a cardboard box to be forgotten with the other relics from your childhood. You swallowed a lump in your throat as you handed her your school shoes, “You might wanna throw ‘em out, the soles are about to lift anyways.” You know she won’t. She’s sentimental. 

Later on that evening, you told Osamu all about it on the lawn chairs in their backyard, swatting off a mosquito that buzzed in your ear. The two of you had just returned from a midnight run to the convenience store, indulging in salty chips that made your mouth go dry, but were impossible to stop eating. Such an issue was easy to remedy with the juice of a peach, even though the nectar wasn’t as sweet.

A few months before, during January, Hyōgo was hit with the iciest winter storm in a while, leading to the unfortunate demise of the peach tree in their backyard. Atsumu was more than positive that the old friend would make a comeback, but come springtime, it did not blossom and remained a thin skeleton of rigid sticks.

Now you had to buy a peach if you wanted one. 

The convenience store peach was slightly overripe, but you supposed that beggars can’t be choosers. 

Osamu listened intently, his face hardly discernible in the dark. You two hadn’t meant to be up so late, but you often lost track of time these days, you noticed that it goes by so fast now that you’re older. 

“I’m scared,” your voice was shaky, tears threatening to spill for the umpteenth time that day. You didn’t want to go to sleep, because you knew in the morning you’d have to leave. It would end for the very first time. You tried very hard not to think about the bags all packed up in your room, and with such empty walls it was beginning to feel like it wasn’t even yours anymore.

 “What if I don’t like it?”

Osamu sighed quietly, setting the peach he held down to place a comforting hand on your knee, “Yer gonna do just fine, ya know that?” He mumbled quietly, and if he wasn’t touching you, you might have been able to consider what he was saying to a deeper extent. It’s easier said than done when you’ve already come to terms with the fact that you’re madly in love with someone you’re sure you shouldn’t be. 

“I know, but…I don’t want it to change…I don’t like not seein’ you.” 

Though you couldn’t witness it in the inky cast of twilight, something changed in his face, and you wouldn’t have had a clue had his next words not come out as strained as they did, “We’ll see each other durin’ breaks.” Osamu whispered, almost as if it was a reassurance for nobody but him.

That’s not enough. You’d been with Osamu every day for nearly the entire duration of your life, how could it only be rendered down to a few precious weeks a year? You couldn’t take it. The tears finally flowed freely down your cheeks, muffled noises of anguish pushed against your bitten lip. 

“Hey,” Osamu muttered hurriedly, calloused hand moving to cup the side of your face, he thumbed at a stray tear. “Nothing’s gonna change while yer gone…okay? We’ll all-…I’ll still be the same. I promise.”

“How can I know that?” You sniffled between sobs, unabashedly leaning into his touch. 

With everything to lose, but nothing else he wanted, Osamu leaned forward and pressed his face against yours, his lips tenderly grazed against your own in a rushed kiss. Upon remembering himself, Osamu pulled away swiftly, exhaling in disappointment. 

“Shit, I’m really sorry, I don’t-”

You cut him off in a desperate search of his lips once more in the dark, kissing him like you’ve been starved your whole life, finally allowed a meal just this once.

Up close, he smelled like the linens his mother used to hang in the backyard, the ones you weaved in between during clumsy games of tag that always ended in skinned knees and grass stains. Osamu’s lips felt like the succulent meat of a peach, soft and warm; they tasted of its nectar, not of the convenience store peach, but of the sweeter ones that used to grow in that very backyard. Osamu’s kiss was everything you’ve grown to love and everything you’ve yearned for. 

You pulled apart after awkwardly knocking foreheads one too many times, giggling mindlessly at the state the two of you were in. The hand on your knee squeezed tighter, and Osamu rested his head in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. You wondered if you also smelled like the linens, like peach juice, if he could hear that your heartbeat sounded like the cicadas that sung to the two of you during your shared childhood summers. 

“When ya come back,” Osamu started quietly, “I promise I’ll still feel the same.”

It’s 2019 and you’re knackered, bored of watching the wooden posts that held up a barrier along the road go by, tired of the same playlist that’s been on loop all day, and yet you’re not even close to being sick of the man in the driver's seat. 

Osamu blinked at the road groggily, appearing to also be over the long haul through the mountains. 

“Remind me again why I moved?” He droned, readjusting his loose grip on the wheel as he took another turn that does not particularly help your developing carsickness. “Because you missed me?” You mused playfully, lolling your head to the side to watch his expression lighten up significantly. 

“I did, didn’t I?” 

It’d almost been a whole year since Osamu had gotten fed up with how little he got to see you, his girlfriend, and decided without hesitation that the perfect place for him to open up his restaurant would be in Osaka, only a few minutes away from your campus.

You’d since graduated, gotten an entry-level job with shitty hours and shittier pay, and found yourself a nice little apartment for the two of you to share. 

It would be your first summer returning to Hyōgo together.

Maybe it’s always been this way, though. You couldn’t remember a time in which you didn’t love Osamu, and similarly, you couldn’t remember a time where it didn’t feel like he loved you. It was always meant to happen this way. Things like kisses and passionate touch bloomed in time as the seasons turned, but the roots of his love had always been there since the beginning, digging deeper into you until it was your favorite way to live. 

You hummed in realization, bending over in your seat to grab something from the floor of the car, “Almost forgot about these.” 

Osamu peered back over at the sound of light rustling, eyes glinting with affection as you reached your hand into a brown paper bag, pulling out a peach. It was impossible for the two of you not to stop as you drove through one of the quaint small towns, a little boy sold the fruit from his family’s orchard beneath a hand painted wooden sign. 

You bought five peaches, each one large and solid in the palm of your hand, and you think you might have forgotten how much grocery store peaches pale in comparison to ones that were plucked from a tree that very morning.

 “When we get our own house-...” you started. A wry grin twisted on Osamu’s lips in response. 

The two of you liked to play this game, fantasizing about the distant future in which you’re able to settle down in the suburbs, far away from grumpy landlords and noisy upstairs neighbors.

You both had already lost track of half of the dreams you wished to fulfill, only able to barely recall the simple things like two dogs, a nicer oven, and dark green walls in the bedroom. 

Even though it’s a game, you hoped you didn’t forget this time. “Let’s plant a peach tree in the backyard.” 

Osamu laughed under his breath, but you can see a hint of nostalgic fondness bring warmth to his expression, “I dunno, yer gonna have to be in charge…I don’ really have a green thumb.” 

You’ve since taken a large bite of the peach, then passed it to him. Much to your amusement, Osamu only turned his face ever so slightly to eat it from your hand, eyes still carefully fixed on the road.

“I think I can do that,” you nodded, bringing the sweet fruit back to your lips again. If there’s one thing you end up doing in your make believe house, you hope it’s that. 

And there, in the comfortable silence of the car, you bask in an all too familiar feeling whilst enjoying your favorite thing to share: the fresh spoils of summer.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

For Love of the Princess: A Sleeping Beauty Retelling

The court was leaving. A colorful parade of nobles in richly-embroidered robes, with bright banners flying, were abandoning the palace with the king and queen.

And leaving Princess Aurora behind.

"We've no choice, dear," the queen had told her daughter in tears the evening before. "The whole palace will sleep when the curse falls. We've a duty to our people. We can't abandon the kingdom for a hundred years."

Princess Aurora, who'd been fairy-gifted with grace and compassion, had sweetly said she understood.

Margaret, who had no such gifts, thought the queen deserved to have her eyes pecked out by birds.

All of Aurora's ladies-in-waiting had talked late into the night--had been working over the problem for weeks as Aurora's sixteenth birthday drew ever closer with no chance of averting the curse. They had planned and theorized, but all decided at last that there was only one thing to do. They were, to a woman, going to stay with the princess. A hundred years would pass while they slept. They would wake to a strange world where everyone they knew was dead and gone. But not for all the gold in the kingdom would they abandon Aurora to face such a world alone.

Now they stood together at the palace gate. Anne, the eldest of them, with strands of gray in her hair, who had been lady to the queen before coming to serve the princess. Lydia, younger even than Aurora, fair and tall and full of energy. Celia, little, sweet and copper-haired, only a year older than Aurora. Margaret herself--tallest and most practical, with wisps of golden-brown curls fluttering in the wind. And exactly in the center, Princess Aurora, with her fairy-gifted beauty that outshone the sun itself. Margaret had come to view these girls as sisters, but as they watched the courtiers leave, she suddenly realized they were all the family she was going to have--that any of them were going to have--for the rest of her life.

When the last face, the last horse, the last banner, disappeared over the horizon, all five of the women stepped back inside the palace walls.

And were immediately faced with a problem.

"Which one of us is going to close the gate?" Celia asked, gazing up at the wicked-looking portcullis. None of them had ever touched the winch-and-chain that moved it. Who knew if they'd even have the strength to? Five women staying alone in a castle for a hundred years could not leave the palace gate open for any passing brigand to come through.

With a groan and a rattle, the chain moved, the portcullis lowered, and the metal bars fell to the ground with a bone-rattling thump.

All of the women screamed.

Had the curse come upon them already? Were they to be trapped here for a hundred years, never to escape? Margaret's heart raced--she hadn't realized how suffocating the palace would seem.

A man stepped out of the guardhouse. He wore the livery of the palace guard and had the first whispers of a mustache on his upper lip. He bowed to the princess and her ladies.

"My apologies, ladies," he said, in a baritone that sounded surprisingly deep for one who appeared barely old enough for that facial hair. "I did not intend to startle you."

He looked young and strong of limb. He carried himself with the dignity and grace of a much older man--had something in the eyes that made him seem wiser than his years.

Aurora gave a deep royal nod. "We thank you for your service. If we could know the name of our servant?"

He bowed crisply. "William of Avenroth, your highness."

Aurora gave her sweetest smile. "We are pleased to know you, and we beg your forgiveness for our outburst. We had thought ourselves alone in the palace."

"You are alone, your highness," William said. "Everyone left, save for me."

"You did not wish to escape the curse?"

William bowed again. "I have a duty, your highness, to protect the princess. All other considerations fade before that calling."

"Some would say such devotion goes far beyond duty," the princess said.

Serenely, he said, "Perhaps it does, your highness."

Aurora opened her mouth, then closed it. She bowed her head. "I am grateful for your loyalty, William."

She turned back toward the palace, and her beautiful face was pensive.

As Margaret and the other ladies followed Aurora back toward the palace, Aurora asked, "Ought I to send him away?"

"Send him away?" Anne yelped. "Why?"

Aurora hushed her, looking back over her shoulder. "I can not ask him to risk the curse for my sake."

"You haven't sent any of us away," Lydia pointed out.

"You all know me well," Aurora said. "He barely knows me."

How little Aurora understood her power. She was princess of the realm, fairy gifted, bright and shining. No person who saw her ever forgot her.

"He has served you from his boyhood, highness," Margaret said. "Though you do not know him, he is quite familiar with you."

Anne said, "He chose to stay, just as we did."

"It is not fair," Aurora said, "for all of you to give up your lives because of my curse."

Margaret said, "It's not fair that you were cursed. You did not choose it--but we can choose to love you. Let him make that same choice."

Aurora stopped, tears in her eyes. "Never has a princess had such true friends. I am afraid I can never be grateful enough."

She embraced each of them in turn, all of them caught between laughter and tears. Then she turned back toward the guard and invited him inside for supper.

#

In the Great Hall--now echoing and cavernous in its emptiness--they made a merry birthday supper, rejoicing over the coming of the princess' sixteenth year, and not letting themselves think about the doom that came with it. The king and queen, though not staying to celebrate the day, had left a celebratory meal behind them--roasts and fruit and cakes and punch.

Margaret had been afraid that the guard William would be out of place among them, but he blended in with ease. He was quiet, respectful, courteous, seeming to enjoy being in their presence, not minding being on the outside of their shared jokes. He helped to serve the meal, even brought some of Aurora's favorite treats from the palace stores, pointing out that they would not last the hundred years. Aurora was gracious, and, as the night went on, genuinely warm. She smiled at William with the smile she reserved for her friends, even drew him into private conversation once or twice.

Despite her assurances to Aurora, Margaret couldn't figure out why William stayed. Margaret had noticed him at the palace, had seen him serving with distinction. He was loyal, dutiful, diligent--but a man didn't become the only guard in the entire palace to risk a hundred-year curse out of duty.

It puzzled her, but she had to admit that she was glad for his presence. Having another person there made the world seem not so small.

The next day was a tense one. No spindles had been seen in the palace since the day the princess had been cursed, but curses had a way of making themselves come true. Margaret and all of Aurora's ladies stayed with her, trying to keep up her spirits and keep watch for any stray spinning wheels. William kept watch at the gates, hoping that he could fend off any evil that might try to approach from outside.

The sun was nearly below the horizon when Margaret and the other ladies followed Aurora into her room in the castle's highest tower. They all sat beside the window, watching the sinking sun, waiting for the moment when the day would end and the danger--so long feared--might pass by forever.

The last sliver of sun sank below the horizon, and all the ladies gave a sigh of relief.

"Could it be over?" Celia asked, with suppressed joy.

"Perhaps the king's plans worked," said Lydia.

Margaret could not shake a sense of foreboding. "The sun is gone, but there's still light in the sky."

Anne rose angrily. The shawl she'd been desperately knitting all day fell to the floor. "We've only a few minutes! What more could happen?"

The ladies began to quarrel--everyone's nerves were tight after the tension of the day.

Aurora rose--quietly, gracefully, but her movements attracted every eye. "Girls, let's not quarrel."

She reached beneath her bed to pick up the ball of yarn that had rolled away from Anne's knitting. "Oh!" she said in surprise, drawing her hand back. "I think I found your knitting needle, Anne."

She drew back the ruffle at the base of the bed. Beneath, they saw, not a knitting needle, but the shining, wicked point of a drop spindle.

Aurora fell onto the bed--lost in a deep sleep.

There were tears, gasps, shrieks--but they fell to work. Margaret could already feel sleep pressing down upon her, but she urged the girls to move quickly. They lifted Aurora fully onto the bed, arranged her limbs to lie flat, put pillows under her head, and covered her with blankets. If their beloved princess was to sleep for a hundred years, they could make sure she was comfortable while she did it.

Celia was the first to drop, falling to the floor in a deep swoon. Margaret placed a pillow beneath her head, and then did the same for Anne when she fell asleep at the foot of Aurora's bed. Lydia fell almost on top of Aurora, and Margaret moved her so she was stretched across blankets on the floor.

All this time, Margaret's eyelids drooped, her limbs became heavy, and her head split with yawns. She fought the curse as long as she could, trying to arrange a hundred years' worth of comforts in a few moments. But at last, even her will could not overcome the magic. Her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, with half her body draped across the foot of Aurora's bed.

Her last thought as she fell into a hundred years of sleep was that she'd have such a backache when she woke.

#

Margaret woke to a world covered in dust. She scraped it off her face, shook it off her hands, brushed it from her dress and hair. Around her, the other ladies were waking with similar ablutions.

Aurora's chairs, wardrobe, dressing table, even Anne's abandoned half-finished shawl, were all covered in dust. The windows were covered with rose bushes, so Margaret couldn't see what a century had wrought upon the world outside. On the bed, the other girls were clearing the dust off of Aurora--but Aurora remained fast asleep.

"I don't understand," Celia said, as the hours dragged by with no sign of Aurora's waking. "We're all awake."

"The hundred years has passed," Margaret said. "But the princess has to be woken by a kiss of true love."

"Where's that supposed to come from?" Anne asked. "Any suitors the princess had will be dead and gone by now."

"Maybe one came from this century," Lydia suggested. "It's possible some brave prince grew up with the stories and came to save the sleeping princess."

That seemed as good a theory as any, so after they'd tended to their ragged old dresses as best they could, Celia sat at Aurora's bedside, and Margaret went into the halls with Anne and Lydia, in the hope they could point some wandering prince in the right direction.

The rest of the palace was as dusty and decayed as Aurora's room. Tapestries were moth-eaten. A kitchen's worth of food had decayed to nothing. Suits of armor were covered in rust.

When they found no princes inside, they decided to head outdoors. With all three of them pulling together, the kitchen door came open with a shriek of rusty hinges.

The doorway was completely blocked by a wall of roses and thorns.

Margaret's throat tightened. They had nothing to break through those branches. They were alone in a palace with no food. If Aurora didn't wake soon, they'd all starve.

Looking at their stricken faces, Margaret could see the other girls were coming to the same conclusion.

Then they heard rustling in the branches. The thick wall showed gaps of sunshine. There were flashes of silver, the sound of a man's groans. At last, the branches parted before a blade, and William burst into the kitchen.

His mustache had darkened a bit over the decades, but he still looked as young and dignified as ever. Though his face and hands were bleeding with a thousand scratches, he bowed with his usual courtesy and a hint of a smile. "Good morning, ladies. I trust you slept as well as I did?"

"What's it like out there?" Margaret asked.

"Overgrown," William replied. "The entire palace is covered in roses--a precaution of the fairies, though I'm not certain whether it came from the good or the bad ones."

William cast his gaze across the room, and suddenly became solemn. "Where is the princess?"

"Still asleep," Lydia said, near tears. "It's awful! There's no one to wake her!"

The look of selfless devastation on William's face made everything clear.

"William," Margaret said. "You love the princess."

This unflappable young man blushed and looked at the ground. "It is not my place--"

"You stayed a hundred years for her! Of course you love her!"

"I could never be her true love. I am only a guard--"

"It's been a hundred years! Some other king rules the kingdom. There's no one alive who'd object. You have to kiss her awake!"

William turned white and his jaw fell. "I could never take such liberties!"

Margaret put her hands on her hips. "Look, if Aurora was drowning, you'd jump in to save her, right? Even if it meant touching her without asking permission."

"Naturally."

"This is no different. If you don't try, Aurora will die."

William thought, then bowed. "I will do what I must to serve the princess."

Margaret seized William's hand and led him toward Aurora's tower.

#

Celia jumped to her feet as they entered the room. Her eyes brightened as she saw the guard.

"William! Have you found the prince?"

Margaret and Lydia pushed William toward the bed. "He's right here," Margaret said.

William stood beside Aurora, looking down into her serene, flawless face. "What if she doesn't welcome such an advance?" he whispered. "How could she care for a man she barely knows?"

Anne said, "Why don't you ask her when she wakes up?"

William bent over Aurora--then stood up. "This might not work."

At once, all four of Aurora's ladies said, "Kiss her!"

Ever so gently, with impossible tenderness, William brushed his lips over Aurora's.

Aurora's eyes opened. "William?" she breathed.

William bowed his head. "Forgive me for taking such liberties, your highness--"

Aurora threw her arms around his neck. "I'm so glad it's you."

Caught in her embrace, William stood flabbergasted.

"Your highness," he said. "Under the circumstances, I do not expect you to return my affection--"

Aurora pushed him away and looked in his face. "How could I not? You stayed true to me when every other man in the world abandoned me."

"You do not know me."

"I know that you stayed. I have a whole new century to get to know everything else." Aurora sat up on the edge of the bed. "If we decide that marriage suits us, I have plenty of bridesmaids."

#

With laughter, all of Aurora's ladies embraced her in turn, sharing stories about their hundred years of sleep.

Margaret went last, holding Aurora tight.

Aurora said, "I can't thank you enough. All of you, so true. You gave up a whole world for me."

As Margaret looked around the room at Anne laughing over her ruined century-old knitting, at Lydia and Celia teasing William--the women she loved like sisters and a brand-new brother--Margaret felt justified in saying, "If I lost a world, I got a better one in return."

[binniebakery]

lights off

College AU Bestfriend!Beomgyu x Gn!Reader .. not exactly fluff! kinda suggestive? ♡ Warnings: thunder? rain? ig being in the dark? my first time writing kissing .. my first time actually writing ANYTHING so it might be bad im so sorry guys ♡ A/N: this is my first little fic (if you could call it that)! i literally hate it but i think i got the point across LOLL regardless i hope someone will enjoy please lmk what you think <3 lowercase intended + not proofread ~

7:32 pm. sighing softly, you placed your phone that was softly playing your favorite tunes back down on the small table over your lap. you tapped your pencil on the table in frustration as you once again for the fifth time readjusted your legs on the bed of your best friend's bedroom. time was going by excruciatingly slow and it didnt help that this math problem was taking you a million years to solve. the sun had already set outside and heading back to your dorm seemed less favorable by the minute. hearing a soft shuffle from the other side of the room you looked up at your best friend. rain began to patter outside. looks like you'll be staying for longer than you intended. beomgyu, who had his deep-colored headphones on was moving his head to the music as he wrote down notes from his study guide. his hair softly wrapped around his features most attractively. you began to mentally trace the lines of his nose, his eyes… his lips.. the dim lighting of the room adding more charm to his aura. "y/n..? are you okay? i could feel you burning holes into my head." beomgyu said as he shook off his headphones to fully put his attention was on you. snapped out of your daze, you mentally kicked yourself as you felt embarrassment creep onto your cheeks. how long had you been staring at him for..? "sorry gyu. if i was staring i didnt mean to" you softly laughed, trying to seem nonchalant and cool about the situation. beomgyu, seeing your embarrassment, chuckled at your reaction. "youre okay, i know you look at me because im cute" he grinned and you rolled your eyes. "oh shut up! you know i was daydreaming. i cant focus on this assignment anyways, its too hard. i think im gonna just finish it tomorrow." you smiled as you threw a pillow at him. he was always cheeky when he had the opportunity. anything to see you react. "daydreaming? so you do think im cute?" he grinned wider after recovering from your pillow attack. you huffed and placed the table that was on your lap onto the ground. "you know youre so-.. ugh and what if i do think you're cute?! what would you even do about it, huh?" you retaliated as you sat on the edge of his bed, now fully facing him. you faked a pout as you were feeling a bit bolder than usual today. your homework giving you enough pent-up rage to have the energy to give in to his bickering.

"okay well i dont know how much truth there is to that but if you really meant that id probably kiss you." your eyes widened at his response. you see beomgyu's face turn into an unreadable expression. he hadnt realized you were only half joking and fully meant the compliment, but it was too late and by the time he caught wind that you were actually flustered he felt his stomach flip. even he was shocked by his own words. he slipped. had he said too much? after a few seconds of silence that felt like minutes. the rain outside seemed to get louder. his eyes finally met yours and you looked away. you felt your heart pounding at the thought of you saying too much. both of you overthinking the situation and awkwardness that you both never have had before taking place. you and beomgyu have never had an awkward moment like this. normally you both laugh things off but this time felt different. "you trust me right?" his voice sounded sincere. this tone was rare for you to hear from him but you knew immediately he was being genuine with his question. "h- huh? yeah of course.. why?" you responded. "okay well.." you noticed beomgyu was now fiddling with his headphones, it seemed like he was turning all the gears in his head to get out what he wanted to say. "y/n.. theres a chance you may have not been telling the truth but if you were- look regardless if you meant it, i meant what i said." you could feel your stomach turning. he hardly flirted with you but when he did it always felt different from his usual teasing. you never said anything though, in fear of ruining your friendship. yet you always thought about what it would be like if he also returned the feelings you felt.

the room's atmosphere seemed to change. suddenly you were both hyper-aware of his neon led light being the only source of light aside from his computer. your playlist had stopped and the silence felt unbearable. in one swift move, he stood up, and turned off the led light on his wall.

the room was a lot darker now, his computer screen's light being the only way of telling you what he was going to do next. you watched as he plopped down next to you. he was so close that you could see the slight tinge of pink on his ears. your senses began to be filled with the light scent of his cologne. "i.. look- the only way i can say or do this is if the lights are off- im not trying to be weird its just you make me so nervous.. i cant look at you." he mumbled as he looked at your hands resting on your lap. it was so dark and both your hearts were racing. "gyu.. " was all you could muster with his hands now softly on yours.

"can i…" beomgyu began as he leaned in closer, only centimeters away from your face. his eyes staring intently into yours. he had this look of pure admiration, nervousness and love. it was all too surreal. realizing what he was asking, you silently nodded as you stared at his lips. he pressed his forehead on yours, the thick tension in the air causing your body to tingle in anticipation. as you felt his hair softly tickle your features from him leaning in, your lips connected. he kissed you oh so softly as he held your cheek gently. your hands, as if moving on their own, were softly placed on his arms. his lips softly moving along your own. he was patient. it felt as if he was waiting for you to respond, unsure if what he was doing was okay with you. you moved your head to the side slightly to deepen the kiss, causing him to sigh. it was all he needed to know you felt the same. his hands moved to your waist as you settled your fingers into his long hair. softly pushing him towards you to intensify the kiss. all that could be heard was the rain outside aside from the soft exchange of sighs and hands roaming. "ive liked you for so long.. you have no idea.." he began between kisses. it was all passionate, slow, and tender as if he was handling you like glass. his hands pulled your waist impossibly closer to his. he separated first, leaving you craving for more. "trust me, i liked you so much i was so scared you didnt feel the same way despite you teasing me the way you did." you chuckled as you pecked his cheek. "you drive me insane.." he softly spoke. "y/n, every time i tried to say something.. my brain just went to mush.. its so bad i swear. i could only be this confident with the lights off.." beomgyu laughed as his eyes began to trail your facial features. he was admiring every curve and feature, and at that point, both your faces were impossibly red. "gyu.. can you just.. kiss me again..?" your voice came out hardly a whisper. "i like you so much i feel like im going insane from the way you just confessed." he smiled fondly at your words and nodded, leaning in once again. as soon as your lips touched you could both practically feel the electricity pouring through your bodies. as if on cue, thunder struck the moment you connected again. your arms wrapped impossibly tight around him, slightly tugging and playing with his hair. his arms remained at your waist, slightly circling over the shirt you wore. you could feel the warmth of his fingers through the fabric.

his tongue slightly swiped along your lips for permission, and you parted your lips in response. having his tongue explore your mouth had your brain going numb. time felt like it had stopped, with just the rain as your only witness to the quiet whispers and confessions that only you two could hear. when you both finally were running out of breath, you separated with beomgyu looking into your eyes. you stared back, lips equally as glossy as his. "are you.. going back to your dorm yet?" thunder struck once again, as if responding to his question. you smiled. "its raining a little too hard dont you think?" beomgyu chuckled, realizing how silly his question was. "yeah. youre right, i think you should stay." you bit your lip as you pulled off each other, both of you immediately missing the warmth. beomgyu shook his head fixing his now fluffed hair thanks to you as he ran his fingers through. he then stood up to turn the led light he had turned off previously back on. "so.. how about we watch a movie?" he spoke as the light clicked. you could almost burst into laughter from the question given the events that just happened a minute prior. give it to choi beomgyu, your best friend, to turn a situation less awkward by simply being his charismatic self. the personality you fell for since day one of knowing him.

"sure gyu, but.." you trailed off, shy about what you were about to say next. honestly, could this get any more awkward? "yeah?" he turned to you and tilted his head in that attractive way he does. "leave the lights off." you looked at him with a shy smile. he flushed at your words. and for the last time again, lightning struck. "yeah.. lights off" he replied, led light clicking once again.

[lingerina]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝓛𝐄𝐆 𝐂𝐔𝓡𝐋𝐒 ／ park jihyo

➛ g!p jihyo x fem!reader ➛ 2.8k words ➛ smut ➛ public setting, spanking, squirting, creampie, praise ➛ part of SWEAT&TEARS. ➛ you thought going early meant you would be the only one there. you thought wrong.

4:30 A.M.

It might be insane to willingly be at the gym at this hour, half-asleep and dreaming of being in bed again.

But here you are, dumbbells in hand while staring at your reflection in the massive mirrors, wondering how you were able to do this before.

Once upon a time, you were an avid gym goer who was on top of her nutrition (and honoring her cravings) and an inspiration to her friends for maintaining a well-balanced lifestyle.

After getting laid off, you had all the time in the world to work harder. To cook for yourself, for your friends who were heavily reliant on takeout, and to dedicate more time to the gym. You didn’t think you’d get back into the workforce so quickly but you did, and this job was going to consume much of your time and energy.

Just cooking right after work was exhausting for you. The few days that you intended to take a break from the gym became a week.

Then, it became two weeks.

Three weeks.

Three months.

If it weren’t for incompetent management, you would’ve been able to manage your work-life balance already. You wouldn’t turn to freezer meals and fast food for sustenance. You wouldn’t have to rely on caffeine to get you through the day. It took some mild threats and a long, colorful discussion with the directors to hire more people but now that the new hires have been trained and settled, you could focus on getting your life back on track.

The avid gym goer is still in you somewhere. She just needs to be lured out again, and what better way to make a comeback at the gym than to resume your journey at an all-women’s gym that just opened down the block last month?

Having a safe space accessible to you is enough encouragement for you to pick up your gear again and return to the active life you once knew. You had to reason with yourself to get up this early and you were fortunate enough to still have some level of self-discipline to do so.

While you don’t mind working out with other women, you would much prefer to be alone. Not only is the crack of dawn the only time you have to fit in your workouts, but it’s also when it’s not crowded. You hoped you would have the gym all to yourself until you walked in and discovered one other soul on the premises.

You weren’t in the mood to interact or be perceived so early in the morning but upon making eye contact with you, she beamed and greeted you with a quick wave. Of course you had to wave back, even with how obviously dead you looked. It would be rude to ignore a pretty woman, and you weren’t that rude.

At least until you realized how often you were sparing a her a glance (specifically at her behind) while you were warming up on the treadmill. That was disrespectful.

You shake your head and assume an exaggerated wide stance, your feet planted a fair distance apart. You adjust them while observing yourself in the mirror to ensure that you won’t strain your hips. When your legs are wide enough to feel the burn but not a straining pain, you hold both dumbbells in front of you at waist level. Your eyes close, your head lowers, and you drop down into a front squat. 

You steadily drive back up while squeezing your core and proceed with the next several reps of sumo squats, unaware of the only pair of eyes in the building skimming over you.

Jihyo is no longer performing her routine. Her headphones are now sitting around her neck, and she’s more focused on the glorious view in front of her than on finishing her workout.

It’s not like she’s never seen a woman squatting before. She has.

Dozens of times.

And it gets her rock-hard every time.

She notes that today must be leg and glutes day for you due to the various squats you’ve done, and how you barely targeted any other part of your body. It’s a blessing (and a curse) for her since it’s been a week since she last got some action. That may not be long but as someone who has a decent roster of friends (and patrons) with benefits, a week without pussy is far too long.

And she’s not going to let this opportunity slip up.

She approaches you when you pause for a water break, forgetting that just because other people are up at the same time as her doesn’t mean they have the same energy as she does. “Hi!”

You crane your neck to look at her as you hydrate and greet her with a small nod. “Hello.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you new?”

You nod. “I am.”

She clasps her hands with a grin. “How lovely! Welcome aboard. I’m Jihyo. Do you need any assistance or guidance?”

With pursed lips and a second to think, you slowly shake your head. “No thank you. I appreciate it though.”

She nods. “Let me know if you do. I’ll be happy to help!”

You’re lying face down on the leg curl machine, your mind slowly polluted by the images you didn’t think you’d see.

With how courteous Jihyo is with extending a helping hand, you had asked her to spot you at the squat rack. As you were performing your barbell squats, you didn’t miss her intent gaze on your behind as you were going down. You didn’t miss the way she licked and bit her lip. How shameless and disrespectful she was with staring, in comparison to the polite gesture of her hands only hovering over your hips. 

Not touching you at all.

What had really seared into the back of your mind was the view that you came eye level with when you bent down to pick up your water bottle: the massive tent in her joggers.

Jihyo’s boner has occupied your mind since then. You have been laying still for the past five minutes wondering just how big she is, how friendly she has been, and how innocent her intentions may (or may not) be. You’re not one to stare and ponder the strangers around you, but she caught your eye the very second you set foot into this gym and she now dominates your thoughts and fantasies.

It’s sorely obvious that you made her horny, and now you’re aching because the effect is reciprocated.

“What’s the matter?”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when Jihyo’s voice snaps you out of your trance. You turn your head and, once again, come face-to-face with her pelvis. She’s standing too close to you. So close that you can make out the outline of her erection through her black joggers.

Face heated. Core clenching. 

You let your head drop back down, your grip on the side handles tightening at the thought of this woman taking care of you in.. other ways. “Nothing. Just resting.”

“Oh?” She chuckles. “But you were doing very well.”

“I just need a little rest,” you whine.

A light smack on your rear surprises you, but her laughter insists that this is all in good nature. “Don’t slack off now.”

Another smack, and now you’re the one laughing. “I’m not. I promise!”

The empty gym reverberates with laughter and squealing. 

You don’t recall when, but it quickly echoes with solid thwacks as her playful smacks have progressed to full-on spanking. You’re no longer giggling. You’re gasping, moaning, and tensing up with each slap that targets your sore ass. Jihyo’s playful jabs have morphed into something darker and more threatening.

It’s exactly what your pussy is aching for.

Being in a lust-filled haze, you don’t budge when your leggings are yanked down. Its compression and tight fit takes your panties down with it, and both garments sit at your ankles, exposing all the intimate parts of you to her–and whoever will stumble through the doors.

As much as you want to be ruined by an insanely attractive woman at this very moment, you’re still in a public place. It would be shameful to be banned on the very first day.

“W-Wait,” you pant as you grab her wrist. “What if someone comes in?”

“They won’t.”

“Doesn’t the manager come in early?”

You’re confused by her hearty laugh.

“Oh darling,” she coos, her fingertips tenderly tracing your slick folds and spreading your arousal. “I’m the manager, and I’ll make sure no one else gets to see you like this.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as two of her fingers dip inside you. 

They shove deeper in the second time. Deep enough for her knuckles to graze your hole. You were always keen on being spanked and manhandled, and she is proving just how drenched it can get you. 

The squelches of her fingers being suctioned by your aching walls fill the silence. It should be embarrassing to be turned on by so little, but you barely feel any shame. You barely feel the shame of dripping all over the padded surface, dirtying the machine with your juices as Jihyo fucks you with her fingers. You barely feel the shame of allowing the manager to ruin you like this.

And she doesn’t feel an ounce of it either.

“Such a pretty thing,” she mutters, her slow but calculated thrusts doing a splendid job at making you feel full somehow. “It would be a shame to not get a taste.”

Much to your dismay, she withdraws her fingers and leaves you clenching around nothing. “On your back.”

The machine offers little real estate for you to move significantly but with your raging hormones and a rush of adrenaline, you manage to do as told. Jihyo wastes no second getting down, spreading you open, and flattening her tongue on your slit.

The immediate touch of heat on skin is all that you need after months without action. She knows how to use her mouth, just like how you know where to grab to stay balanced as she eats you out. You didn’t think you’d ever find yourself in this exact position again at another gym, but you’re glad you do—and with someone attentive.

Your eyes roll back as her fingers fill you up again. You clutch tighter on the edge of your seat as your engorged clit gets catered to by her mouth, the sharp tugs between her teeth creating even more tension in your limbs. You don’t feel the burn of your core clenching from holding onto the machine, but you’re guaranteed to feel it later when it’s all over and you’re left yearning for more.

The lethal combination of her fingers buried in your cunt and her mouth spelling out filth on your clit is enough to rush you to your brink. You arch your back, colorful words threaded through breathy moans and pitched cries as her deep and steady thrusts work their way up in momentum. 

The lewd squelching of her knuckles brushing over your slit is deafening. It reminds you of the strength that you lack. The strength of keeping your head straight and not falling into the palms of a pretty woman. You don’t think your wet pussy can be any louder until she’s working quicker through you. For a stranger, she knows how to navigate your body a little too well.

“Fuck,” you pant, your grip on the sides of the seat squeezing tighter.

Jihyo replaces her mouth with her thumb on your clit, and you fall apart. She watches your drenched cunt cream her digits and make a massive mess on the seat. Your release streams down the surface and puddles to the floor, and the filthy view only makes her cock swell more.

She has waited long enough.

You fall limp when she removes her fingers. With your head spinning, you intend to recuperate from the ecstasy. Not a minute later, however, is your peace compromised when a massive intrusion slides inside you, prying your slick walls open and earning a loud cry from you.

You scramble to look down and find Jihyo’s cock stuffed inside you. You peer up at her with wide eyes, gulping at the smirk on her face. She slowly pulls out.

Agonizingly slowly.

You discover just how big she is before she drives it back into you. You fall back with a moan, once again reduced to a mess as your body is at her mercy. 

Your tits, confined in a low-impact sports bra, are squeezed together by her hands before she yanks the garment down to free them. Though she’s still and snug inside you, pleasure continues to surge through your limbs as she sucks on your nipple. Lips clasped and teeth nipping at the sensitive peak, she suckles and pulls and gets you flowing even more.

“Please,” you exhale. “Please move. Please!”

She chuckles and releases your nipple with an obscene pop. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Very nicely.

Nice enough for her to prop your legs over her shoulders, bend you in half (unearthing the flexibility you didn’t know you had), and fuck you.

Her pace varies between quick and mildly painful, to slow and deep and intoxicating. Your pain threshold can carry you through the phase of her drilling your aching cunt. When she suddenly slows down and her thrusts are drawn out, the brunt of the pleasure hits you.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby,” she coos.

Another thrust, and she grunts. “Just a little more. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

She fucks the words out of you. What you intend to say is disrupted by the lewd noises that leave your lips. You muster a stiff nod to acknowledge her and she responds by leaning forward, forcing your thighs up to your chest, and picking up her pace.

She’s so deep inside you with this new angle. You were going to bruise and stagger for days to come, but you can only focus on how this woman’s strict fitness regime is showing in the unforgiving momentum of her hips and her effortless grip to keep you balanced, Since you barely had a breather from your previous orgasm, you’re quickly driven to that brink.

As your eyes roll back and your body arches, Jihyo smirks. She digs her fingertips into the softness of your thighs, panting as she drills you. “Go ahead, baby. Come for me.”

The machine is slick with your overflowing arousal. With how hard she’s fucking you and how much you’re dripping, the obscene squelches of her cock pounding your poor cunt echoes through the empty facility. If you weren’t so lost in lust, you would feel embarrassed about dirtying the equipment.

“Oh, fuck!,” you cry out, thighs trembling violently as you gush all over her.

The force of your release pushes her out, allowing all the room you need to spatter and spill all over the seat. She vigorously strokes your engorged clit while pumping her pulsing cock as she is just as close. She drains you of all you have before sliding back inside you with ease, courtesy of your ample wetness.

“God, yes,” she hisses as your slick walls immediately tense around her.

Your thighs lock around her neck from the sensitivity as you’re subjected to her endurance. Her persistence. Your stamina is nowhere near hers, and you wonder just how quick it’ll take for her to break you.

To destroy you.

Loud moans erupt from both of you as she bottoms out, stretching you with her girth and filling you with her load. She weaves a tight embrace on your thighs, draws out, then pistons back into you, pushing her cum deeper inside you. Your hips lift just slightly from her hold on your legs, and the feeling of her dick buried inside you is now burned into your memory.

You were going to crave it more than ever.

When she pulls out of you, you lay lifelessly on the machine.

Sweaty, ruined, and filthy.

Jihyo, on the other hand, has already straightened herself up. You assume she’s about to tell you to hurry up and clean the equipment before people start coming in. Instead, she lowers to your eye level and strokes your hair.

“You did so well, pretty girl,” she praises with a grin. “Go hop in the shower. I’ll clean up for you.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Let me know if you ever need assistance with your… workout.”

You giggle, and proceed to slide off the dirtied seat. You feel the impact of Jihyo’s strength now that you’re on your feet, and it’s even worse as you amble to the shower. 

If you’re feeling this now, you’re certainly not ready for the full soreness tomorrow.

[herstoryheaven]

Descendants James Hook x Reader: A Love So Sweet

Request: Can you write a Hook x fem at Castle Coming? Maybe leading up the Flamingo incident happened and because James and the reader are so in love and they trust her the reader is able to convince Uliana and the others that it was honestly a mistake and that Bridget truly was sorry so they decide not to do the prank, Bridget personally apologizes but definitely a lot of cuteness between Hook and reader. Maybe also add in reader, Maleficent and Uliana getting ready for Castle Coming together and them giving her a pep talk and maybe the guys giving hook a pep talk as well? I apologize if it’s a lot

Reader: Female

Word count: 5286

Average reading time: 19 min 15 sec

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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The day at Merlin Academy started off with a familiar energy, one of mischief, love, and the constant drama that came with being students in a school filled with magic. As usual, you found yourself wrapped up in the latest spectacle: Bridget’s flamingo cupcakes.

You were by her side, helping to arrange the treats, when James Hook casually walked up, that signature smirk of his dancing on his lips.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite lass.” he said, leaning against the table with an easy confidence. “What are you up to, darling?”

You rolled your eyes, used to his flirtatious ways by now. “Just helping Bridget with her cupcakes, James. Trying to keep things from getting too... out of hand.”

James raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Out of hand? In this school? Never.” He gave you a wink, which made your heart flutter despite yourself.

Bridget laughed softly, her hands busy arranging the last of the pink feathers on the cupcakes. “These are supposed to add a little magic, a touch of color to whoever eats one. Nothing too wild.”

“Well, that sounds rather dull.” James teased, picking up a cupcake and eyeing it with mock disappointment. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You nudged him playfully. “Not everything has to be dangerous, James. Sometimes a little bit of charm goes a long way.”

He chuckled, leaning in a little closer. “You, Y/n, are all the charm anyone needs.”

Before you could respond, whether with a laugh or another eye roll, Uliana appeared, her eyes fixed on the pink cupcakes with an almost predatory gleam. You watched as she ignored Bridget’s protests and grabbed every single feather-topped cupcake, stuffing the feathers into her mouth.

“Uliana, wait!” Bridget cried out, trying to stop her. “That’s way too many feathers! It could—”

But it was already too late. It didn't take long for Uliana to transform into a half flamingo half human. Her skin a bright, almost neon pink, and feathers sprouted in patches from her arms and back.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, but James had no such restraint. He burst out laughing, doubling over as Uliana flapped her feathered arms in rage.

“This is your fault!” she squawked at Bridget, who looked horrified but tried to stay calm.

“Uliana, I told you! The spell wasn’t meant for that many feathers! You weren’t supposed to—”

“I’ll make you pay for this!” Uliana spat, her voice warping slightly from her new beak-like mouth. She stormed off, Morgie, Hades, and Maleficent not far behind her.

As she disappeared around the corner, you shook your head. “She’s going to do something stupid, isn’t she?”

James, still grinning, slipped an arm around your shoulders. “Probably. But don’t worry, darling. Whatever it is, I’ll be here to protect you.”

You shot him a skeptical look, though you couldn’t deny the warmth his words brought. “Protect me? From Uliana?”

“From anyone.” he replied with a wink, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “After all, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” he slowly backed away, trailing after Uliana and the others.

------

As the day dragged on, your concern about Uliana's intentions toward Bridget only grew. Uliana wasn't the type to let anything go unpunished, especially when it came to her pride. When you overheard her plotting with her crew to gather in her lair, it confirmed your worst fears: something was going to happen, and it wasn’t going to end well for Bridget.

You followed James down the path in the enchanted forest that led to Uliana’s lair, careful to stay in the shadows. You knew that if they caught you, it wouldn’t be just Bridget in trouble, but you couldn’t stand by and let them harm her. You had to intervene, even if it meant going up against some of the most feared students in the school.

Inside the lair, the atmosphere was thick with tension and malice. The lair was a reflection of Uliana’s dark nature, filled with eerie trinkets, ominous spell books, and enchanted artifacts that seemed to whisper as you passed by. Uliana paced in front of a large, sinister cauldron, her eyes gleaming with vengeful intent.

Hades, lounging in a chair that looked more like a throne of bones, watched with a smirk that suggested he found the entire situation amusing.

Maleficent sat on the armrest of Hades chair, her expression calm but her eyes betraying a flicker of interest as she listened to Uliana’s rant. Morgie, ever the observer, stood nearby with a wicked grin, clearly entertained by the idea of Bridget suffering.

James leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his usual confident demeanor in place. But as Uliana described her plan to curse a cupcake and turn Bridget into an ugly monster, a flash of unease crossed his face.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit... extreme?” James asked, his tone light, almost playful, but with an undercurrent of concern.

Uliana snapped her head towards him, her eyes blazing with fury. “She made me look ridiculous! I have to get even, James! No one makes a fool out of me and walks away unscathed.”

James raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “I get that, Uliana, but turning her into something hideous? That’s a bit overboard, even for us.”

Uliana’s gaze hardened, but before she could retort, her eyes followed James’s line of sight, and she saw you stepping out from the shadows. The room fell silent as you made your presence known, the villains’ eyes all locking onto you.

“Uliana, this is madness.” you said, your voice steady but laced with urgency. “Bridget didn’t mean to hurt you, it was an accident.”

The surprise on their faces quickly morphed into something more calculating. Uliana’s expression softened for a brief moment, her anger wavering as she heard your words. But she quickly masked it with a scowl, crossing her arms.

“And who are you to tell me what’s right or wrong, Y/n?” she hissed, though there was less venom in her tone than you expected. “You don’t understand. She humiliated me.”

“I know you’re angry.” you replied, taking a step closer, unafraid of the powerful figures surrounding you. “But this isn’t the answer. Bridget didn’t mean to hurt you. She warned you about the feathers, didn’t she? She wouldn’t intentionally embarrass you.”

Uliana hesitated, her resolve clearly shaken. The room was thick with tension as everyone waited for her response. Even the shadows seemed to hold their breath.

Hades, who had been watching the exchange with a smirk, finally spoke up, his voice dripping with sarcasm but carrying a note of reason. “The girl makes a valid point, Uliana. Revenge is sweet, but let’s be real, turning her into a monster? That’s a bit too permanent. We’re not here to ruin lives… just mess them up a little.”

Maleficent nodded slowly, her gaze shifting to you with a hint of approval. “There’s a fine line between justice and cruelty. You’ve made your point, Uliana. No need to go beyond that.”

Morgie, always the sly one, added with a smirk, “Besides, where’s the fun in cursing someone who doesn’t deserve it? Bridget’s harmless, too easy of a target.”

Uliana sighed deeply, the weight of their words and your plea finally breaking through her anger. “Fine.” she muttered, her tone less venomous. “But she owes me for this, big time.”

The tension in the room eased as Uliana’s rage began to subside. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, relief washing over you. Bridget would be safe, at least for now.

As you turned to leave, James stepped forward, falling into step beside you. His usual playful smirk was back in place, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Well, that was quite the performance, darling.” he drawled, his voice filled with admiration. “Didn’t know you had it in you to stand up to the big bad villains.”

You shot him a sideways glance, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Someone had to talk some sense into her. I couldn’t just let Bridget get hurt.”

James chuckled, the sound low and warm as it reverberated through the empty hallway. His hand brushed against yours as you walked, sending a spark of warmth up your arm. “You’ve got a good heart, Y/n. That’s a dangerous thing to have in a place like this.”

You looked up at him, catching the sincerity in his eyes despite the teasing tone. “I think I can handle myself.”

James’s smirk softened into something more genuine, his hand gently taking yours as you walked. “I don’t doubt that for a second.” he said, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “But if you ever need a pirate to watch your back…”

You laughed, the tension from before melting away completely as the warmth of his hand anchored you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You continued walking away from the lair, yet you couldn’t help but glance back at the group still standing there, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and respect. Maleficent gave you a subtle nod, a rare acknowledgment from someone as powerful as her. Hades winked, his smirk widening as if to say he knew you’d be meeting again, and Morgie gave you a mock salute, clearly impressed.

And Uliana, well, she might have been angry, but there was a glimmer of something like admiration in her eyes. You had done what few could, stood up to them and won.

-----

As the Castle Coming Ball drew nearer, you tried to push the earlier events out of your mind. But they resurfaced when James approached you again, this time with a question that left you momentarily speechless.

He found you outside the main building, leaning against a tree as you watched students bustle about, excitedly discussing the upcoming ball. When you saw him walking toward you, your heart skipped a beat, a reaction you were getting used to by now.

“Y/n.” he called out, that familiar playful tone in his voice. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” you replied, turning to face him fully. “What’s up?”

He hesitated, something rare for him, and scratched the back of his neck, a small sign of nervousness you’d never seen before. “I was wondering... Would you go to the Castle Coming Ball with me?”

For a moment, you were sure you hadn’t heard him correctly. James Hook, the flirty heartthrob pirate, was asking you to the ball? And not in his usual teasing manner, but with a sincerity that made your heart race.

“Are you serious?” you asked, trying to hide the surprise in your voice.

He grinned, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. “Dead serious, darling. I think we could have a wonderful evening.”

Your mind raced, and you felt your cheeks heat up. “I... I’d like that, James.”

James stepped a bit closer, his presence both comforting and thrilling at the same time. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, and the scent of the sea, a reminder of his pirate roots, lingered between you.

"Is that a blush I see?" he teased, his eyes glinting with that familiar playful mischief. "Careful, darling. You’re making it too easy for me."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face betrayed your attempt at nonchalance. "Don't get ahead of yourself, James. I'm just... surprised, that’s all."

He leaned in slightly, close enough that you could see the light stubble on his jaw and the intensity in his gaze. "Surprised? Why? Haven't I been obvious enough?" His tone was softer now, almost intimate.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure. "Obvious about what?"

He chuckled, a low sound that sent shivers down your spine. "About the fact that I’ve been trying to get your attention for weeks now. Have you really not noticed?"

"I noticed." you admitted, your voice almost a whisper. "I just didn’t think you were serious."

James’ expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something more earnest. "Well, I am. Completely serious." He reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. "I’ve been looking forward to this ball for a while, but only because I was hoping I got to show you off on my arm."

The sincerity in his voice melted away any lingering doubts you had. "You really mean it, don’t you?" you asked, your heart fluttering.

He nodded, his hand slowly dropping to his side, but not before brushing lightly against yours, sending a spark of electricity through you. "I do. And I promise, we’ll have the best time. I’ve even got a few surprises planned."

"Surprises, huh?" you said, trying to sound casual even as your heart raced. "What kind of surprises?"

He gave you a lopsided grin, the mischief returning to his eyes. "Now, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "I suppose not."

James stepped back, his smile widening as he took in the sight of you, the playful pirate once again fully in control. "Just make sure you wear something that’ll make me regret every second you’re not in my arms."

Your cheeks flushed again at the implication, but you couldn’t help but play along. "You’ve got a lot of confidence, James."

He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance, though you could see the satisfaction in his expression. "Confidence, maybe. But mostly, it’s just because I know what I want."

"And what is that, exactly?" you asked, your voice teasing but curious.

He leaned in close one more time, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You, darling. It’s always been you."

Before you could respond, he stepped back, flashing you one last roguish grin. "I’ll wait for you at the entrance." And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you breathless and more excited for the ball than you’d ever thought possible.

-----

The day of the ball, you found yourself surrounded by the girls Uliana, Maleficent, Bridget, and Ella, all of them helping you get ready. It felt like a whirlwind of dresses, makeup, and advice, and you were grateful for every bit of it.

Bridget, who had long since apologized for the whole flamingo incident, was the first to break the silence as she helped you with your hair. “So, you and James, huh?”

You felt your face heat up. “I guess so. I mean, he asked me, and...”

Ella giggled, adjusting the neckline of your dress. “And you said yes. That’s huge, Y/n. James doesn’t ask just anyone to the ball.”

Uliana smiled slightly, her eyes filled with a warmth you have never seen before. “He likes you, Y/n. And not just in the way he flirts with everyone. It’s different with you.”

You tried to push down the nerves fluttering in your chest, but it was hard with all their attention focused on you. “I know he flirts a lot, but this feels...real. I just don’t want to mess it up.”

Maleficent, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke, her voice steady and filled with wisdom. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned with Hades, it’s that genuine feelings can come from unexpected places. Just be yourself, Y/n. James already cares about you, tonight is just about enjoying that.”

Her words, coming from someone you secretly admired a lot, made you feel a bit more at ease. Maleficent was right, James had always been a flirt, but with you, it felt like there was more beneath the surface. Maybe tonight, you’d finally find out what that was.

Bridget finished with your hair and stepped back, a grin on her face. “There. Now, if James doesn’t lose his mind when he sees you, he’s a fool.”

You looked at your reflection, and for the first time in a long while, you truly felt beautiful. The dress, the makeup, the hair, it all came together perfectly. But what made you glow the most was the excitement in your heart, knowing that tonight, you’d be by James’s side.

Ella placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re going to have an amazing time, Y/n. And we’ll be right there if you need us.”

You nodded, feeling a mix of anticipation and gratitude. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate all of this.”

The girls exchanged knowing smiles, and Maleficent gave you a final once-over. “Remember, just be yourself. James will fall even harder for you.”

With a final deep breath, you were ready. The night awaited, and so did James.

-----

On the other side of the school, James was having a somewhat less peaceful time getting ready. The usually composed and self-assured pirate found himself fussing over details he normally wouldn't even think twice about. Hades and Morgie had taken it upon themselves to make sure he looked his best, though it was becoming increasingly clear that they were enjoying the process a little too much at his expense.

James stood in front of the mirror, his brow furrowed as he tried to tame a particularly stubborn lock of hair that refused to cooperate. He had gone through this routine countless times before, but tonight felt different, like every detail had to be perfect.

Morgie, lounging against the doorframe, watched with an amused grin. "You know, James, you’re fussing over your hair more than usual.” he teased, his tone light but laced with mischief. “What’s the matter? Scared your usual charm won’t cut it tonight?”

James shot him a look, attempting to keep his voice casual. "Is that so? Maybe I just want to look good." he said, though the edge of nervousness in his voice betrayed him.

Hades, sprawled comfortably on a nearby chair, let out a snort of laughter. “Yeah, for Y/n. Just admit it, James, you’re actually nervous.”

James paused, his hands stilling as he met Hades’ knowing gaze in the mirror. He hated how easily his friends could read him, but there was no denying the truth in Hades' words. “I’m not nervous.” he muttered, though even he wasn’t convinced by his own denial. “I just want everything to go right tonight.”

Morgie’s grin widened as he pushed off the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You know, it’s kind of cute seeing you like this. The big, bad pirate actually cares about impressing someone.”

James narrowed his eyes, but his annoyance was half-hearted. He pointed a finger at Morgie, his voice tinged with mock menace. “Keep it up, and I’ll make sure you have an ‘accident’ with the punch bowl in front of your date.”

Morgie held up his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left his face. “Alright, alright, James. No need to get all worked up. But seriously, just relax. Y/n likes you for who you are. Don’t try too hard, or you’ll end up tripping over your own feet.”

James sighed, dropping his hand and turning away from the mirror in frustration. “I know, it’s just…” He trailed off, searching for the right words to explain the whirlwind of emotions running through him. He had never felt this way before, not with anyone. His usual confidence was still there, but it was layered with something deeper, something more vulnerable. “She’s different.” he finally admitted, his voice quieter now. “She makes me want to hook everyone that even glances at her in the wrong way.”

The room fell silent for a moment, and the playful teasing in Morgie’s expression softened into something more genuine. “That’s how you know it’s real, James. When it’s not just about winning someone over, it’s about keeping them by your side. And from what I’ve seen, Y/n feels the same way about you.”

James nodded, letting Morgie’s words sink in. He’d always been a flirt, charming his way through life without ever taking anything too seriously. But with you, it was different. You weren’t just another conquest, another notch on his belt. You were someone he genuinely cared about, someone he wanted to protect and cherish. And that scared him, in the best possible way.

“Alright, let’s do this,” James finally said, the weight of the moment settling in his chest as he grabbed his jacket and slipped it on. The fabric was rich and dark, the deep red color matching his usual aesthetic. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, taking a moment to assess the final result. He looked good, better than good, really. But more importantly, he felt ready.

Hades, always the supportive one despite his laid-back demeanor, clapped him on the back as they headed for the door. “Remember, just be yourself, James. Y/n already likes you for who you are. And if you need any help, you know where to find me.”

“Same goes for me.” Morgie added, his smirk back in place. “Though if you mess it up, I’ll be the first to laugh.”

James rolled his eyes, though the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed his appreciation for their support. With friends like these, he knew he was ready for whatever the night had in store. He might be stepping into the unknown, but he wasn’t doing it alone. And with you waiting for him, he knew that tonight had the potential to be something truly special.

As they made their way down the corridors towards the entrance, James felt his usual confidence returning in full force. But beneath it all, there was an undercurrent of something new, hope, excitement, and a touch of nervousness that only you could inspire. He was ready to face the night, and more than that, he was ready to face it with you.

-----

The Castle Coming Ball was a vision straight out of a fairytale. The grand hall had been transformed into a stunning scene of shimmering lights and elegant decorations that draped the space in a golden glow. Chandeliers glittered above, their crystals catching the light and casting delicate rainbows across the room. Students from every corner of the school mingled together, their differences forgotten for one night as they laughed and danced, swept up in the enchantment of the evening.

But amidst all the grandeur, your focus was entirely on the figure waiting by the grand entrance. James stood there, looking every bit the fairytale prince in his tailored jacket, the deep red accents matching the dress you now wore. His signature confident stance was as unmistakable as ever, but when his eyes found yours, the usual smirk softened into something warmer, more genuine.

As you walked towards him, your nerves fluttered like the butterflies in your stomach, but the tenderness in his gaze melted them away. The moment you reached him, he stepped forward, his hand finding yours. With a charming, almost reverent touch, he brought your hand to his lips, placing a light kiss on the back of it, his eyes never leaving yours.

James took in the sight of you, his eyes widened slightly, and a slow, appreciative smile spread across his lips. His gaze traveled from the hem of your dress to the intricate details at your neckline, and finally back to your eyes, a spark of recognition flashing in his expression.

“Well, lass.” he murmured, his voice low and smooth like velvet, “Don’t you look ravishing tonight.”

A blush bloomed across your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly, a bit shy under the intensity of his gaze. “You’re not looking too bad yourself, Hook.”

James’s fingers brushed lightly against the fabric of your dress, the same deep red as the jacket of his suit. His touch was soft, reverent, as if he was marveling at how perfectly you two fit together. “You have no idea how much I love this.” he said, his voice low and filled with emotion. “It’s like we’re two parts of the same whole.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, the noise of the ball, the laughter, and the music all faded into the background, leaving only the two of you standing in the soft glow of the chandeliers.

James took a step closer, his hand slipping around your waist to draw you near. The proximity made your heart race, and you could feel the warmth of his body through the delicate fabric of your dress. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “I had some surprises planned for tonight.” he whispered, his tone laced with the mischievous charm that you had come to adore, “but I think you might’ve just surprised me first.”

You laughed softly, the sound blending with the music around you. “I hope they’re good surprises.”

He pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “The best kind.” he said with a grin, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “But you’ll have to be patient, darling. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Before you could respond, James took your hand and guided you onto the dance floor, the music swelling as you moved together. His hand rested gently on your waist, while the other held yours with a confidence that made you feel like you were the only two people in the room.

As you swayed together to the rhythm of the music, James couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you. His gaze was filled with admiration and something deeper, something that made your heart flutter every time his eyes met yours. “You know.” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the music, “I’ve danced with a lot of girls, but none of them ever matched me like this, like you.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart swell. You tightened your grip on his hand, leaning into the warmth of his body. “You’re the one who makes it perfect, James.”

He smiled, his eyes softening with affection. “I’ve always thought I was good at taking peoples breaths away, but you… darling you’ve completely taken mine.”

The dance continued, the world around you spinning in a blur of lights and colors. James led you effortlessly across the floor, his movements graceful and sure, as if he was born to dance with you. Every turn, every step, brought you closer together, until there was no space left between you, only the overwhelming connection that had been growing since the moment you first met.

For a moment, the world outside of your small bubble ceased to exist. The dance floor spun around you, but all you could focus on was the way James held you, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room. The music, the lights, the other students, it all became a blur, and there was only him.

As the song drew to a close, James slowed your movements, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. “Y/n, I...”

You held your breath, waiting for him to finish, but instead of words, he let his actions speak. He closed the distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that was gentle, tender, and filled with all the unspoken emotions that had been building between you.

The kiss was brief, a promise more than a statement, but it was enough to send your heart racing. When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, you could see the affection in his eyes, the sincerity in his expression. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

A smile broke across your face, your heart so full it felt like it might burst. “Then do it again.”

James grinned, that playful spark returning to his eyes, and without needing to be told twice, he leaned in again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more passionate. It was a kiss that spoke of all the things you both felt but hadn’t yet voiced, a kiss that promised a future filled with more moments like this.

As you kissed, the room seemed to fall away completely, leaving just the two of you in a world of your own. When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, James didn’t move far, his hand still on your waist, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.

Before you could respond, he took a small step back and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, intricately wrapped box. He handed it to you with a flourish, his grin widening as he watched your reaction.

You took the box, your fingers trembling slightly as you unwrapped it. Inside was a delicate silver necklace, the pendant a beautiful ruby that matched the color of your dress perfectly. It caught the light, shimmering with a warmth that mirrored the emotions in James’s eyes.

“I saw this.” he said, his voice soft but filled with emotion, “and I knew it had to be yours. It’s just as beautiful and unique as you are.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at the necklace, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of his gift. “James, it’s… it’s perfect. Thank you.”

He stepped closer, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you gently on the forehead. “Anything for you, darling.” he whispered. “You mean more to me than you’ll ever know.”

As he fastened the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. When he was done, he stepped back to admire his work, his eyes filled with pride and affection. “It looks perfect on you.” he said, his voice warm.

You touched the pendant, feeling the cool metal against your skin, and smiled up at him. “I don’t know how you keep making me feel so giddy, James, but I’m not complaining.”

He chuckled, pulling you back into his arms for another dance. “I’ll always be by your side giving you everything you want and more, Y/n. That’s a promise.”

As you continued to dance, lost in each other’s company, you noticed Maleficent and Hades watching from a distance. They were standing together, their expressions soft and filled with pride. Hades gently nudged Maleficent with a grin. “Looks like Hook finally figured it out.”

Maleficent smiled, her eyes warm as she watched the two of you. “It’s about time. They’re perfect together.”

Uliana and Morgie, who had been observing the scene as well, exchanged a knowing look. Morgie smirked, nudging Uliana playfully. “Told you she’d be the one to tame him.”

Uliana chuckled, nodding in agreement. “And it looks like he’s finally found someone worth changing for.”

Ella, who had been watching quietly, smiled softly, her heart swelling with happiness for you. “They’re good for each other.” she said softly. Bridget, ever the romantic, had a dreamy look in her eyes as she finished Ella's statement. “You can see it in the way they look at each other.”

While the night wore on, you and James stayed close, your hearts beating in sync as you danced and laughed together. The world around you faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in the magic of the moment.

The Castle Coming Ball was everything you had dreamed it would be and more, but the true magic of the night was the boy standing in front of you, eyes filled with love for you.

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